GIFT   OF 
Yoshi  S*   Kuno 


BARNABY     RUDGE, 


AND 


EDWIN    DROOD. 


BY 


CHARLES     DICKENS. 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS, 


NEW   YORK 

JOHN  W.   LOVELL   COMPANY 

150  Worth  Street,  corner  Mission  Place 


'^tho 


}^ 


•r 


Vv^ 


^^ 


.     .  .1.0 


PREFACE 


The  late  Mr.  Waterton  having,  some  time  ago,  expressed  his  opinion 
that  ravens  are  gradually  becoming  extinct  in  England,  I  offered  the  few 
following  words  about  my  experience  of  these  birds. 

The  raven  in  this  story  is  a  compound  of  two  great  originals,  of  whom 
I  was,  at  different  times,  the  proud  possessor.  The  first  was  in  the  bloom 
of  his  youth,  when  he  was  discovered  in  a  modest  retirement  in  London, 
by  a  friend  of  mine,  and  given  to  me.  He  had  from  the  first,  as  Sir 
Hugh  Evans  says  of  Anne  Page,  "good  gifts,"  which  he  improved  by 
study  and  attention  in  a  most  exemplary  manner.  He  slept  in  a  stable — 
generally  on  horseback — and  so  terrified  a  Newfoundland  dog  by  his  pre- 
ternatural sagacity,  that  he  has  been  known,  by  the  mere  superiority  of 
his  genius,  to  walk  off  unmolested  with  the  dog's  dinner,  from  before  his 
face.  He  was  rapidly  rising  in  acquirements  and  virtues,  when,  in  an 
evil  hour,  his  stable  was  newly  painted.  He  observed  the  workmen 
closely,  saw  that  they  were  careful  of  the  paint,  and  immediately  burned 
to  possess  it.  On  their  going  to  dinner,  he  ate  up  all  they  had  left  be- 
hind, consisting  of  a  pound  or  two  of  white  lead  ;  and  this  youthful  in- 
discretion terminated  in  death. 

While  I  was  yet  inconsolable  for  his  loss,  another  friend  of  mine  in 
Yorkshire  discovered  an  older  and  more  gifted  raven  at  a  village  public- 
house,  which  he  prevailed  upon  the  landlord  to  part  with  for  a  considera- 
tion, and  sent  up  to  me.  The  first  act  of  this  sage  was,  to  administer  to 
the  effects  of  his  predecessor,  by  disinterring  all  the  cheese  and  halfpence 
he  had  buried  in  the  garden — a  work  of  immense  labor  and  research,  to 
which  he  devoted  all  the  energies  of  his  mind.  When  he  had  achieved 
his  task,  he  applied  himself  to  the  acquisition  of  stable  language,  in 
which  he  soon  became  such  an  adept,  that  he  would  perch  outside  my 
window  and  drive  imaginary  horses,  with  great  skill,  all  day.  Perhaps 
even  I  never  saw  him  at  his  best,  for  his  former  master  sent  his  duty  with 
him,  "  and  if  I  wished  the  bird  to  come  out  very  strong,  would  I  be  so 
good  as  to  show  him  a  drunken  man  " — which  I  never  did,  having  (unfor- 
tunately) none  but  sober  people  at  hand.  But  I  could  hardly  have  re- 
spected him  more,  whatever  the  stimulating  influences  of  this  sight  might 
have  been.  He  had  not  the  least  respect,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  for  me  in 
return,  or  for  any  body  but  the  cook  ;  to  whom  he  was  attached — but 
only,  I  fear,  as  a  policeman  might  have  been.  Once,  I  met  him  unex- 
pectedly, about  half-a-mile  from  my  house,  walking  down  the  middle  of 
a  public  street,  attended  by  a  pretty  large  crowd,  and  spontaneously  ex- 
hibiting the  whole  of  his  accomplishments.  His  gravity  under  those 
trying  circumstances,  I  can  neverforget,  nor  the  extraordinary  gallantry 
with  which,  refusing  to  be  brought  home,  he  defended  himself  behind  a 
pump,  until  overpowered  by  numbers.  It  may  have  been  that  he  was 
too  bright  a  genius  to  live  long,  or  it  may  have  been  that  he  took 
some  pernicious  substance  into  his  bill,  and  thence  into  his  maw  —which 
is  not  improbable,  seeing  that  he  new-pointed  the  greater  pirt  of  the 
garden-wall  by  digging  out  the  mortar,  broke  countless  squares  of 
glass  by  scraping  away  the  putty  all  round  the  frames,  and  tore  up  and 
swallowed,  in  splinters,  the  greater  part  of  a  wooden  staircase  of  six  steps 
and  a  landing — but  after  some  three  years  he  too  was  taken  ill,  and  died 
before  the  kitchen  fire.  He  kept  his  eye  to  the  last  upon  the  meat  as  it 
roasted,  and  suddenly  turned  over  on  his  back  with  a  sepulchral  cry  of 
"  Cuckoo  I  "     Since  then  I  have  been  ravenless. 

No  account  of  the  Gordon  Riots  has  been   to  my  knowledge  intro 


Mi944€>G 


iv  PREFACE. 

duced  into  any  work  of  fiction,  and  the  subject  presenting  very  extraor- 
dinary  and  remarkable  features,  I  was  led  to  project  this  tale. 

Ic  is  unnecessary  to  say,  that  those  shameful  tumults,  while  they  reflect 
indelible  disgrace  upon  the  time  in  which  they  occurred,  and  all  who  had 
act  or  part  in  them,  teach  a  good  lesson.  That  what  we  falsely  call  a 
religious  cry  is  easily  raised  by  men  who  have  no  religion,  and  who  in 
their  daily  practice  set  at  naught  the  commonest  principles  of  right  and 
wrong;  that  it  is  begotten  of  intolerance  and  persecution;  that  it  is 
senseless,  besotted,  inveterate  and  unmerciful  ;  all  history  teaches  us. 
But  perhaps  we  do  not  know  it  in  our  hearts  too  well,  to  profit  by  even 
so  humble  an  example  as  the  "  No  Popery  "  riots  of  seventeen  hundred 
and  eighty. 

However  imperfectly  those  disturbances  are  set  forth  m  the  following 
pages,  they  are  impartially  painted  by  one  who  has  no  sympathy  with  the 
Romish  Church,  though  he  acknowledges,  as  most  men  do,  some  esteemed 
friends  among  the  followers  of  its  creed. 

In  the  description  of  the  principal  outrages,  reference  has  been  had  to 
the  best  authorities  of  that  time,  such  as  they  are  ;  the  account  given  in 
this  tale,  of  all  the  main  features  of  the  riots,  is  substantially  correct  ; 
their  cost  in  money  through  destruction  of  property  is  stated  at  a  low  sum, 
not  extending  beyond  the  amount  of  compensation  actually  paid. 

Mr.  Dennis's  allusions  to  the  flourishing  condition  of  his  trade  in  those 
days,  have  their  foundation  in  truth,  and  not  in  the  author's  fancy.  Any 
file  of  old  newspapers,  or  odd  volume  of  the  Amitial  Register,  will  prove 
this  with  terrible  ease. 

Even  the  case  of  Mary  Jones,  dwelt  upon  with  so  much  pleasure  by  the 
same  character,  is  no  effort  of  invention.  The  facts  were  stated,  exactly 
as  they  are  stated  here,  in  the  House  of  Commons.  Whether  they  afforded 
as  much  entertainment  to  the  merry  gentlemen  assembled  here,  as  some 
other  most  affecting  circumstances  of  a  similar  nature  mentioned  by 
Sir  Samuel  Romilly,  is  not  recorded. 

That  the  case  of  Mary  Jones  may  speak  the  more  emphatically  for 
itself,  I  subjoin  it,  as  related  by  Sir  William  Meredith  in  a  speech  in 
parliament,  "on  Frequent  Executions,"  made  in  1777- 

"  Under  this  act,"  the  shop-lifting  act,  "  one  Mary  Jones  was  executed, 
whose  case  I  shall  just  mention  ;  it  was  at  the  time  when  press  warrants 
were  issued,  on  the  alarm  about  Falkland  Islands.  The  woman's  hus- 
band was  pressed,  their  goods  seized  for  some  debts  of  his,  and  she,  with 
two  small  children,  turned  into  the  streets  a-begging.  It  is  a  circum- 
stance not  to  be  forgotten,  that  she  was  very  young  (under  nineteen),  and 
most  remarkably  handsome.  She  went  to  a  linen  draper's  shop,  took 
some  coarse  linen  off  the  counter,  and  slipped  it  under  her  cloak  ;  the 
shopman  saw  her,  and  she  laid  it  down  :  for  this  she  was  hanged.  Her 
defense  was  (I  have  the  trial  in  my  pocket),  '  that  she  had  lived  in  credit, 
and  wanted  for  nothing,  till  a  press-gang  came  and  stole  her  husband 
from  her  ;  but  since  then,  she  had  no  bed  to  lie  on  ;  nothing  to  give  her 
children  to  eat  ;  and  they  were  almost  naked  ;  and  perhaps  she  might 
have  done  something  wrong,  for  she  hardly  knew  what  she  did.'  The 
parish  orfucrs  testified  the  truth  of  this  story  ;  but  it  seems  there  had 
been  a  good  deal  of  shop-lifting  about  Ludgate  ;  an  example  was  thought 
necessary  ;  and  tliis  woman  was  hanged  for  the  comfoit  and  satisfaction 
of  shopkeepers  in  Ludgate  Street.^  When  brought  to  receive  sentence, 
she  behaved  in  such  a  frantic  manner,  as  proved  her  mind  to  be  in  a  dis- 
tracted and  desponding  state;  and  the  child  was  sucking  at  her  breast 
when  she  set  out  for  Tyburn-  ' 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

BARNABY  RUDGE .        ,       ,        ,        7  to  6i8 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD, 

Chapter  I.     The  dawn, 619 

Chapter  II,     A  dean,  and  a  chapter  also,      ....        0         .  622 

Chapter  III.     The  Nuns' House, 633 

Chapter  IV.     Mr,  Sapsea, 644 

Chapter  V.     Mr.  Durdles  and  friend, 653 

Chapter  VI.     Philanthropy  in  Minor  Canon  Corner,     .      '  .         .         .  659 

Chapter  VII.     More  confidences  than  one, 669 

Chapter  VIII.     Daggers  drawn, 677 

Chapter  IX.     Birds  in  the  bush, .  686 

Chapter  X.     Smoothing  the  way, .  700 

Chapter  XI.     A  picture  and  a  ring, 714 

Chapter  XII.     A  night  with  Durdles,    .......  727 

Chapter  XIII.     Both  at  their  best 740 

Chapter  XIV.     When  shall  these  three  meet  again  ?    .        ,        .        .  750 

Chapter  XV.     Impeached, 763 

Chapter  XVI.     Devoted 771 

Chapter  XVII.     Philanthropy,  professional  and  unprofessional,  .         ,  781 

Chapter  XVIII.     A  settler  in  Cloisterham, 795 

Chapter  XIX.     Shadow  on  the  sun-dial, 803 

Chapter  XX.    A  flight, 810 

Chapter  XXI.     A  recognition, 820 

Chapter  XXII.     A  gritty  state  of  nhings  comes  on,       ...        .  825 

Chapter  XXIII.    The  dawn  again,        .        ,        ,        <,        o        o        0  843 


BARNABY  RUDGE, 


CHAPTER  I. 

In  the  year  1775,  there  stood  upon  the  border^  of  Epping 
Forest,  at  a  distance  of  about  twelve  miles  from  London — 
measuring  from  the  Standard  in  Cornhill,  or  rather  from  the 
spot  on  or  near  to  which  the  Standard  used  to  be  in  days  of 
yore — a  house  of  public  entertainment  called  the  Maypole  ; 
which  fact  was  demonstrated  to  all  such  travelers  as  could 
neither  read  nor  write  (and  at  that  time  a  vast  number 
both  of  travelers  and  stay-at-homes  were  in  this  condition)  by 
the  emblem  reared  on  the  roadside  over  against  the  house, 
which,  if  not  of  those  goodly  proportions  that  Maypoles  were 
wont  to  present  in  olden  times,  was  a  fair  young  ash,  thirty 
feet  in  height,  and  straight  as  any  arrow  that  ever  English 
yeoman  drew. 

The  Maypole — by  which  term  from  henceforth  is  meant 
the  house,  and  not  its  sign — the  Maypole  was  an  old  build- 
ing, with  more  gable  ends  than  a  lazy  man  would  care  to 
count  on  a  sunny  day  ;  huge,  zig-zag  chimneys,  out  of  which 
it  seemed  as  though  even  smoke  could  not  choose  but  come 
in  more  than  natural  fantastic  shapes,  imparted  to  it  in  its 
tortuous  progress  ;  and  vast  stables,  gloomy,  ruinous,  and 
empty.  The  place  was  said  to  have  been  built  in  the  days 
of  King  Henry  the  Eighth  ;  and  there  was  a  legend,  not 
only  that  Queen  Elizabeth  had  slept  there  one  night  while 
upon  a  hunting  excursion,  to  wit,  in  a  certain  oak-paneled 
room  with  a  deep  bay  window,  but  that  next  morning,  while 
standing  on  a  mounting  block  before  the  door  with  one  foot 
in  the  stirrup,  the  virgin  monarch  had  then  and  there  boxed 
and  cuffed  an  unlucky  page  for  some  neglect  of  duty.  The 
matter-of-fact  and  doubtful  folk,  of  whom  there  were  a  few 
among  the  Maypole  customers,  as  unluckily  there  always  are 


8  BAKNABY  RUDGE. 

in  every  little  community,  were  inclined  to  Took  upon  this 
tradition  as  rather  apocryphal  ;  but,  whenever  the  landlord 
of  that  ancient  hostelry  appealed  to  the  mounting  block 
itself  as  evidence,  and  triumphantly  pointed  out  that  there 
it  stood  in  the  same  place  to  that  very  day,  the  doubters 
never  failed  to  be  put  down  by  a  large  majority,  and  all  true 
believers  exulted  as  in  a  victory. 

Whether  these,  and  many  other  stories  of  the  like  nature, 
were  true  or  untrue,  the  Maypole  was  really  an  old  house,  a 
very  old  house,  perhaps  as  old  as  it  claimed  to  be,  and  per- 
haps older,  which  will  sometimes  happen  with  houses  of  an 
uncertai.2,  as  with  ladies  of  a  certain,  age.  Its  windows 
were  old  diamond  paned  lattices,  its  floors  were  sunken  and 
uneven,  its  ceilings  blackened  by  the  hand  of  time,  and 
heavy  with  massive  beams.  Over  the  doorway  was  an  an- 
cient porch,  quaintly  and  grotesquely  carved  ;  and  here  on 
summer  evenings  the  more  favored  customers  smoked  and 
drank — ay,  and  sung  many  a  good  song  too,  sometimes — 
reposing  on  two  grim-looking  high-backed  settles,  which, 
like  the  twin  dragons  of  some  fairy  tale,  guided  the  entrance 
to  the  mansion. 

In  the  chimneys  of  the  disused  rooms,  swallows  had  built 
their  nests  for  many  a  long  year,  and  from  earliest  spring 
to  latest  autumn  whole  colonies  of  sparrows  chirped  and 
twittered  in  the  eaves.  There  were  more  pigeons  about  the 
dreary  stable-yard  and  cui-buildings  than  any  body  but  the 
landlord  could  reckon  up.  The  wheeling  and  circling  flights 
of  runts,  fantails,  tumblers,  and  pouters,  were  perhaps  not 
quite  consistent  with  the  grave  and  sober  character  of  the 
building,  but  the  monotonous  cooing,  which  never  ceased 
to  be  raised  by  some  among  them  all  day  long,  suited  it  ex- 
actly, and  seemed  to  lull  it  to  rest.  With  its  overhanging 
stories,  drowsy .  little  panes  of  glass,  and  front  bulging  out 
and  projecting  over  the  pathway,  the  old  house  looked  as  if 
it  were  nodding  in  its  sleep.  Indeed,  it  needed  no  very 
great  stretch  of  fancy  to  detect  in  it  other  resemblances  to 
humanity.  The  bricks  of  which  it  was  built  had  originally 
been  a  deep  dark  red,  but  had  grown  yellow  and  discolored 
like  an  old  man's  skin  ;  the  sturdy  timbers  had  decayed  like 
teeth  ;  and  here  and  there  the  ivy,  like  a  warm  garment  to 
comfort  it  in  its  age,  wrapped  its  green  leaves  closely  round 
the  time-worn  walls. 

Jt  was  a  hale  and  hearty  age,  though,  still  ;  and  in  the  sum- 
mer or  autumn  evenings,  when  the  glow  of  the  setting  sun  fell 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  9 

upon  the  oak  and  chestnut  trees  of  the  adjacent  forest,  the 
old  house,  partaking  of  its  luster,  seemed  their  fit  compan- 
ion, and  to  have  many  good  years  of  life  in  him  yet. 

The  evening  with  which  we  have  to  do,  was  neither  a 
summer  nor  an  autumn  one,  but  the  twilight  of  a  day,  in 
March,  when  the  wind  howled  dismally  among  the  bare 
branches  of  the  trees,  and  rambling  in  the  wide  chimneys 
and  driving  the  rain  against  the  windows  of  the  Maypole 
Inn,  gave  such  of  its  frequenters  as  chanced  to  be  there  at 
the  moment  an  undeniable  reason  for  prolonging  their  stay, 
and  caused  the  landlord  to  prophesy  that  the  night  would 
certainly  clear  at  eleven  o'clock  precisely — which  by  a 
remarkable  coincidence  was  the  hour  at  which  he  always 
closed  his  house. 

The  name  of  him  upon  whom  the  spirit  of  prophecy  thus 
descended  was  John  Willet,  a  burly,  large-headed  man  with 
a  fat  face,  which  betokened  profound  obstinacy  and  slow- 
ness of  apprehension,  combined  with  a  very  strong  reliance 
upon  his  merits.  It  was  John  Willet's  ordinary  boast  in 
his  more  placid  moods  that  if  he  were  slow  he  was  sure  ; 
which  assertion  could,  in  one  sense  at  least,  be  by  no  means 
gainsayed,  seeing  that  he  was  in  every  thing  unquestionably 
the  reverse  of  fast,  and  withal  one  of  the  most  dogged  and 
positive  fellows  in  existence — alv/ays  sure  that  what  he 
thought  or  said  or  did  was  right,  and  holding  it  as  a  thing 
quite  settled  and  ordained  by  the  laws  of  nature  and  Provi- 
dence, that  any  body  who  said  or  did  or  thought  otherwise 
must  be  inevitably  and  of  necessity  wrong. 

Mr.  Willet  walked  slowly  up  to  the  window,  flattened  his 
fat  nose  against  the  cold  glass,  and  shading  his  eyes  that 
his  sight  might  not  be  affected  by  the  ruddy  glow  of  the 
fire,  looked  abroad.  Then  he  walked  slowly  back  to  his 
old  seat  in  the  chimney-corner,  and,  composing  himself  in  it 
with  a  slight  shiver,  such  as  a  man  might  give  way  to  and 
so  acquire  an  additional  relish  for  the  warm  blaze,  said,  look- 
ing round  upon  his  guests  : 

"  It'll  clear  at  eleven  o'clock.  No  sooner  and  no  later. 
Not  before  and  not  arterward." 

"  How  do  you  make  out  that  ? "  said  a  little  man  in  the 
opposite  corner.  "  The  moon  is  past  the  full,  and  she  rises 
at  nine." 

John  looked  sedately  and  solemnly  at  his  questioner  until 
he  had  brought  his  mind  to  bear  upon  the  whole  of  his 
observation,  and  then  made  answer  in  a  tone  which  seemed 


lo  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

to  imply    that    the  moon  was  peculiarly  his    business   and 
nobody  else's  : 

"  Never  you  mind  about  the  moon.  Don't  you  trouble 
yourself  about  her.  You  let  the  moon  alone,  and  I'll  let 
you  alone." 

"  No  offense  I  hope  ? "  said  the  little  man. 

Again  John  waited  leisurely  until*  the  observation  had 
thoroughly  penetrated  to  his  brain,  and  then  replying,  "  No 
offense  as  yet,''  applied  a  light  to  his  pipe  and  smoked  in 
placid  silence  ;  now  and  then  casting  a  sidelong  look  at  a 
man  wrapped  in  a  loose  riding-coat  with  huge  cuffs  orna- 
mented with  tarnished  silver  lace  and  large  metal  buttons, 
who  sat  apart  from  the  regular  frequenters  of  the  house,  and, 
wearing  a  hat  flapped  over  his  face,  which  was  still  further 
shaded  by  the  hand  on  which  his  forehead  rested,  looked 
unsociable  enough. 

There  was  another  guest,  who  sat,  booted  and  spurred,  at 
some  distance  from  the  fire  also,  and  whose  thoughts — to 
judge  from  his  folded  arms  and  knitted  brows,  and  from 
the  untasted  liquor  before  him — were  occupied  with  other 
matter  than  the  topics  under  discussion  or  the  persons  who 
discussed  them.  This  was  a  young  man  of  about  eight-and- 
twenty,  rather  above  the  middle  height,  and  though  of  a 
somewhat  slight  figure,  gracefully  and  strongly  made.  He 
wore  his  own  dark  hair,  and  was  accoutred  in  a  riding  dress, 
which  together  with  his  large  boots  (resembling  in  shape  and 
fashion  those  worn  by  our  Life  Guardsmen  at  the  present 
day),  showed  indisputable  traces  of  the  bad  condition  of  the 
roads.  But  travel-stained  though  he  was,  he  was  well  and 
even  richly  attired,  and  without  being  over-dressed  looked  a 
gallant  gentleman. 

Lying  upon  the  table  beside  him,  as  he  had  carelessly 
thrown  them  down,  were  a  heavy  riding  whip  and  a  slouched 
hat,  the  latter  worn  no  doubt  as  being  best  suited  to  the 
inclemency  of  the  weather.  There,  too,  were  a  pair  of  pis- 
tols in  a  holster-case,  and  a  short  riding-cloak.  Little  of  his 
face  was  visible,  except  the  long  dark  lashes  which  concealed 
his  downcast  eyes,  but  an  air  of  careless  ease  and  natural 
gracefulness  of  demeanor  pervaded  the  figure,  and  seemed 
to  comprehend  even  those  slight  accessories,  which  were  all 
handsome,  and  in  good  keeping. 

Toward  this  young  gentleman  the  eyes  of  Mr.  Willet  wan- 
dered but  once,  and  then  as  if  in  mute  inquiry  whether  he  had 
observed  his  sdlent  neighbor.     It  was  plain  that  John  and  the 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  n 

young  gentleman  had  often  met  before.  Fnding  that  his  look 
was  not  returned,  or  indeed  observed  by  the  person  to  whom 
it  wasaddressed,  John  gradually  concentrated  the  whole  power 
of  his  eyes  into  one  focus,  and  brought  it  to  bear  upon  the  nian 
in  the  flapped  hat,  at  whom  he  came  to  stare  in  course  of  time 
with  an  intensity  so  remarkable,  that  it  affected  his  fireside 
cronies,  who,  all,  as  with  one  accord,  took  their  pipes  from 
their  lips,  and  stared  with  open  mouths  at  the  stranger  like- 
wise. 

The  sturdy  landlord  had  a  large  pair  of  dull  fish-like  eyes, 
and  the  little  man  who  hazarded  the  remark  about  the  moon 
(and  who  was  the  parish  clerk  and  bell-ringer  of  Chigwell, 
a  village  hard  by)  had  little  round  black  shiny  eyes  like 
beads  ;  moreover  this  little  man  wore  at  the  knees  of  his 
rusty  black  breeches,  and  on  his  rusty  black  coat,  and  all 
down  his  long  flapped  waistcoat,  little  queer  buttons  like 
nothing  except  his  eyes  ;  but  so  like  them,  that  as  they 
twinkled  and  glistened  in  the  light  of  the  fire,  which  shone 
too  in  his  bright  shoe-buckles,  he  seemed  all  eyes  from  head 
to  foot,  and  to  be  gazing  with  every  one  of  them  at  the  un- 
known customer.  No  wonder  that  a  man  should  grow  rest- 
less under  such  an  inspection  as  this,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
eyes  belonging  to  short  Tom  Cobb  the  general  chandler  and 
post-office  keeper,  and  long  Phil  Parkes  the  ranger,  both  of 
whom,  infected  by  the  example  of  their  companions,  regarded 
him  of  the  flapped' hat  no  less  attentively. 

The  stranger  became  restless  ;  perhaps  from  being  exposed 
to  this  raking  fire  of  eyes,  perhaps  from  the  nature  of  his 
previous  meditations — most  probably  from  the  latter  cause, 
for  as  he  changed  his  position  and  looked  hastily  round,  he 
started  to  find  himself  the  object  of  such  keen  regard,  and 
darted  an  angry  and  suspicious  glance  at  the  fireside  group. 
It  had  the  effect  of  immediately  diverting  all  eyes  to  the 
chimney,  except  those  of  John  Willet,  who  finding  himself, 
as  it  were,  caught  in  the  fact,  and  not  being  (as  he  had  al- 
ready observed)  of  a  very  ready  nature,  remained  staring  at 
his  guest  in  a  particularly  awkward  and  disconcerted  man- 
ner. 

"  Well  ?  "  said  the  stranger. 

Well.  There  was  not  much  in  well.  It  was  not  a  long 
speech.  **  I  thought  you  gave  an  order,"  said  the  landlord, 
after  a  pause  of  two  or  three  minutes  for  consideration. 

The  stranger  took  off  his  hat,  and  disclosed  the  hard  feat- 
'■^*es  of  a  man  of  sixty  or  thereabouts,  much  weather-beaten 


12  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

and  worn  by  time,  and  the  naturally  harsh  expression  of 
which  was  not  improved  by  a  dark  handkerchief  which  was 
bound  tightly  round  his  head,  and,  while  it  served  the  pur- 
pose of  a  wig,  shaded  his  forehead,  and  almost  hid  his  eye- 
brows. If  it  were  intended  to  conceal  or  divert  attention 
from  a  deep  gash,  now  healed  into  an  ugly  seam,  which  when 
it  was  first  inflicted  must  have  laid  bare  his  cheekbone,  the 
object  was  but  indifferently  attained,  for  it  could  scarcely 
fail  to  be  noted  at  a  glance.  His  complexion  was  of  a  cadav- 
erous hue,  and  he  had  a  grizzly  jagged  beard  of  some  three 
weeks'  date.  Such  was  the  figure  (very  meanly  and  poorly 
clad)  that  now  rose  from  the  seat,  and  stalking  across  the 
room  sat  down  in  a  corner  of  the  chimney,  which  the  polite- 
ness or  fears  of  the  little  clerk  very  readily  assigned  to  him. 

"  A  highwayman  !  "  whispered  Tom  Cobb  to  Parkes  the 
ranger. 

"  Do  you  suppose  highwaymen  don't  dress  handsomer 
than  that?"  replied  Parkes.  *' It's  a  better  business  than 
you  think  for,  Tom,  and  highwaymen  don't  need  or  use  to  be 
shabby,  take  my  word  for  it." 

Meanwhile  the  subject  of  their  speculations  had  done  due 
honor  to  the  house  by  calling  for  some  drink,  which  was 
promptly  supplied  by  the  landlord's  son  Joe,  a  broad-shoul- 
dered strapping  young  fellow  of  twenty,  whom  it  pleased  his 
father  still  to  consider  a  little  boy,  and  to  treat  accordingly. 
Stretching  out  his  hands  to  warm  them  by  the  blazing  fire, 
the  man  turned  his  head  toward  the  company,  and  after  run- 
ning his  eye  sharply  over  them,  said  in  a  voice  well  suited  to 
his  appearance  : 

"  What  house  is  that  which  stands  a  mile  or  so  from  here  ? " 

"  Public-house  ? "  said  the  landlord,  with  his  usual  de- 
liberation. 

"Public-house,  father!"  exclaimed  Joe,  "where's  the 
public-house  within  a  mile  or  so  of  the  Maypole  ?  He  means 
the  great  house — the  Warren— naturally  and  of  course.  The 
old  red  brick  house,  sir,  that  stands  in  its  own  grounds —  ?  " 

**  Ay,"  said  the  stranger. 
And  that  fifteen  or  twenty  years  ago  stood  in  a  park  five 
times  as  broad,  which  with  other  and  richer  property  has  bit 
by    bit    changed   hands    and    dwindled    away — more's  the 
pity  !  "  pursued  the  young  man. 

"  May  be,"  was  the  reply.  "  But  my  question  related  to 
the  owner.  What  it  has  been  I  don't  care  to  know,  and 
what  it  is  I  can  see  for  myself." 


BARNABY  ^UDGE.  13 

The  heir-apparent  to  the  jVr«fp(>ie  pressed  his  finger  on 
his  lips,  and  glancing  at  th^  young  gentleman  already  noticed, 
who  had  changed  his  attitude  when  the  house  was  first  men- 
tioned, replied  in  a  lower  tone  : 

*'  The  owner's  name  is  Haredale,  Mr.  Geoffrey  Haredale, 
and  " — again  he  glanced  in  the  same  direction  as  before — 
"  and  a  worthy  gentleman  too — hem  !  " 

Paying  as  little  regard  to  this  admonitory  cough,  as  to  the 
significant  gesture  that  had  preceded  it,  the  stranger  pursued 
his  questioning. 

*'  I  turned  out  of  my  way  coming  here,  and  took  the  foot- 
path that  crosses  the  grounds.  Who  was  the  young  lady 
that  I  saw  entering  a  carriage  ?     His  daughter  ?  " 

"  Why,  how  should  I  know,  honest  man  ?  "  replied  Joe, 
contriving  in  the  course  of  some  arrangements  about  the 
hearth,  to  advance  close  to  his  questioner  and  pluck  him  by 
the  sleeves,  "  /  didn't  see  the  young  lady  you  know. 
Whew  !  There's  the  wind  again — and  rain — well  it  is  a 
night  !  " 

"  Rough  weather,  indeed  !  "  observed  the  strange  man. 

"  You're  used  to  it  1  "  said  Joe,  catching  at  any  thing  which 
seemed  to  promise  a  diversion  of  the  subject. 

"  Pretty  well,"  returned  the  other.  "  About  the  young 
lady — has  Mr.  Haredale  a  daughter  ?  " 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  young  fellow  fretfully,  "  he's  a  single 
gentleman — he's — be  quiet,  can't  you,  man  ?  •  Don't  you  see 
this  talk  is  not  relished  yonder  !  " 

Regardless  of  this  whispered  remonstrance,  and  affecting 
not  to  hear  it,  his  tormentor  provokingly  continued  : 

"  Single  men  have  had  daughters  before  now.  Perhaps 
she  may  be  his  daughter,  though  he  is  not  married." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  said  Joe,  adding  in  an  under  tone 
as  he  approached  him  again,  "  you'll  come  in  for  it  presently, 
I  know  you  will !  " 

"  I  mean  no  harm,"  returned  the  traveler,  boldly,  "and 
have  said  none  that  I  know  of.  I  ask  a  few  questions — as 
any  stranger  may,  and  not  unnaturally — about  the  inmates 
of  a  remarkable  house  in  a  neighborhood  which  is  new  to  me, 
and  you  are  as  aghast  and  disturbed  as  if  I  were  talking 
treason  against  King  George.  Perhaps  you  can  tell  me  why, 
sir,  for  (as  I  say)    I  am    a   stranger,    and  this  is  Greek  to 


me 


The  latter  observation  was  addressed  to  the  obvious  cause 
of  Joe  Willet's  discomposure,  who  had  risen  and  was  adjust- 


14  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

ing  his  riding -cloak  preparatory  to  sallying  abroad.  Briefly 
replying  that  he  could  give  him  no  information,  the  young 
man  beckoned  to  Joe,  and  handing  him  a  piece  of  money  in 
payment  of  his  reckoning,  hurried  out  attended  by  young 
Willet  himself,  who,  taking  up  a  candle,  followed  to  light  him 
to  the  house  door. 

While  Joe  was  absent  on  this  errand,  the  elder  Willet  and 
his  three  companions  continued  to  smoke  with  profound 
gravity  and  in  a  deep  silence,  each  having  his  eyes  fixed  on 
a  huge  copper  boiler  that  was  suspended  over  the  fire.  After 
some  time  John  Willet  slowly  shook  his  head,  and  thereupon 
his  friends  slowly  shook  theirs  ;  but  no  man  withdrew  his 
eyes  from  the  boiler,  or  altered  the  solemn  expression  of  his 
countenance  in  the  slightest  degree. 

At  length  Joe  returned — very  talkative  and  conciliatory, 
as  though  with  a  strong  presentiment  that  he  was  going  to  be 
found  fault  with. 

*'  Such  a  thing  as  love  is  !  "  he  said,  drawing  a  chair  near 
the  fire,  and  looking  round  for  sympathy.  "He  has  set  off 
to  walk  to  London — all  the  way  to  London.  His  nag  gone 
lame  in  riding  out  here  this  blessed  afternoon,  and  comfort- 
ably littered  down  in  our  stable  at  this  minute  ;  and  he  giv- 
ing up  a  good  hot  supper  and  our  best  bed,  because  Miss 
Haredale  has  gone  to  a  masquerade  up  in  town,  and  he  has 
set  his  heart  upon  seeing  her  !  I  don't  think  I  could  per- 
suade myself  to  do  that,  beautiful  as  she  is — but  then  I'm 
not  in  love  (at  least  I  don't  think  I  am),  and  that's  the 
whole  difference." 

**  He  is  in  love  then  ?  "  said  the  stranger. 

"  Rather,"  replied  Joe.  '^  He'll  never  be  more  in  love,  an4 
may  very  easily  be  less," 

'*  Silence,  sir  !  "  cried  his  father. 

'*  What  a  chap  you  are,  Joe  !  "  said  Long  Parkes. 

"  Such  a  inconsiderate  lad  !  "  murmured  Tom  Cobb. 

"  Putting  himself  forward  and  wringing  the  very  nose  off 
his  own  father's  face  !  "  exclaimed  the  parish-clerk,  meta- 
phorically. 

"  What  have  I  done  ?  "  reasoned  poor  Joe. 

*'  Silence,  sir  !  "  returned  his  father,  "  what  do  you  mean 
by  talking,  when  you  see  people  that  are  more  than  two  or 
three  times  your  age  sitting  still  and  silent  and  not  dream- 
ing  of  saying  a  word  ?  " 

"  Why  that's  the  proper  time  for  me  to  talk,  isn't  it  t  "  said 
Joe,  rebelliously. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  15 

"The  proper  time,  sir  !  "  retorted  his  father,  "the  proper 
time's  no  time." 

"  Ah,  to  be  sure  !  "  muttered  Parkes,  nodding  gravely  to 
the  other  two  who  nodded  likewise,  observing  under  their 
breaths  that  that  was  the  point. 

"  The  proper  time's  no  time,  sir,"  repeated  John  Willet  ; 
"  when  I  was  your  age  I  never  talked,  I  never  wanted  to  talk. 
I  listened  and  improved  myself,  that's  what  /  did." 

"  And  you'd  find  your  father  rather  a  tough  customer  in 
argeyment,  Joe,  if  any  body  was  to  try  and  tackle  him," 
remarked  Parkes. 

"  For  the  matter  o'  that,  Phil  !  "  observed  Mr.  Willet, 
blowing  a  long,  thin,  spiral  cloud  of  smoke  out  of  the  corner 
of  his  mouth,  and  staring  at  it  abstractedly  as  it  floated 
away;  "  for  the  matter  o'  that,  Phil,  argeyment  is  a  gifr 
of  natur.  If  natur  has  gifted  a  man  with  the  powers  of 
argeyment,  a  man  has  a  right  to  make  the  best  of  *em,  and 
has  not  a  right  to  stand  on  false  delicacy,  and  deny  that  he 
is  so  gifted  ;  for  that  is  a  turning  of  his  back  on  natur,  a 
flouting  of  her,  a  slighting  of  her  precious-  caskets,  and  a 
proving  of  one's  self  to  be  a  swine  that  isn't  worth  her  scat- 
tering pearls  before." 

The  landlord  pausing  here  for  a  very  long  time,  Mr. 
Parkes  naturally  concluded  that  he  had  brought  his  discourse 
to  an  end  ;  and  therefore,  turning  to  the  young  man  with 
some  austerity,  exclaimed  : 

"You  hear  what  your  father  says,  Joe?  You  wouldn't 
much  like  to  tackle  him  in  argeyment,  I'm  thinking, 
sir." 

"  If,"  said  John  Willet,  turning  his  eyes  from  the  ceiling 
to  the  face  of  his  interrupter,  and  uttering  the  monosyllable 
in  capitals,  to  apprise  him  that  he  had  put  in  his  oar,  as  the 
vulgar  say,  with  unbecoming  and  irreverent  haste  ;  "  If,  sir, 
natur  has  fixed  upon  me  the  gift  of  argeyment,  why  should 
I  not  own  to  it,  and  rather  glory  in  the  same  ?  Yes,  sir,  I 
am  a  tough  customer  that  way.  You  are  right,  sir.  My 
toughness  has  been  proved,  sir,  in  this  room  many  and  many 
a  time,  as  I  think  you  know  ;  and  if  you  don't  know,"  added 
John^  putting  his  pipe  in  his  mouth  again,  "  so  much  the 
better,  for  I  an't  proud  and  am  not  going  to  tell  you." 

A  general  murmur  from  his  three  cronies,  and  a  general 
shaking  of  heads  at  the  copper  boiler,  assured  John  Willet 
that  they  had  had  good  experience  of  his  powers,  and  needed 
no  further  evidence  to  assure  them  of  his  3uperiQrity.     John 


i6  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

smoked  with  a  little  more  dignity  and  surveyed  them  in 
silence. 

"  It's  all  very  fine  talking,"  muttered  Joe,  who  had  been 
fidgeting  in  his  chair  with  divers  uneasy  gestures.  "  But  if 
you  mean  to  tell  me  that  I'm   never  to  open  my  lips — " 

**  Silence,  sir  !  "  roared  his  father.  ''  No,  you  never  are. 
When  your  opinion's  wanted,  you  give  it.  When  you're 
spoke  to,  you  speak.  When  your  opinion's  not  wanted  and 
you're  not  spoke  to,  don't  give  an  opinion  and  don't  you 
speak.  The  world's  undergone  a  nice  alteration  since  my 
time,  certainly.  My  belief  is  that  there  an't  any  boys 
left — that  there  isn't  such  a  thing  as  a  boy — that  there's 
nothing  now  between  a  male  baby  and  a  man — and  that  all 
the  boys  went  out  with  his  blessed  majesty  King  George  the 
Second." 

*'  That's  a  very  true  observation,  always  excepting  the 
young  princes,"  said  the  parish-clerk,  who,  as  the  repre- 
sentative of  church  and  state  in  that  company,  held  himself 
bound  to  the  nicest  loyalty.  "  If  it's  godly  and  righteous 
for  boys,  being  of  the  ages  of  boys,  to  behave  themselves 
like  boys,  then  the  young  princes  must  be  boys  and  can  not 
be  otherwise." 

*'  Did  you  ever  hear  tell  of  mermaids,  sir } "  said  Mr. 
Willet. 

"Certainly  I  have,"  replied  the  clerk. 

"  Very  good,"  said  Mr.  Willet.  "  According  to  the  con- 
stitution of  mermaids,  so  much  of  a  mermaid  as  is  not  a 
woman  must  be  a  fish.  According  to  the  constitution  of 
young  princes,  so  much  of  a  young  prince  (if  any  thing)  as 
is  not  actually  an  angel,  must  be  godly  and  righteous. 
Therefore  if  it's  becoming  and  godly  and  righteous  in  the 
young  princes  (as  it  is  at  their  ages)  that  they  should  be 
boys,  they  are  and  must  be  boys,  and  can  not  by  possi- 
bility be  any  thing  else." 

This  elucidation  of  a  knotty  point  being  received  with 
such  marks  of  approval  as  to  put  John  Willet  into  a  good 
humor,  he  contented  himself  with  repeating  to  his  son 
his  command  of  silence,  and  addressing  the  stranger, 
said  : 

"  If  you  }md  asked  your  questions  of  a  grown-up  person 
— of  me  or  any  of  these  gentlemen — you'd  have  had  some 
satisfaction,  and  wouldn't  have  wasted  breath.  Miss  Hare- 
dale  is  Mr.  Geoffrey  Haredale's  niece." 

"Is  her  father  alive  ?  "  said  the  man,  carelessly. 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


17 


"  No,"  rejoined  the  landlord,  "  he  is  not  alive  and  he  is 
not  dead — " 

*'  Not  dead  !  "  cried  the  other. 

"  Not  dead  in  a  common  sort  of  way,"  said  the  landlord. 

The  cronies  nodded  to  each  other,  and  Mr.  Parkes  re- 
marked in  an  undertone,  shaking  his  head  meanwhile  as 
who  should  say,  "  let  no  man  contradict  me,  for  I  won't 
believe  him,"  that  John  Willet  was  in  amazing  force 
to-night,  and  fit  to  tackle  a  chief-justice. 

The  stranger  suffered  a  short  pause  to  elapse,  and  then 
asked  abruptly,  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

**  More  than  you  think  for,  friend,"  returned  John  Wil- 
let. "  Perhaps  there's  more  meaning  in  them  words  than 
you  suspect." 

"  Perhaps  there  is,"  said  the  strange  man,  gruffly  ;  "  but 
what  the  devil  do  you  speak  in  such  mysteries  for  ?  You  tell 
me,  first,  that  a  man  is  not  alive,  nor  yet  dead — then  that  he's 
not  dead  in  a  common  sort  of  way — then,  that  you  mean  a 
great  deal  more  than  I  think  for.  To  tell  you  the  truth,  you 
may  do  that  easily  ;  for  so  far  as  I  can  make  out,  you  mean 
nothing.     What  do  you  mean,  I  ask  again  ?  " 

"  That,"  returned  the  landlord,  a  little  brought  down  from 
his  dignity  by  the  stranger's  surliness,  "  is  a  Maypole  story, 
and  has  been  any  time  these  four  and  twenty  years.  That 
story  is  Solomon  Daisy's  story.  It  belongs  to  the  house  ; 
and  nobody  but  Solomon  Daisy  has  ever  told  it  under  this 
roof,  or  ever  shall — that's  more." 

The  man  glanced  at  the  parjsh- clerk,  whose  air  of  con- 
sciousness and  importance  plainly  betokened  him  to  be  the 
person  referred  to,  and,  observing  that  he  had  taken  his  pipe 
from  his  lips,  after  a  very  long  whiff  to  keep  it  alight,  and 
was  evidently  about  to  tell  his  story  without  further  solicita- 
tion, gathered  his  large  coat  about  him,  and  shrinking 
further  back  was  almost  lost  in  the  gloom  of  the  spacious 
chimney  corner,  except  when  the  flame,  struggling  from 
under  a  great  fagot,  whose  weight  almost  crushed  it  for 
the  time,  shot  upward  with  a  strong  and  sudden  glare,  and 
illumining  his  figure  for  a  moment,  seemed  afterward  to  cast 
it  into  deeper  obscurity  than  before. 

By  this  flickering  light,  which  made  the  old  room,  with  its 
heavy  timbers  and  paneled  walls,  look  as  if  it  were  built  of 
polished  ebony — the  wind  roaring  and  howling  without,  now 
rattling  the  latch  and  creaking  the  hinges  of  the  stout  oaken 
door,  and  now  driving  at  the  casement  as  though  it  would 


i8  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

beat  it  in — by  this  light,  and  under  circumstances  so  auspi. 
cious,  Solomon  Daisy  began  his  tale  : 

"  It  was  Mr.  Reuben  Haredale,  Mr.  Geoffrey's  eldei 
brother — " 

Here  he  came  to  a  dead  stop,  and  made  so  long  a  pause 
that  even  John  Willet  grew  impatient  and  asked  why  he  did 
not  proceed. 

"  Cob,"  said  Solomon  Daisy,  dropping  his  voice  and 
appealing  to  the  post-office  keeper,  "  what  day  of  the  month 
is  this  ? " 

'*  The  nineteenth." 

"  Of  March,"  said  the  clerk,  bending  forward,  "  the  nine- 
teenth of  March  ;  that's  very  strange." 

In  a  low  voice  they  all  acquiesced,  and  Solomon  went 
on  : 

"  It  was  Mr.  Reuben  Haredale,  Mr.  Geoffrey's  elder 
brother,  that  twenty-two  years  ago  was  the  owner  of  the 
Warren,  which,  as  Joe  has  said — not  that  you  remember  it, 
Joe,  for  a  boy  like  you  can't  do  that,  but  because  you  have 
often  heard  me  say  so — was  then  a  much  larger  and  better 
place,  and  a  much  more  valuable  property  than  it  is  now. 
His  lady  was  lately  dead,  and  he  was  left  with  one  child — 
the  Miss  Haredale  you  have  been  inquiring  about — who  was 
then  scarcely  a  year  old." 

Although  the  speaker  addressed  himself  to  the  man  who 
had  shown  so  much  curiosity  about  this  same  family,  and 
made  a  pause  here  as  if  expecting  some  exclamation  of  sur- 
prise or  encouragement,  the  latter  made  no  remark,  or  gave 
any  indication  that  he  heard  or  was  interested  in  what  was 
said.  Solomon  therefore  turned  to  his  old  companions, 
whose  noses  were  brightly  illuminated  by  the  deep  red  glow 
from  the  bowls  of  their  pipes  ;  assured,  by  long  experience, 
of  their  attention,  and  resolved  to  show  his  sense  of  such 
indecent  behavior. 

"  Mr.  Haredale,"  said  Solomon,  turning  his  back  upon  the 
strange  man,  "left  this  place  when  his  lady  died,  feeling  it 
lonely  like,  and  went  up  to  London,  where  he  stopped  some 
months  ;  but  finding  that  place  as  lonely  as  this — as  I  sup- 
pose and  have  always  heard  say — he  suddenly  came  back 
again  with  his  little  girl  to  the  Warren,  bringing  with  him 
besides,  that  day,  only  two  women  servants,  and  a  steward 
and  a  gardener." 

Mr.  Daisy  stopped  to  take  a  whiff  at  his  pipe,  which  was 
going  out,  and  then  proceeded— at  first  in  a  snuffling  tone, 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  19 

occasioned  by  keen  enjoyment  of  the  tobacco  and  strong 
pulling  at  the  pipe,  and  afterward  with  increasing  distinct- 
ness : 

" — Bringing  with  him  two  women  servants,  and  his 
steward,  and  a  gardener.  The  rest  stopped  behind  up  in 
London,  and  were  to  follow  next  day.  It  happened  that 
that  night,  an  old  gentleman  who  lived  at  Chigwell  Row, 
and  had  long  been  poorly,  deceased,  and  an  order  came  to 
me  at  half  after  twelve  o'clock  at  night  to  go  and  toll  the 
passing-bell." 

There  was  a  movement  in  the  little  group  of  listeners, 
sufficiently  indicative  of  the  strong  repugnance  any  one  of 
them  would  have  felt  to  have  turned  out  at  such  a  time  upon 
such  an  errand.  The  clerk  felt  and  understood  it,  and  pur- 
sued his  theme  accordingly. 

*' It  w^^  a  dreary  thing,  especially  as  the  grave-digger  was 
laid  up  in  his  bed,  from  long  working  in  a  damp  soil  and  sit- 
ting down  to  take  his  dinner  on  cold  tombstones,  and  I  was 
consequently  under  obligation  to  go  alone,  for  it  was  too  late 
to  hope  to  get  any  other  companion.  However,  I  wasn't  unpre- 
pared for  it  ;  as  the  old  gentleman  had  often  made  it  a 
request  that  the  bell  should  be  tolled  as  soon  as  possible  after 
the  breath  was  out  of  his  body,  and  he  had  been  expected  to 
go  for  some  days.  I  put  as  good  a  face  upon  it  as  I  could, 
and  muffling  myself  up  (for  it  was  mortal  cold),  started  out 
with  a  lighted  lantern  in  one  hand  and  the  key  of  the  church 
in  the  other." 

At  this  point  of  the  narrative,  the  dress  of  the  strange  man 
rustled,  as  if  he  had  turned  himself  to  hear  more  distinctly. 
Slightly  pointing  over  his  shoulder,  Solomon  elevated  his 
eyebrows  and  nodded  a  silent  inquiry  to  Joe  whether  this 
was  the  case.  Joe  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand  and  peered 
into  the  corner,  but  could  make  out  nothing,  and  so  shook 
his  head; 

"  It  was  just  such  a  night  as  this  ;  blowing  a  hurricane, 
raining  heavily,  and  very  dark — I  often  think  now,  darker 
than  I  ever  saw  it  before  or  since ;  that  may  be  my  fancy, 
but  the  houses  were  all  close  shut  and  the  folk  indoors,  and 
perhaps  there  is  only  one  other  man  who  knows  how  dark  it 
really  was.  I  got  into  the  church,  chained  the  door  back  so 
that  it  should  keep  ajar — for,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  didn't  like 
to  be  shut  in  there  alone — and  putting  my  lantern  on  the 
stone  seat  in  the  little  corner  where  the  bell  rope  is,  sat  down 
beside  it  to  trim  the  candle. 


20  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  I  sat  down  to  trim  the  candle,  and  when  I  had  done  so  I 
could  not  persuade  myself  to  get  up  again,  and  go  about  my 
work.  I  don't  know  how  it  was  but  I  thought  of  all  the  ghost 
stories  I  had  ever  heard,  even  those  that  I  had  heard  when  I 
was  a  boy  at  school,  and  had  forgotten  long  ago  ;  and  they 
didn't  come  into  my  mind  one  after  another,  but  all  crowding 
at  once,  like.  I  recollected  one  story  there  was  in  the  vil- 
lage, how  that  on  a  certain  night  in  the  year  (it  might  be 
that  very  night  for  any  thing  I  knew),  all  the  dead  people 
came  out  of  the  ground  and  sat  at  the  heads  of  their  own 
graves  till  morning.  This  made  me  think  how  many  people 
1  had  known  were  buried  between  the  church  door  and  the 
church-yard  gate,  and  what  a  dreadful  thing  it  would  be  to 
have  to  pass  among  them  and  know  them  again,  so  earthy 
and  unlike  themselves.  I  had  known  all  the  niches  and 
arches  in  the  church  from  a  child  ;  still,  I  couldn't  persuade 
myself  that  those  were  their  natural  shadows  which  I  saw  on 
the  pavement,  but  felt  sure  that  there  were  some  ugly  figures 
hiding  among  'em  and  peeping  out.  Thinking  on  in  this 
way,  I  began  to  think  of  the  old  gentleman  who  was  just 
dead,  and  I  could  have  sworn,  as  I  looked  up  the  dark  chan- 
cel, that  I  saw  him  in  his  usual  place,  <vrapping  his  shroud 
about  him  and  shivering  as  if  he  felt  it  cold.  All  this  time 
I  sat  listening  and  listening,  and  hardly  dared  to  breathe. 
At  length  I  started  up  and  took  the  bell  rope  in  my  hands. 
At  that  minute  there  rang — not  that  bell,  for  I  had  hardly 
touched  the  rope — but  another. 

"  I  heard  the  ^^inging  of  another  bell,  and  a  deep  bell  too, 
plainly.  It  was  only  for  an  instant,  and  even  then  the  wind 
carried  the  sound  away,  but  I  heard  it.  I  listened  for  a  long 
time,  but  it  rang  no  more.  I  had  heard  of  corpse  candles,  and 
at  last  I  persuaded  myself  that  this  must  be  a  corpse  bell  toll- 
ing of  itself  a*:,  midnight  for  the  dead.  I  tolled  my  bell — 
how  or  how  Jong,  I  don't  know — and  ran  home  to  bed  as  fast 
as  I  could  touch  the  ground. 

"  I  was  up  early  next  morning  after  a  restless  night,  and 
told  the  story  to  my  neighbors.  Some  were  serious  and 
some  mad'^  light  of  it  ;  I  don't  think  any  body  believed  it  real. 
But,  that  morning,  Mr.  Reuben  Haredale  was  found  murdered 
in  his  be  i-chamber  ;  and  in  his  hand  was  a  piece  of  the  cord 
attached  to  an  alarm-bell  outside  the  roof,  which  hung  in 
his  room  and  had  been  cut  asunder,  no  doubt  by  the  mur- 
'HjTfcir,  when  he  seized  it. 

'"hat  was  the  bell  I  heard. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  21 

"  A  bureau  was  found  opened,  and  a  cash-box,  which  Mr. 
Haredale  had  brought  down  that  day,  and  was  supposed  to 
contain  a  large  sum  of  money,  was  gone.  The  steward  and 
gardener  were  both  missing  and  both  suspected  for  a  long 
time,  but  they  were  never  found  though  hunted  far  and  wide. 
And  far  enough  they  might  have  looked  for  poor  Mr.  Rudge 
the  steward,  whose  body — scarcely  to  be  recognized  by  his 
clothes  and  the  watch  and  ring  he  wore — was  found  months 
afterward,  at  the  bottom  of  a  piece  of  water  in  the  grounds, 
with  a  deep  gash  in  his  breast  where  he  had  been  stabbed 
with  a  knife.  He  was  only  partly  dressed  ;  and  people  all 
agreed  that  he  had  been  sitting  up  reading  in  his  own  room, 
where  there  were  many  traces  of  blood,  and  was  suddenly 
fallen  upon  and  killed  before  his  master. 

"  Every  body  now  knew  that  the  gardener  must  be  the 
murderer,  and  though  he  has  never  been  heard  of  from  that 
day  to  this,  he  will  be,  mark  my  words.  The  crime  was 
committed  this  day  two-and-twenty  years — on  the  nineteenth 
of  March,  one  thousand  seven  hundred  and  fifty-three.  On 
the  nineteenth  of  March  of  some  year — no  matter  when — I 
know  it,  I  am  sure  of  it,  for  we  have  always,  in  some  strange 
way  or  other,  been  brought  back  to  the  subject  on  that  day 
ever  since — on  the  nineteenth  of  March  in  some  year,  sooner 
or  later,  that  man  will  be  discovered." 


CHAPTER  II. 

*'  A  strange  story  !  "  said  the  man  who  had  been  the  cause 
of  the  narration.  *'  Stranger  still  if  it  comes  about  as  you 
predict.     Is  that  all  ?  " 

A  question  so  unexpected  nettled  Solomon  Daisy  not  a 
little.  By  dint  of  relating  the  story  very  often,  and  ornament- 
ing it  (according  to  village  report)  with  a  few  flourishes  sug- 
gested by  the  various  hearers  from  time  to  time,  he  had 
come  by  degrees  to  tell  it  with  great  effect  ;  and  "  is  that 
all  ? "  after  the  climax,  was  not  what  he  was  accustomed  to. 

"Is  that  all?  "he  repeated,  "yes,  that's  all,  sir.  And 
enough  too,  I  think." 

"  I  think  so,  too.  My  horse,  young  man  !  He  is  but  a  hack 
hired  from  a  roadside  posting  house,  but  he  must  carry  me 
to  London  to-night." 

"  To-night  !  "  said  Joe. 

"  To-night,"  returned  the  other.     "  What  do  you  stare  at  ? 


22  BARNABY  RUDG1«. 

This  tavern  would  seem  to  be  a  house  ot  call  for  all  the  gap- 
ing idlers  of  the  neighborhood  !  " 

At  this  remark,  which  evidently  had  reference  to  the 
scrutiny  he  had  undergone,  as  mentioned  in  the  fore- 
going chapter,  the  eyes  of  John  Willet  and  his  friends  were 
diverted  with  marvelous  rapidity  to  the  copper  boiler 
again.  Not  so  with  Joe,  who,  being  a  mettlesome  fellow, 
returned  the  stranger's  angry  glance  with  a  steady  look,  and 
rejoined  : 

"  It  is  not  a  very  bold  thing  to  wonder  at  your  going  on  to- 
night. Surely  you  have  been  asked  such  a  harmless  ques- 
tion in  an  inn  before,  and  in  better  weather  than  this.  I 
thought  you  mightn't  know  the  way,  as  you  seem  strange  in 
this  part." 

**  The  way — "  repeated  the  other,  irritably. 

"  Yes.     Do  you  know  it  ? " 

"  I'll — humph  ! — I'll  find  it,"  replied  the  man,  waving  his 
hand  and  turning  on  his  heel.  "  Landlord,  take  the  reckon- 
ing here." 

John  Willet  did  as  he  was  desired  ;  for  on  that  point  he 
was  seldom  slow,  except  in  the  particulars  of  giving  change, 
and  testing  the  goodness  of  any  piece  of  coin  that  was  prof- 
fered to  him,  by  the  application  of  his  teeth  or  his  tongue, 
or  some  other  test,  or  in  doubtful  cases,  by  a  long  series  of 
tests  terminating  in  its  rejection.  The  guest  then  wrapped 
his  garments  about  him  s©  as  to  shelter  himself  as  effectu- 
ally as  he  could  from  the  rough  weather,  and  without  any 
word  or  sign  of  farewell  betook  himself  to  the  stable-yard. 
Here  Joe  (who  had  left  the  room  on  the  conclusion  of  their 
short  dialogue)  was  protecting  himself  and  the  horse  from 
the  rain  under  the  shelter  of  an  old  pent-house  roof. 

"  He's  pretty  much  of  my  opinion,"  said  Joe,  patting 
the  horse  upon  the  neck.  *'  I'll  wager  that  your  stopping 
here  to-night  would  please  him  better  than  it  would  please 
me." 

"  He  and  I  are  of  different  opinions,  as  we  have  been  more 
than  once  on  our  wny  here,"  was  the  short  reply. 

**  So  I  was  thinking  before  you  came  out,  for  he  has  felt 
your  spurs,  poor  beast." 

The  stranger  adjusted  his  coat-collar  about  his  face,  and 
made  no  answer. 

"You'll  know  me  again,  I  see,"  he  said,  marking  the 
young  fellow's  earnest  gaze,  when  he  had  sprung  into  the 
saddle. 


BARNABY  RUDGK  23 

"  The  man's  worth  knowing,  master,  who  travels  a  road  he 
don't  know,  mounted  on  a  jaded  horse,  and  leaves  good 
quarters  to  do  it  on  such  a  night  as  this." 

"  You  have  sharp  eyes  and  a  sharp  tongue  I  find." 

'*  Both  I  hope  by  nature,  but  the  last  grows  rusty  some- 
times for  want  of  using." 

"  Use  the  first  less  too,  and  keep  your  sharpness  for  your 
sweethearts,  boy,"  said  the  man. 

So  saying  he  shook  his  hand  from  the  bridle,  struck  him 
heavily  on  the  head  with  the  butt  end  of  his  whip,  and  gal- 
loped away  ;  dashing  through  the  mud  and  darkness  with  a 
headlong  speed,  which  few  badly  mounted  horsemen  would 
have  cared  to  venture,  even  had  they  been  thoroughly  ac- 
quainted with  the  country  ;  and  which,  to  one  who  knew 
nothing  of  the  way  he  rode,  was  attended  at  every  step  with 
great  hazard  and  danger. 

The  roads,  even  within  twelve  miles  of  London,  were  at  that 
time  ill  paved,  seldom  repaired,  and  very  badly  made.  The 
way  this  rider  traversed  had  been  plowed  up  by  the  wheels  of 
heavy  wagons,  and  rendered  rotten  by  the  frosts  and  thaws  of 
the  preceding  winter,  or  possibly  of  many  winters.  Great  holes 
and  gaps  had  been  worn  into  the  soil,  which,  being  now  filled 
with  water  from  the  late  rains,  were  not  easily  distinguishable 
even  by  day  ;  and  a  plunge  into  any  one  of  them  might  have 
brought  down  a  surer-footed  horse  than  the  poor  beast  now 
urged  forward  to  the  utmost  extent  of  his  powers.  Sharp  flints 
and  stones  rolled  from  under  his  hoofs  continually  ;  the  rider 
could  scarcely  see  beyond  the  animal's  head,  or  further  on 
either  side  than  his  own  arm  would  have  extended.  At  that 
time,  too,  all  the  roads  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  metrop- 
olis were  infested  by  footpads  or  highwaymen,  and  it  was 
a  ni.q^ht,  of  all  others,  in  which  any  evil-disposed  person  of 
this  class  might  have  pursued  his  unlawful  calling  with  little 
fear  of  detection. 

Still  the  traveler  dashed  forward  at  the  same  reckless 
pace,  regardless  alike  of  the  dirt  and  wet  which  flew  about 
his  head,  the  profound  darkness  of  the  night,  and  the  proba- 
bility of  encountering  some  desperate  characters  abroad. 
At  every  turn  and  angle,  even  where  a  deviation  from  the 
direct  course  might  have  been  least  expected,  and  could  not 
possibly  be  seen  until  he  was  close  upon  it,  he  guided  the 
bridle  with  an  unerring  hand,  and  kept  the  middle  of  the  road. 
Thus  he  sped  onward,  raising  himself  in  the  stirrups,  lean- 
ing his  body  forward  until  it  almost  touched  the  horse's 


24  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

neck,  and  flourishing  his  heavy  whip  above  his  head  with 
the  fervor  of  a  madman. 

There  are  times  when,  the  elements  being  in  unusual  com- 
motion, those  who  are  bent  on  daring  enterprises,  or  agitated 
by  great  thoughts,  whether  of  good  or  evil,  feel  a  mysterious 
sympathy  with  the  tumult  of  nature,  and  are  roused  into  cor- 
responding violence.  In  the  midst  of  thunder,  lightning, 
and  storm,  many  tremendous  deeds  have  been  committed  ; 
men,  self-possessed  before,  have  given  a  sudden  loose  to 
passions  they  could  no  longer  control.  The  demons  of 
wrath  and  despair  have  striven  to  emulate  those  who  ride 
the  whirlwind  and  direct  the  storm  ;  and  man,  lashed  into 
madness  with  the  roaring  winds  and  boiling  waters,  has  be- 
come for  the  time  as  wild  and  merciless  as  the  elements 
themselves. 

Whether  the  traveler  was  possessed  by  thoughts  which  the 
fury  of  the  night  had  heated  and  stimulated  into  a  quicker 
current,  or  was  merely  impelled  by  some  strong  motive  to 
reach  his  journey's  end,  on  he  swept  more  like  a  hunted 
phantom  than  a  man,  nor  checked  his  pace  until,  arriving  at 
some  cross-roads,  one  of  which  led  by  a  longer  route  to  the 
place  whence  he  had  lately  started,  he  bore  down  so  sud- 
denly upon  a  vehicle  which  was  coming  toward  him,  that  in 
the  effort  to  avoid  it  he  well-nigh  pulled  his  horse  upon  his 
haunches,  and  narrowly  escaped  being  thrown. 

"  Yoho  !  "  cried  the  voice  of  a  man.  "  What's  that  ?  who 
goes  there  ?" 

"A  friend  !  "  replied  the  traveler. 

"  A  friend  !  "  repeated  the  voice.  "  Who  calls  himself  a 
friend  and  rides  like  that,  abusing  heaven's  gifts  in  the  shape 
of  horse  flesh,  and  endangering,  not  only  his  own  neck  (which 
might  be  no  great  matter)  but  the  necks  of  other  people  ?  " 

*'  You  have  a  lantern  there,  I  see,"  said  the  traveler  dis- 
mounting ;  "  lend  it  me  for  a  moment.  You  have  wounded 
my  horse,  I  think,  with  your  shaft  or  wheel." 

"VVounded  him  !"  cried  the  other,  "If  I  haven't  killed 
him,  it's  no  fault  of  yours.  What  do  you  mean  by  galloping 
along  the  king's  highway  like  that,  eh  ?" 

"  Give  me  the  light,"  returned  the  traveler,  snatching  it 
from  his  hand,  "  and  don't  ask  idle  questions  of  a  man  who 
is  in  no  mood  for  talking." 

"  If  you  had  said  you  were  in  no  mood  for  talking  before, 
I  should  perhaps  have  been  in  no  mood  for  lighting,"  said 
the  voice.     "  Hows'ever,  as  it's  the  poor  horse  that's  dam- 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  25 

aged  and  not  you,  one  of  you  is  welcome  to  the  light  at  all 
events — but  it's  not  the  crusty  one." 

The  traveler  returned  no  answer  to  this  speech,  but  hold- 
ing the  light  near  to  his  panting  and  reeking  beast,  examined 
him  in  limb  and  carcass.  Meanwhile,  the  other  man  sat 
very  composedly  in  his  vehicle,  which  was  a  kind  of  chaise 
with  a  depository  for  a  large  bag  of  tools,  and  watched  his 
proceedings  with  a  careful  eye. 

The  looker-on  was  a  round,  red-faced,  sturdy  yeoman  with 
a  double  chin,  and  a  voice  husky  with  good  living,  good 
sleeping,  good  humor,  and  good  health.  He  was  past  the 
prime  of  life,  but  Father  Time  is  not  always  a  hard  parent, 
and,  though  he  tarries  for  none  of  his  children,  often  lays 
his  hand  lightly  upon  those  who  have  used  him  well  ;  mak- 
ing them  old  men  and  women  inexorably  enough,  but  leav- 
ing their  hearts  and  spirits  young  and  in  full  vigor.  With 
such  people  the  gray  head  is  but  the  impression  of  the  old 
fellow's  hand  in  giving  them  his  blessing,  and  every  wrinkle 
but  a  notch  in  the  quiet  calendar  of  a  well-spent  life. 

The  person  whom  the  traveler  had  so  abruptly  encountered 
was  of  this  kind  :  bluff,  hale,  hearty,  and  in  a  green  old  age  : 
at  peace  with  himself,  and  evidently  disposed  to  be  so  with 
all  the  world.  Although  muffled  up  in  divers  coats  ^nd 
handkerchiefs — one  of  which,  passed  over  his  crown,  and 
tied  in  a  convenient  crease  of  his  double  chin,  secured  his 
three-cornered  hat  and  bob-wig  from  blowing  off  his  head — 
there  was  no  disguising  his  plump  and  comfortable  figure  ; 
neither  did  certain  dirty  finger-marks  upon  his  face  give  i^ 
any  other  than  an  odd  and  comical  expression,  through 
which  its  natural  good-humor  shone  with  undiminished  lus- 
ter. 

'*  He  is  not  hurt,"  said  the  traveler  at  length,  raising  his 
head  and  the  lantern  together. 

"  You  have  found  that  out  at  last,  have  you  ?  "  rejoined 
the  old  man.  "  My  eyes  have  seen  more  light  than  yours, 
but  I  wouldn't  change  with  you." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Mean  !  I  could  have  told  you  he  wasn't  hurt,  five  min- 
utes ago.  Give  me  the  light,  friend-;  ride  forward  at  a  gen- 
tler pace  ;  and  good-night." 

In  handing  up  the  lantern,  the  man  necessarily  cast  hs 
rays  full  on  the  speaker's  face.  Their  eyes  met  at  that  in- 
stant. He  suddenly  dropped  it  and  crushed  it  with  his 
foot. 


26  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  Did  you  never  see  a  locksmith  before,  that  you  start  as 
you  had  come  upon  a  ghost  ?  "  cried  the  old  man  in  the 
chaise,  *'  or  is  this,"  he  added  hastily,  thrusting  his  hand  into 
the  tool  basket  and  drawing  out  a  hammer,  "  a  scheme  to 
rob  me  ?  I  know  these  roads,  friend.  When  I  travel  them, 
I  carry  nothing  but  a  few  shiUings,  and  not  a  crown's  worth 
of  them.  I  tell  you  plainly,  to  save  us  both  trouble,  that 
there's  nothing  to  be  got  from  me  but  a  pretty  stout  arm  con- 
sidering my  years,  and  this  tool,  which,  mayhap  from  long 
acquaintance  with,  I  can  use  pretty  briskly.  You  shall  not 
have  it  all  your  own  way  I  promise  you,  if  you  play  at 
that  game."  With  these  few  words  he  stood  upon  the  de- 
fensive. 

"  1  am  not  what  you  take  me  for,  Gabriel  Varden,"  replied 
the  other. 

"  Then  what  and  who  are  you  ? "  returned  the  locksmith. 
"  You  know  my  name  it  seems.     Let  me  know  yours." 

"  I  have  not  gained  the  information  from  any  confidence 
of  yours,  but  from  the  inscription  on  your  cart,  which  tells 
it  to  all  the  town,"  replied  the  traveler. 

*'  You  have  better  eyes  for  that  than  you  had  for  your 
horse  then,"  said  Varden,  descending  nimbly  from  his 
chaise  ;  *'  who  are  you  ?     Let  me  see  your  face." 

While  the  locksmith  alighted,  the  traveler  had  regained  his 
saddle,  from  which  he  now  confronted  the  old  man,  who, 
moving  as  the  horse  moved  in  chafing  under  the  tightened 
rein,  kept  close  beside  him. 

**Let  me  see  your  face,  I  say." 

"  Stand  off  !  " 

"  No  masquerading  tricks,"  said  the  locksmith,  "  and  tales 
at  the  club  to-morrow,  how  Gabriel  Varden  was  frightened 
by  a  surly  voice  and  a  dark  night.  Stand — let  me  see  your 
face." 

Finding  that  further  resistance  would  only  involve  him  in 
a  personal  struggle  with  an  antagonist  by  no  means  to  be 
despised,  the  traveler  threw  back  his  coat,  and  stooping 
down,  looked  steadily  at  the  locksmith. 

Perhaps  two  men  more  powerfully  contrasted,  never  op- 
posed each  other  face  -to  face.  The  ruddy  features  of  the 
locksmith  so  set  off  and  heightened  the  excessive  paleness 
of  the  man  on  horseback,  that  he  looked  like  a  bloodless 
ghost,  while  the  moisture  which  hard  riding  had  brought 
out  upon  his  skin,  hung  there  in  dark  and  heavy  drops, 
like  dews  of  agony  and  death.     The  countenance  of  the  old 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  27 

locksmith  lighted  up  with  the  smile  of  one  expecting  to  de- 
tect in  this  unpromising  stranger  some  latent  roguery  of  eye 
or  lip,  which  should  reveal  a  familiar  person  in  that  arch 
disguise,  and  spoil  his  jest.  The  face  of  the  other,  sullen 
and  fierce,  but  shrinking  too,  was  that  of  a  man  who  stood 
at  bay  ;  while  his  firmly  closed  jaws,  his  puckered  mouth, 
and  more  than  all  a  certain  stealthy  motion  of  the  hand 
within  his  breast,  seemed  to  announce  a  desperate  purpose 
very  foreign  to  acting,  or  child's  play. 

Thus  they  regarded  each  other  for  some  time,  in  silence. 

"  Humph  !  "  he  said  when  he  had  scanned  his  features  ; 
"  I  don't  know  you." 

"  Don't  desire  to  ?  "—returned  the  other,  muffling  himself 
as  before. 

"  I  don't,"  said  Gabriel  ;  "  to  be  plain  with  you,  friend, 
you  don't  carry  in  your  countenance  a  letter  of  recommend- 
ation." 

"  It's  not  my  wish,"  said  the  traveler.  "  My  humor  is  to 
be  avoided." 

"Well,"  said  the  locksmith  bluntly,  "  I  think  you'll  have 
your  humor." 

"  I  will,  at  any  cost,"  rejoined  the  traveler.  **  In  proof 
of  it,  lay  this  to  heart — that  you  were  never  in  such  peril  of 
your  life  as  you  have  been  within  these  few  moments  ;  when 
you  are  within  five  minutes  of  breathing  your  last,  you  will 
not  be  nearer  death  than  you  have  been  to-night." 

"  Ay  ? "  said  the  sturdy  locksmith. 

"  Ay  !  and  a  violent  death."  ■ 

"  From  whose  hand  ?  " 

"  From  mine,"  replied  the  traveler. 

With  that  he  put  spurs  to  his  horse,  and  rode  away  ;  at 
first  plashing  heavily  through  the  mire  at  a  smart  trot  ;  but 
gradually  increasing  in  speed  until  the  last  sound  of  his 
horse's  hoofs  died  away  upon  the  wind  ;  when  he  was  again 
hurrying  on  at  the  same  furious  gallop,  which  had  been  his 
pace  when  the  locksmith  first  encountered  him. 

Gabriel  Varden  remained  standing  in  the  road  with  the 
broken  lantern  in  his  hand,  listening  in  stupefied  silence 
until  no  sound  reached  his  ear  but  the  moaning  of  the  wind, 
and  the  fast-falling  rain  ;  when  he  struck  himself  one  or  two 
smart  blows  in  the  breast  by  way^  of  rousing  himself,  and 
broke  into  an  exclamation  of  surprise. 

"  What  in  the  name  of  wonder  can  this  fellow  be  ?  a  mad- 
man '  -  highwayman  ?  a  cut-throat  ?    If  he  had  not  scoured 


28  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

off  so  fast,  we'd  have  seen  who  was  in  most  danger,  he  or  I. 
1  never  nearer  death  than  I  have  been  to-night  !  I  hope  I 
may  be  no  nearer  to  it  for  a  score  of  years  to  come — if  so, 
I'll  be  content  to  be  no  further  from  it.  My  stars  ! — a  pretty 
brag  this  to  a  stout  man — pooh,  pooh  !  " 

Gabriel  resumed  his  seat,  and  looked  wistfully  up  the 
road  by  which  the  traveler  had  come  ;  murmuring  in  a  half 
whisper  : 

"  The  Maypole — two  miles  to  the  Maypole.  I  came 
the  other  road  from  the  Warren  after  a  long  day's  work 
at  locks  and  bells,  on  purpose  that  I  should  not  come  by 
the  Maypole  and  break  my  promise  to  Martha  by  looking 
in — there's  resolution  !  It  would  be  dangerous  to  go  on 
to  London  without  a  light ;  and  it's  four  miles,  and  a 
good  half  mile  besides,  to  the  Halfway-House  ;  and  be- 
tween this  and  that  is  the  very  place  where  one  needs  a 
light  most.  Two  miles  to  the  Maypole  !  I  told  Mar- 
tha I  wouldn't;  I  said  I  wouldn't,  and  I  didn't  —  there's 
resolution  !  " 

Repeating  these  two  last  words  very  often,  as  if  to  com- 
pensate for  the  little  resolution  he  was  going  to  show  by 
piquing  himself  on  the  great  resolution  he  had  shown,  Ga- 
briel Varden  quietly  turned  back,  determining  to  get  a  light 
at  the  Maypole,  and  to  take  nothing  but  a  light. 

When  he  got  to  the  Maypole,  however,  and  Joe,  respond- 
ing to  his  well-known  hail,  came  running  out  to  the  horse's 
head,  leaving  the  door  open  behind  him  and  disclosing  a 
delicious  perspective  of  warmth  and  brightness — when  the 
ruddy  gleam  of  the  fire,  streaming  through  the  old  red  cur- 
tains of  the  common-room,  seemed  to  bring  with  it,  as  part 
of  itself,  a  pleasant  hum  of  voices,  and  a  fragrant  odor  of 
steaming  grog  and  rare  tobacco,  all  steeped  as  it  were  in  the 
cheerful  glow — when  the  shadows,  flitting  across  the  cur- 
tains, showed  that  those  inside  had  risen  from  their  snug 
seats,  and  were  making  room  in  the  snuggest  corner  (how 
well  he  knew  that  corner  !)  for  the  honest  locksmith,  and  a 
broad  glare,  suddenly  steaming  up,  bespoke  the  goodness  of 
the  crackling  log  from  which  a  brilliant  train  of  sparks  was 
doubtless  at  that  moment  whirling  up  the  chimney  in  honor 
of  his  coming — when,  superadded  to  these  enticements,  there 
stole  upon  him  from  the  distant  kitchen  a  gentle  sound  of 
frying,  with  a  musical  clatter  of  plates  and  dishes,  and  a  sa- 
vory smell  that  made  even  the  boisterous  wind  a  perfume — 
Gabriel  felt  his  firmness  oozing  rapidly  away.      He  tried  to 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  29 

look  stoically  at  the  tavern,  but  his  features  would  relax  into 
a  look  of  fondness.  He  turned  his  head  the  other  way,  and 
the  cold  black  country  seemed  to  frown  him  off,  and  drive 
him  for  a  refuge  into  its  hospitable  arms. 

"  The  merciful  man,  Joe,"  said  the  locksmith,  "  is  merciful 
to  his  beast.     I'll  get  out  for  a  little  while." 

And  how  natural  it  was  to  get  out.  And  how  unnatural 
it  seemed  for  a  sober  man  to  be  plodding  wearily  along 
through  miry  roads,  encountering  the  rude  buffets  of  the 
wind  and  pelting  of  the  rain,  when  there  was  a  clean  floor 
covered  with  crisp  white  sand,  a  well  swept  hearth,  a  blazing 
fire,  a  table  decorated  with  white  cloth,  bright  pewter  flagons, 
and  other  tempting  preparations  for  a  well-cooked  meal — 
when  there  were  these  things,  and  company  disposed  to 
make  the  most  of  them,  all'ready  to  his  hand,  and  entreating 
him  to  enjoyment. 


CHAPTER    HI. 

Such  were  the  locksmith's  thoughts  when  first  seated  in 
the  snug  corner,  and  slowly  recovering  from  a  pleasant  defect 
of  vision — pleasant,  because  occasioned  by  the  wind  blowing 
in  his  eyes — which  made  it  a  matter  of  sound  policy  and 
duty  to  himself,  that  he  should  take  refuge  from  the  weather, 
and  tempted  him,  for  the  same  reason,  to  aggravate  a  slight 
cough,  and  declare  he  felt  but  poorly.  Such  were  still 
his  thoughts  more  than  a  full  hour  afterward,  when, 
supper  over,  he  still  sat  with  shining  jovial  face  in  the 
same  warm  nook,  listening  to  the  cricket-like  chirrup  of 
little  Solomon  Daisy,  and  bearing  no  unimportant  or 
slightly  respected  part  in  the  social  gossip  round  the  May- 
pole  fire. 

**  I  wish  he  may  be  an  honest  man,  that's  all,"  said  Solo- 
mon, winding  up  a  variety  of  speculations  relative  to  the 
stranger,  concerning  whom  Gabriel  had  compared  notes  with 
the  company,  and  so  raised  a  grave  discussion  ;  "  /  wish  he 
may  be  an  honest  man." 

**  So  we  all  do,  I  suppose,  don't  we  ?  "  observed  the  lock- 
smith. 

"  I  don't,"  said  Joe. 

"  No  !  "  cried  Gabriel. 

"  No.     He  struck  me  with  his  whip,  the  coward,  when  he 


30  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

was  mounted  and  I  afoot,  and  I  should  be  better  pleased 
that  he  turned  out  what  I  think  him." 

"  And  what  may  that  be,  Joe  !  " 

"  No  good,  Mr.  Varden.  You  may  shake  your  head, 
father,  but  I  say  no  good,  and  will  say  no  good,  and  I  would 
say  no  good  a  hundred  times  over,  if  that  would  bring  him 
back  to  have  the  drubbing  he  deserves." 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  sir,"  said  John  Willet. 

"  I  won't,  father.  It's  all  along  of  you  that  he  ventured  to 
do  what  he  did.  Seeing  me  treated  like  a  child,  and  put 
down  like  a  fool,  he  plucks  up  a  heart  and  has  a  fling  at  a 
fellow  that  he  thinks — and  may  well  think,  too — hasn't  a 
grain  of  spirit.  But  he's  mistaken,  as  I'll  show  him,  and  as 
I'll  show  all  of  you  before  long." 

"  Does  the  boy  know  what  he's  a  saying  of !  "  cried  the 
astonished  John  Willet. 

"  feather,"  returned  Joe,  "  I  know  what  I  say  and  mean, 
well — better  than  you  do  when  you  hear  me.  I  can  bear 
with  you,  but  I  can  not  bear  the  contempt  that  your  treating 
me  m  the  way  you  do,  brings  upon  me  from  others  every 
day.  Look  at  other  young  men  of  my  age.  Have  they  no 
liberty,  no  will,  no  right  to  speak  t  Are  they  obliged  to  sit 
muirichance,  and  to  be  ordered  about  till  they  are  the  laugh- 
ing-stock of  young  and  old.  I  am  a  by-word  all  over  Chig- 
weil,  and  I  say — and  it's  fairer  my  saying  so  now,  than  wait- 
ing till  you  are  dead,  and  I  have  got  your  money — I  say, 
that  before  long  I  shall  be  driven  to  break  such  bounds,  and 
that  when  I  do,  it  won't  be  me  that  you'll  have  to  blame,  but 
your  own  self,  and  no  other." 

John  Willet  was  so  amazed  by  the  exasperation  and  bold- 
ness of  his  hopeful  son,  that  he  sat  as  one  bewildered,  staring 
ix).  a  ludicrous  manner  at  the  boiler,  and  endeavoring,  but 
quite  ineffectually,  to  collect  his  tardy  thoughts,  and. invent 
an  answer.  The  guests,  scarcely  less  disturbed,  were  equally 
at  a  loss  ;  and  at  length,  with  a  variety  of  muttered,  half- 
expressed  condolences,  and  pieces  of  advice,  rose  to  depart, 
being  at  the  same  time  slightly  muddled  \vith  liquor. 

The  honest  locksmith  alone  addressed  a  few  w^ords  of 
coherent  and  sensible  advice  to  both  parties,  urging  John 
Willet  to  remember  that  Joe  was  nearly  arrived  at  man's 
estate,  and  should  not  be  ruled  w^th  too  tight  a  hand,  and 
exhorting  Joe  himself  to  bear  with  his  father's  caprices,  and 
rather  endeavor  to  turn  them  aside  by  temperate  remon- 
strance   than    by    ill-timed  rebellion.      This    advice    was 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  31 

received  as  such  advice  usually  is.  On  John  Willet  it  made 
almost  as  much  impression  as  on  the  sign  outside  the  door, 
while  Joe,  who  took  it  in  the  best  part,  avowed  himself  more 
obliged  than  he  could  well  express,  but  politely  intimated 
his  intention,  nevertheless,  of  taking  his  own  course,  unin- 
fluenced by  any  body. 

"  You  have  always  been  a  very  good  friend  to  me,  Mr. 
Varden,"  he  said,  as  they  stood  without,  in  the  porch,  and 
the  locksmith  was  equipping  himself  for  his  journey  home  ; 
"  I  take  it  very  kind  of  you  to  say  all  this,  but  the  time's 
nearly  come  when  the  Maypole  and  I  must  part  company." 

"  Roving  stones  gather  no  moss,  Joe,"  said  Gabriel. 

"Nor  mile-stones  much,"  replied  Joe.  "I'm  little  better 
than  one  here,  and  see  as  much  of  the  world." 

"  Then  what  would  you  do,  Joe  ?"  pursued  the  locksmith, 
stroking  his  chin  reflectively.  "  What  could  you  be  ?  where 
could  you  go,  you  see  ?" 

"I  must  trust  to  chance,  Mr.  Varden." 

"A  bad  thing  to  trust  to,  Joe.  I  don't  like  it.  I  always 
tell  my  girl  when  we  talk  about  a  husband  for  her,  never  to 
trust  to  chance,  but  to  make  sure  beforehand  that  she  has  a 
good  man  and  true,  and  then  chance  will  neither  make  her 
nor  break  her.  What  are  you  fidgeting  about  there,  Joe  ? 
Nothing  gone  in  the  harness,  I  hope  ? " 

"  No,  no,"  said  Joe — finding,  however,  something  very  en- 
grossing to  do  in  the  way  of  strapping  and  buckling — "  Miss 
Dolly  quite  well  ?  " 

"  Hearty,  thankye.  She  looks  pretty  enough  to  be  well, 
and  good  too." 

"She's  always  both,  sir" — 

"  So  she  is,  thank  God  !  " 

"  I  hope,"  said  Joe,  after  some  hesitation,  "  that  you  won't 
tell  this  story  against  me — this  of  my  having  been  beat  like 
the  boy  they'd  make  of  me — at  all  events,  till  I  have  met 
this  man  again  and  settled  the  account.  It'll  be  a  better 
story  then." 

"  Why  who  should  I  tell  it  to  ? "  returned  Gabriel.  "  They 
know  it  here,  and  I'm  not  likely  to  come  across  any  body  else 
who  would  care  about  it." 

"  That's  true  enough,"  said  the  young  fellow,  with  a  sigh, 
"  I  quite  forgot  that.     Yes,  that's  true  !  " 

So  saying,  he  raised  his  face,  which  was  very  red — no 
doubt  from  the  exertion  of  strapping  and  buckling  as  afore- 
said—and  giving  the  reins  to  the  old  man,  who  had  by  this 


32  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

time  taken  his  scat,  sighed  again  and  bade  hiin  good- 
night, 

"  Good-night  !  "  said  Gabriel.  "  Now  think  better  of  what 
we  have  just  been  speaking  of,  and  don't  be  rash,  there's  a 
good  fellow  !  I  have  an  interest  in  you,  and  wouldn't  have 
you  cast  yourself  away.     Good-night  !  " 

Returning  his  cheery  farewell  with  cordial  good-will,  Joe 
Willet  lingered  until  the  sound  of  wheels  ceased  to  vibrate 
in  his  ears,  and  then,  shaking  his  head  mournfully,  re-entered 
the  house, 

Gabriel  Varden  went  his  way  toward  London,  thinking  ot 
a  great  many  things,  and  most  of  all  of  flaming  terms  in 
which  to  relate  his  adventure,  and  so  account  satisfactorily 
to  Mrs.  Varden  for  visiting  the  Maypole,  despite  certain 
solemn  covenants  between  himself  and  that  lady.  Tliinking 
begets,  not  only  thought,  but  drowsiness  occasionally,  and 
the  more  the  locksmith  thought,  the  more  sleepy  he  became. 

A  man  may  be  very  sober — or  at  least  firmly  set  upon  his 
legs  on  that  neutral  ground  which  lies  between  the  confines 
of  perfect  sobriety  and  slight  tipsyness — and  yet  feel  a  strong 
tendency  to  mingle  up  present  circumstances  with  others 
which  have  no  manner  of  connection  with  them  ;  to  con- 
found all  consideration  of  persons,  things,  times,  and  places  ; 
and  to  jumble  his  disjointed  thoughts  together  in  a  kind  of 
mental  kaleidoscope,  producing  combinations  as  unexpected 
as  they  are  transitory.  This  was  Gabriel  Varden's  state,  as, 
nodding  in  his  dog  sleep,  and  leaving  his  horse  to  pursue  a 
a  road  with  which  he  was  well  acquainted,  he  got  over  the 
ground  unconsciously,  and  drew  nearer  and  nearer  home. 
He  had  roused  himself  once,  when  the  horse  stopped  until 
the  turnpike  gate  was  opened,  and  had  cried  a  lusty  "  good- 
night !  "  to  the  toll-keeper  ;  but  then  he  awoke  out  of  a  dream 
about  picking  a  lock  in  the  stomach  of  the  Great  Mogul,  and 
even  when  he  did  wake,  mixed  up  the  turnpike  man  with  his 
mother-in-law,  who  had  been  dead  twenty  years.  It  is  not 
surprising,  therefore,  that  he  soon  relapsed,  and  jogged 
heavily  along,  quite  insensible  to  his  progress. 

And,  now,  he  approached  the  great  city,  which  lay  out- 
stretched before  him  like  a  dark  shadow  on  the  ground,  red- 
dening the  sluggish  air  with  a  deep  dull  light,  that  told  oi 
labyrinths  of  public  ways  and  shops,  and  swarms  of  busy 
people.  Approaching  nearer  and  nearer  yet,  this  halo  began 
to  fade,  and  the  causes  which  produced  it  slowly  to  develop 
themselves.     Long  lines  of  poorly  lighted  streets  might  be 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  33 

faintly  traced,  with  here  and  there  a  lighter  spot,  where  lamps 
were  clustered  round  a  square  or  market,  or  round  some 
great  building  ;  after  a  time  these  grew  more  distinct,  and 
the  lamps  themselves  were  visible  ;  slight  yellow  specks,  that 
seemed  to  be  rapidly  snuffed  out,  one  by  one,  as  intervening 
obstacles  hid  them  from  the  sight.  Then  sounds  arose — the 
striking  of  church  clocks,  the  distant  bark  of  dogs,  the  hum 
of  traffic  in  the  streets  ;  then  outlines  might  be  traced — tall 
steeples  looming  in  the  air,  and  piles  of  unequal  roofs  op- 
pressed by  chimneys  ;  then  the  noise  swelled  into  a  louder 
sound,  and  forms  grew  more  distinct  and  numerous  still,  and 
London — visible  in  the  darkness  by  its  own  faint  light,  and 
not  by  that  of  heaven — was  at  hand. 

The  locksmith,  however,  all  unconscious  of  its  near 
vicinity,  still  jogged  on,  half  sleeping  and  half  waking,  when 
a  loud  cry  at  no  great  distance  ahead,  roused  him  with  a  start. 

For  a  moment  or  two  he  looked  about  him  like  a  man  who 
had  been  transported  to  some  strange  country  in  his  sleep, 
but  soon  recognizing  familiar  objects,  rubbed  his  eyes  lazily 
and  might  have  relapsed  again,  but  that  the  cry  was  repeated 
— not  once  or  twice  or  thrice,  but  many  times,  and  each 
time,  if  possible,  with  increased  vehemence.  Thoroughly 
aroused,  Gabriel,  who  was  a  bold  man  and  not  easily  daunted, 
made  straight  to  the  spot,  urging  on  his  stout  little  horse  as 
if  for  life  or  death.  • 

The  matter  indeed  looked  sufficiently  serious,  for,  coming 
to  the  place  whence  the  cries  had  proceeded,  he  descried  the 
figure  of  a  man  extended  in  an  apparently  lifeless  state  upon 
the  pathway,  and,  hovering  round  him,  another  person  with 
a  torch  in  his  hand,  which  he  waved  in  the  air  with  a  wild 
impatience,  redoubling  meanwhile  those  cries  for  help  which 
had  brought  the  locksmith  to  the  spot. 

"What's  here  to  do?"  said  the  old  man,  alighting. 
"  How's  this — what — Barnaby  ?  " 

The  bearer  of  the  torch  shook  his  long  loose  hair  back 
from  his  eyes,  and  thrusting  his  face  eagerly  into  that  of  the 
locksmith,  fixed  upon  him  a  look  which  told  his  history  at 
once. 

"  You  know  me,  Barnaby  ?  "  said  Varden. 

He  nodded — not  once  or  twice,  but  a  score  of  times,  and 
that  with  a  fantastic  exaggeration  which  would  have  kept 
his  head  in  motion  for  an  hour,  but  that  the  locksmith  held 
up  his  finger,  and  fixing  his  eye  sternly  upon  him  caused  him 
to  desist ;  then  pointed  to  the  body  with  an  inquiring  look. 


34  BARNABV  RUDGE. 

"  There's  blood  upon  him,"  said  Barnaby,  with  a  shudder. 
"  It  makes  me  sick  !  " 

"  How  came  it  there  ?  "  demanded  Varden. 

"  Steel,  steel,  steel  !  "  he  replied  fiercely,  imitating  with 
his  hand  the  thrust  of  a  sword. 

"  Is  he  robbed  ?"  said  the  locksmith. 

Barnaby  caught  him  by  the  arm,  and  nodded  "  Yes  ;  " 
then  pointed  toward  the  city, 

*'  Oh  !  "  said  the  old  man,  bending  over  the  body  and 
looking  round  as  he  spoke  into  Barnaby's  pale  face,  strangely 
lighted  up  by  something  that  was  ;/^/ intellect.  "The  robber 
made  off  that  way,  did  he  ?  Well,  well,  never  mind  that  just 
now.  Hold  your  torch  this  way — a  little  further  off — so. 
Now  stand  quiet,  while  I  try  to  see  what  harm  is  done." 

With  these  words,  he  applied  himself  to  a  closer  examina- 
tion of  the  prostrate  form,  while  Barnaby,  holding  the  torch 
as  he  had  been  directed,  looked  on  in  silence,  fascinated  by 
interest  or  curiosity,  but  repelled  nevertheless  by  some  strong 
and  secret  horror  which  convulsed  him  in  every  nerve. 

As  he  stood,  at  that  moment,  half  shrinking  back  and  half 
bending  forward,  both  his  face  and  figure  were  full  in  the 
strong  glare  of  the  link,  and  as  distinctly  revealed  as  though 
it  had  been  broad  day.  He  was  about  three-and-twenty 
years  old,  and  though  rather  spare,  of  a  fair  height  and  strong 
make.  His  hair,  of  which  he  had  a  great  profusion,  was  red, 
and  hanging  in  disorder  about  his  face  and  shoulders,  gave 
to  his  restless  looks  an  expression  quite  unearthly — enhanced 
by  the  paleness  of  his  complexion,  and  the  glassy  luster  of 
his  large  protruding  eyes.  Startling  as  his  aspect  was,  the 
features  were  good,  and  there  was  something  even  plaintive 
in  his  wan  and  haggard  aspect.  But  the  absence  of  the 
soul  is  far  more  terrible  in  a  living  man  than  in  a  dead  one  ; 
and  in  this  unfortunate  being  its  noblest  powers  were  want- 
ing. 

His  dress  was  of  green,  clumsily  trimmed  here  and  there — 
apparently  by  his  own  hands — with  gaudy  lace  ;  brightest 
where  the  cloth  was  most  worn  and  soiled,  and  poorest 
where  it  was  at  the  best.  A  pair  of  tawdry  ruffles  dangled 
at  his  wrists,  while  his  throat  was  nearly  bare.  He  had  or- 
namented his  hat  with  a  cluster  of  peacock's  feathers,  but 
they  were  limp  and  broken,  and  now  trailed  negligently 
down  his  back.  Girt  to  his  side  was  the  steel  hilt  of  an  old 
sword  without  blade 'or  scabbard  ;  and  some  party-colored 
ends  of  ribbons  and  poor  glass  toys  completed  the  ornamen- 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  35 

tal  portion  of  his  attire.  The  fluttered  and  confused  dispo- 
sition of  all  the  motley  scraps  that  formed  his  dress,  bespoke 
in  a  scarcely  less  degree  than  his  eager  and  unsettled  manner, 
the  disorder  of  his  mind,  and  by  a  grotesque  contrast  set  off 
and  heightened  the  more  impressive  wildness  of  his  face. 

"  Barnaby,"  said  the  locksmith,  after  a  hasty  but  careful 
inspection,  ''  this  man  is  not  dead,  but  he  has  a  wound  in  his 
side,  and  is  in  a  fainting-fit." 

"  I  know  him,  I  know  him  !  "  cried  Barnaby,  clapping  his 
hands. 

''  Know  him  ?  "  repeated  the  locksmith. 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Barnaby,  laying  his  fingers  upon  his  lips. 
"  He  went  out  to-day  a-wooing.  I  wouldn't  for  a  light  guinea 
that  he  should  never  go  a-wooing  again,  for,  if  he  did,  some 
eyes  would  grow  dim  that  are  now  as  bright  as — see,  when  I 
talk  of  eyes,  the  stars  come  out  !  Whose  eyes  are  they  <*  If 
they  are  angels'  eyes,  why  do  they  look  down  here  and  see 
good  men  huft,  and  only  wink  and  sparkle  all  the  night  ?  " 

"  Now  heaven  help  this  silly  fellow,"  murmured  the  per- 
plexed locksmith  ;  "  can  he  know  this  gentleman  ?  His 
mother's  house  is  not  far  off ;  I  had  better  see  if  she  can  tell 
me  who  he  is.  Barnaby,  my  man,  help  me  to  put  him  in  the 
chaise,  and  we'll  ride  home  together." 

"  I  can't  touch  him  !  "  cried  the  idiot  falling  back,  and 
shuddering  as  with  a  strong  spasm  ;  "  he's  bloody  !  " 

"  It's  in  his  nature  I  know,"  muttered  the  locksmith,  "  it's 
cruel  to  ask  him,  but  I  must  have  help.  Barnaby — good 
Barnaby — dear  Barnaby — if  you  know  this  gentleman,  for 
the  sake  of  his  life  and  every  body's  life  that  loves  him,  help 
me  to  raise  him  and  lay  him  down." 

*'  Cover  him  then,  wrap  him  close — don't  let  me  see  it — 
smell  it — hear  the  word.     Don't  speak  the  word — don't  !  " 

"  No,  no,  I'll  not.  There,  you  see  he's  covered  now. 
Gently.     Well  done,  well  done  !  " 

They  placed  him  in  the  carriage  with  great  ease,  for  Bar- 
naby was  strong  and  active,  but  all  the  time  they  were  so  oc- 
cupied he  shivered  from  head  to  foot,  and  evidently  expe- 
rienced an  ecstasy  of  terror. 

This  accomplished,  and  the  wounded  man  being  covered 
with  Varden's  own  great-coat  which  he  took  off  for  the  pur- 
pose, they  proceeded  onward  at  a  brisk  pace  :  Barnaby  gayly 
counting  the  stars  upon  his  fingers,  and  Gabriel  inwardly 
congratulating  himself  upon  having  an  adventure  now,  which 
would  silence  Mrs.  Varden  on  the  subject  of  the  Maypole, 
for  that  night,  or  there  was  no  faith  in  woman. 


36  BARNABY  RUDGE. 


CHAPTER   IV. 

In  the  venerable  suburb — it  was  a  suburb  once — of  Clerk- 
enwell,  toward  that  part  of  its  confines  which  is  nearest 
to  the  Charter  House,  and  in  one  of  those  cool,  shady 
streets,  of  which  a  few,  widely  scattered  and  dispersed,  yet 
remain  in  such  old  parts  of  the  metropolis — each  tenement 
quietly  vegetating  like  an  ancient  citizen  who  long  ago 
retired  from  business,  and  dozing  on  in  its  infirmity  until  in 
course  of  time  it  tumbles  down,  and  is  replaced  by  some 
extravagant  young  heir,  flaunting  in  stucco  and  ornamental 
work,  and  all  the  vanities  of  modern  days — in  this  quarter, 
and  in  a  street  of  this  description,  the  business  of  the  pres- 
ent chapter  lies. 

At  the  time  of  which  it  treats,  though  only  six-and-sixty 
years  ago,  a  very  large  part  of  what  is  London  now  had  no 
existence.  Even  in  the  brains  of  the  wildest  speculators, 
there  had  sprung  up  no  long  rows  of  streets  connecting  High- 
gate  with  Whitechapel,  no  assemblages  of  palaces  in  the 
swampy  levels,  nor  little  cities  in  the  open  fields.  Although 
this  part  of  town  was  then,  as  now,  parceled  out  in  streets, 
and  plentifully  peopled,  it  wore  a  different  aspect.  There 
were  gardens  to  many  of  the  houses,  and  trees  by  the  pave- 
ment side  ;  with  an  air  of  freshness  breathing  up  and  down, 
which  in  these  days  would  be  sought  in  vain.  Fields  were 
nigh  at  hand,  through  which  the  New  River  took  its  winding 
course,  and  where  there  was  merry  hay-making  in  the  sum- 
mer time.  Nature  was  not  so  far  removed,  or  hard  to  get 
at,  as  in  these  days  ;  and  although  there  were  busy  trades  in 
Clerkenwell,  and  working  jewelers  by  scores,  it  was  a  purer 
place,  with  farm-houses  nearer  to  it  than  many  modern 
Londoners  would  readily  believe,  and  lovers'  walks  at  no 
great  distance,  which  turned  into  squalid  courts,  long  be- 
fore the  lovers  of  this  age  were  born,  or,  as  the  phrase  goes, 
thought  of. 

In  one  of  these  streets,  the  cleanest  of  them  all,  and  or 
the  shady  side  of  the  way — for  good  housewives  know  that 
sunlight  damages  their  cherished  furniture,  and  so  choose 
the  shade  rather  than  its  intrusive  glare — there  stood  the 
house  with  which  we  have  to  deal.  It  was  a  modest  build- 
ing, not  very  straight,  not  large,  not  tall  ;  not  bold-faced 
with  great  staring  windows,  but  a  shy,  blinking  house,  with 
a  conical  roof  going  up   into  a  peak  over  its  garret  window 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  37 

of  four  small  panes  of  glass,  like  a  cocked  hat  on  the  head 
of  an  elderly  gentleman  with  one  eye.  It  was  not  built  of 
brick  or  lofty  stone,  but  of  wood  and  plaster  ;  it  was  not 
planned  with' a  dull  and  wearisome  regard  to  regularity,  for 
no  one  window  matched  the  other,  or  seemed  to  have  the 
slightest  reference  to  any  thing  besides  itself. 

The  shop — for  it  had  a  shop — was,  with  reference  to  the 
first  floor,  where  shops  usually  are  ;  and  there  all  resem- 
blance between  it  and  any  other  shop  stopped  short  and 
ceased.  People  who  went  in  and'  out  didn't  go  up  a  flight  of 
steps  to  it,  or  walk  easily  in  upon  a  level  with  the  street,  but 
dived  down  three  steep  stairs,  as  into  a  cellar.  Its  floor 
was  paved  with  stone  and  brick,  as  that  of  any  other  cellar 
might  be  ;  and  in  lieu  of  window  framed  and  glazed  it  had 
a  great  black  wooden  flap  or  shutter  nearly  breast  high 
from  the  ground,  which  turned  back  in  the  daytime,  admit- 
ting as  much  cold  air  as  light,  and  very  often  more.  Behind 
this  shop  was  a  wainscoted  parlor,  looking  first  into  a  paved 
yard,  and  beyond  that  again  into  a  little  terrace  garden, 
raised  some  feet  above  it.  Any  stranger  would  have  sup- 
posed that  this  wainscoted  parlor,  saving  for  the  door  of 
communication  by  which  he  had  entered,  was  cut  off  and 
detached  from  all  the  world  ;  and  indeed  most  strangers  on 
their  first  entrance  were  observed  to  grow  extremely  thought- 
ful, as  weighing  and  pondering  in  their  minds  whether  the 
upper  rooms  were  only  approachable  by  ladders  from  with- 
out ;  never  suspecting  that  two  of  the  most  unassuming  and 
unlikely  doors  in  existence,  which  the  most  ingenious 
mechanician  on  earth  must  of  necessity  have  supposed  to  be 
the  doors  of  closets,  opened  out  of  this  room — each  without 
the  smallest  preparation,  or  so  much  as  a  quarter  of  an  inch 
of  passage — upon  two  dark  winding  flights  of  stairs,  the  one 
upward,  the  other  downvv^ard,  which  were  the  sole  means  of 
communication  between  that  chamber  and  the  other  portions 
of  the  house. 

With  all  these  oddities,  there  was  not  a  neater,  more 
scrupulously  tidy,  or  more  punctiliously  ordered  house,  in 
Clerkenwell,  in  London,  in  all  England.  There  were  not 
cleaner  windows,  or  whiter  floor,  or  brighter  stoves,  or  more 
highly  shining  articles  of  furniture  in  old  mahogany  ;  there 
was  not  more  rubbing,  scrubbing,  burnishing  and  polishing, 
in  the  whole  street  put  together.  Nor  was  this  excellence 
attained  without  some  cost  and  trouble  and  great  expendi- 
ture of  voice,  as  the  neighbors   were  frequently  reminded 


^8  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

when  the  good  lady  of  the  house  overlooked  and  assisted 
in  its  being  put  to  rights  on  cleaning  days — which  were 
usually  from  Monday  morning  till  Saturday  night,  both  days 
inclusive. 

Leaning  against  the  door  post  of  this,  his  dwelling,  the 
locksmith  stood  early  on  the  morning  after  he  had  met  with 
the  wounded  man,  gazing  disconsolately  at  a  great  wooden 
emblem  of  a  key,  painted  in  vivid  yellow  to  resemble  gold, 
which  dangled  from  the  house-front,  and  swung  to  and  fro 
with  a  mournful  creaking  noise,  as  if  complaining  that  it  had 
nothing  to  unlock.  Sometimes  he  looked  over  his  shoulder 
into  the  shop,  which  was  so  dark  and  dingy  with  numerous 
tokens  of  his  trade,  and  so  blackened  by  the  smoke  of,  a 
'ittle  forge,  near  which  his  'prentice  was  at  work,  that  it 
would  have  been  difficult  for  one  unused  to  such  espials  to 
have  distinguished  any  thing  but  various  tools  of  uncouth 
make  and  shape,  great  bunches  of  rusty  keys,  fragments  of 
iron,  half-finished  locks,  and  such  like  things,  which  garn- 
ished the  walls  and  hung  in  clusters  from  the  ceiling. 

After  a  long  and  patient  contemplation  of  tiie  golden  key, 
and  many  such  backward  glances,  Gabriel  stepped  into  the 
road,  and  stole  a  look  at  the  upper  windows.  One  of  them 
chanced  to  be  thrown  open  at  the  moment,  and  a  roguish 
face  met  his  ;  a  face  lighted  up  by  the  loveliest  pair  of 
sparkling  eyes  that  ever  locksmith  looked  upon  ;  the  face 
of  a  pretty,  laughing  girl  ;  dimpled  and  fresh,  and  health- 
ful— the  very  impersonation  of  good-humor  and  blooming 
beauty. 

**  Hush  !  "  she  whispered,  bending  forward,  and  pointing 
archly  to  the  window  underneath.     '*  Mother  is  still  asleep." 

"Still,  my  dear,"  returned  the  locksmith  in  the  same  tone. 
"  You  talk  as  if  she  had  been  asleep  all  night,  instead  of  little 
more  than  half  an  hour.  But  I'm  very  thankful.  Sleep's  a 
blessing — no  doubt  about  it."  The  last  few  words  he  mut- 
tered to  himself. 

''  How  cruel  of  you  to  keep  us  up  so  late  this  morning  and 
never  tell  us  where  you  were,  or  send  us  word  !  "  said  the  girl. 

"  Ah  Dolly,  Dolly!  "  returned  the  locksmith,  shaking  his 
head,  and  smiling,  "  how  cruel  of  you  to  run  up  stairs  to  bed  ! 
Come  down  to  breakfast,  madcap,  and  come  down  lightly,  or 
you'll  wake  your  mother.  She  must  be  tired,  I  am  sure — I 
am." 

Keeping  these  latter  words  to  himself,  and  returning  his 
daughter's  nod,  he  was  passing  into  the  workshop,  with  the 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  39 

smile  she  had  awakened  still  beaming  on  his  face,  when  he 
just  caught  sight  of  his  'prentice's  brown  paper  cap  ducking 
down  to  avoid  observation,  and  shrinking  from  the  window 
back  to  its  former  place,  which  the  wearer  no  sooner  reached 
than  he  began  to  hammer  lustily.  ♦ 

*'  Listening  again,  Simon  !  "  said  Gabriel  to  himself. 
"  That's  bad.  What  in  the  name  of  wonder  does  he  expect 
the  girl  to  say,  that  I  always  catch  him  listening  when  she 
speaks,  and  never  at  any  other  time  !  A  bad  habit,  Sim,  a 
sneaking,  underhanded  way.  Ah!  you  may  hammer,  but  you 
won't  beat  that  out  of  me,  if  you  work  at  it  till  your  time's 
up  !  " 

So  saying,  and  shaking  his  head  gravely,  he  re-entered  the 
workshop,  and  confronted  the  subject  of  these  remarks. 

'*  There's  enough  of  that  just  now,"  said  the  locksmith. 
"  You  needn't  make  any  more  of  that  confounded  clatter. 
Breakfast's  ready." 

"  Sir,"  said  Sim,  looking  up  with  amazing  politeness,  and 
a  peculiar  little  bow  cut  short  off  at  the  neck.  *'  I  shall  attend 
you  immediately." 

*'  I  suppose,"  muttered  Gabriel,  "  that's  out  of  the  'Pren- 
tice's Garland,  or  the  'Prentice's  Delight,  or  the  'Prentice's 
Warbler,  or  the  'Prentice's  Guide  to  the  Gallows,  or  some  such 
improving  text  book.  Now  he's  going  to  beautify  himself — 
here's  a  precious  locksmith  !  " 

Quite  unconscious  that  his  master  was  looking  on  from  the 
dark  corner  by  the  parlor  door,  Sim  threw  off  the  paper  cap, 
sprang  from  his  seat  and  in  two  extraordinary  steps,  some- 
thing between  skating  and  minuet  dancing,  bounded  to  a 
washing  place  at  the  other  end  of  the  shop,  and  there  re- 
moved from  his  face  and  hands  all  traces  of  his  previous 
work — practicing  the  same  step  all  the  time  with  the  utmost 
gravity.  This  done,  he  drew  from  some  concealed  place  a 
little  scrap  of  looking-glass,  and  with  its  assistance  arranged 
his  hair,  and  ascertained  the  exact  state  of  a  little  carbuncle 
on  his  nose.  Having  now  completed  his  toilet,  he  placed 
the  fragment  of  mirror  on  a  low  bench,  and  looked  over  his 
shoulder  at  so  much  of  his  legs  as  could  be  reflected  in  that 
small  compass,  with  the  greatest  possible  complacency  and 
satisfaction, 

Sim,  as  he  was  called  in  the  blacksmith's  family,  or 
Mr.  Simon  Tappertit,  as  he  called  himself,  and  required 
all  men  to  styls  him  out  of  doors,  on  holidays,  and  Sun- 
days  out — was  an    old-fashioned,    thin-faced,  sleek-haired, 


4©  BARNABV  RUDGE. 

sharp-nosed,  small-eyed,  little  fellow,  very  little  more 
than  five  feet  high,  and  thoroughly  convinced  in  his 
own  mind  that  he  was  above  the' middle  size;  rather  tall, 
in  fact,  than  otherwise.  Of  his  figure  which  was  well 
enough  forme?!,  though  somewhat  of  the  leanest,  he  enter- 
tained the  highest  admiration  ;  and  with  his  legs,  which,  in 
knee-breeches,  were  perfect  curiosities  of  littleness,  he  was 
enraptured  to  a  degree  amounting  to  enthusiasm.  He  also 
had  some  majestic,  shadowy  ideas,  which  had  never  been 
quite  fathomed  by  his  intimate  friends,  concerning  the  power 
of  his  eye.  Indeed  he  had  been  known  to  go  so  far  as  to 
boast  that  he  could  utterly  quell  and  subdue  the  haughtiest 
beauty  by  a  simple  process,  which  he  termed  ''  eying  her 
over ;  "  but  it  must  be  added,  that  neither  of  this  faculty, 
nor  of  the  power  he  claimed  to  have,  through  the  same  gift, 
of  vanquishing  and  heaving  down  dumb  animals,  even  in  a 
rabid  state,  had  he  ever  furnished  evidence  which  could  be 
deemed  quite  satisfactory  and  conclusive. 

It  may  be  inferred  from  these  premises,  that  in  the  small 
body  of  Mr.  Tappertit  there  was  locked  up  an  ambitious  and 
aspiring  soul.  As  certain  liquors,  confined  in  casks  too 
cramped  in  their  dimensions,  will  ferment,  and  fret,  and 
chafe  in  their  imprisonment,  so  the  spiritual  essence  or  soul  of 
Mr.  Tappertit  would  sometimes  fume  within  that  precious 
cask,  his  body,  until,  with  great  foam  and  froth  and  splutter, 
it  would  force  a  vent,  and  carry  all  before  it.  It  was  his 
custom,  to  remark  in  reference  to  any  one  of  these  occasions, 
that  his  soul  had  got  into  his  head  ;  and  in  this  novel  kind  of 
intoxication  many  scrapes  and  mishaps  befell  him  which  he 
had  frequently  concealed  with  no  small  difficulty  from  his 
worthy  master. 

Sim  Tappertit,  among  the  other  fancies  upon  which  his 
before-mentioned  soul  was  forever  feasting  and  regaling 
itself  (and  which  fancies,  like  the  liver  of  Prometheus,  grew 
as  they  were  fed  upon),  had  a  mighty  notion  of  his  order  ; 
and  had  been  heard  by  the  servant  maid  openly  expressing 
his  regret  that  the  'prentices  no  longer  carried  clubs  where- 
with to  mace  the  citizens  :  that  was  his  strong  expression. 
He  was  likewise  reported  to  have  said  that  in  former  times  a 
stigma  had  been  cast  upon  the  body  by  the  execution  of 
George  Barnwell,  to  which  they  should  not  have  basely  sub- 
mitted, but  should  have  demanded  him  of  the  legislature— 
temperately  at  first  ;  then  by  an  appeal  to  arms,  if  necessary 
—to  be  dealt  with  as  they  in  their  wisdom  might  think  fit. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  41 

These  thoughts  always  led  him  to  consider  what  a  glorious 
engine  the  'prentices  might  yet  become  if  they  had  but  a 
master  spirit  at  their  head  ;  and  then  he  would  darkly,  and 
to  the  terror  of  his  hearers,  hint  at  certain  reckless  fellows 
that  he  knew  of,  and  at  a  certain  Lion  Heart  ready  to  be- 
come their  captain,  who,  once  afoot,  would  make  the  lord 
mayor  tremble  on  his  throne. 

In  respect  of  dress  and  personal  decoration,  Sim  Tap- 
pertit  was  no  less  of  an  adventurous  and  enterprising  char- 
acter. He  had  been  seen,  beyond  dispute,  to  pull  off  ruffles 
of  the  finest  quality  at  the  corner  of  the  street  on  Sunday 
nights,  and  to  put  them  carefully  in  his  pocket  before  re- 
turning home  ;  and  it  was  quite  notorious  that  on  all  great 
holiday  occasions  it  was  his  habit  to  exchange  his  plain  steel 
knee-buckles  for  a  pair  of  glittering  paste,  under  cover  of  a 
friendly  post,  planted  most  conveniently  in  the  same  spot. 
Add  to  this  that  he  was  in  years  just  twenty,  in  his  looks 
much  older,  and  in  conceit  at  least  two  hundred  ;  that  he 
had  no  objection  to  be  jested  with,  touching  his  admiration 
of  his  master's  daughter  ;  and  had  even,  when  called  upon 
at  a  certain  obscure  tavern  to  pledge  the  lady  whom  he 
honored  with  his  love,  toasted,  with  many  winks  and  leers,  a 
fair  creature  whose  Christian  name,  he  said,  began  with  a 
D — ;  and  as  much  is  known  of  Sim  Tappertit,  who  has  by 
this  time  followed  the  locksmith  in  to  breakfast,  as  is  neces- 
sary to  be  known  in  making  his  acquaintance. 

It  was  a  substantial  meal ;  for  over  and  above  the  ordi- 
nary tea  equipage,  the  board  creaked  beneath  the  weight  of 
a  jolly  round  of  beef,  a  ham  of  the  first  magnitude,  and 
sundry  towers  of  buttered  Yorkshire  cake,  piled  slice  upon 
slice  in  most  alluring  order.  There  was  always  a  goodly  jug 
of  well-browned  clay,  fashioned  into  the  form  of  an  old  gen- 
tleman, not  by  any  means  unlike  the  locksmith,  atop  of 
whose  bald  head  was  a  fine  white  froth  answering  to  his  wig, 
indicative,  beyond  dispute,  of  sparkling  home-brewed  ale. 
Bat.  bettei  far  than  fair  home-brewed,  or  Yorkshire  cake,  or 
_>ctm,  or  beef,  or  any  thing  to  eat  or  drink  that  earth  or  air 
or  water  can  supply,  there  sat  presiding  over  all,  the  lock- 
smith's rosy  daughter,  before  whose  dark  eyes  even  beef 
grew  insignificant,  and  malt  became  as  nothing. 

Fathers  should  never  kiss  their  daughters  when  young  men 
are  by.  It's  too  much.  There  are  bounds  to  human  endur- 
ance. So  thought  Sim  Tappertit  when  Gabriel  drew  those 
rosy  lips  to  his — those  lips  within  Sim's   reach  from  day  to 


42  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

day,  and   yet  so  far  off.     He  had   a  respect  for  his  master, 
but  he  wished  the  Yorkshire  cake  might  choke  him. 

*'  Father,"  said  the  locksmith's  daughter,  when  this  salute 
was  over,  and  they  took  their  seats  at  the  table,  "  What  is 
this  I  hear  about  last  night  ?  " 

"  All  true,  my  dear  ;  true  as  the  Gospel,  Doll." 

"Young  Mr.  Chester  robbed,  and  lying  w^ounded  in  the 
road,  when  you  came  up  !  " 

"  Ay — Mr.  Edward.  And  beside  him  Barnaby,  calling  for 
help  with  all  his  might.  It  was  well  it  happened  as  it  did  ;  for 
the  road's  a  lonely  one,  the  hour  was  late,  and  the  night 
being  cold,  and  poor  Barnaby  even  less  sensible  than  usual 
from  surprise  and  fright,  the  young  gentleman  might  have 
met  his  death  in  a  very  short  time." 

"  I  dread  to  think  of  it  !  "  cried  his  daughter  with  a  shud- 
der.    "  How  did  you  know  him  ?  " 

**  Know  him  !  "  returned  the  locksmith.  "  I  didn't  know 
him — how  could  I  ?  I  had  never  seen  him,  often  as  I  had 
heard  and  spoken  of  him.  I  took  him  to  Mrs.  Rudge's  ; 
and  she  no  sooner  saw  him  than  the  truth  came  out." 
'  "  Miss  Emma,  father  !  If  this  news  should  reach  her,  en- 
larged upon  as  it  is  sure  to  be,  she  will  go  distracted." 

"Why,  look  ye  there  again,  how  a  man  suffers  for  being 
good  natured,"  said  the  locksmith.  "  Miss  Emma  was  with 
her  uncle  at  the  masquerade  at  Carlisle  House,  where  she 
had  gone,  as  the  people  at  the  Warren  told  me,  sorely  against 
her  will.  What  does  your  blockhead  father  when  he  and 
Mrs.  Rudge  have  laid  their  heads  together,  but  goes  there 
when  he  ought  to  be  abed,  makes  interest  with  his  friend  the 
doorkeeper,  slips  him  on  a  mask  and  domino,  and  mixes  with 
the  maskers." 

"  And  like  himself  to  do  so  I "  cried  the  girl,  putting  her 
fair  arm  round  his  neck,  and  giving  him  a  most  enthusiastic 
kiss. 

"  Like  himself  !  "  repeated  Gabriel,  affecting  to  grumble, 
but  evidently  delighted  with  the  part  he  had  taken,  and  with 
her  praise.  "  Very  like  himself — so  your  mother  said.  How- 
ever, he  mingled  wnth  the  crowd,  and  prettily  worried  and 
badgered  he  was,  I  warrant  you,  with  people  squeaking. 
Don't  you  know  me  ?'  and  *  I've  found  you  out,'  and  all 
that  kind  of  nonsense  in  his  ears.  He  might  have  wandered 
on  till  now,  but  in  a  little  room  there  was  a  young  lady  who 
had  taken  off  her  mask,  on  account  of  the  place  being  very 
warm,  and  was  sitting  there  alone." 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  43 

*'  And  that  was  she  ?  "  said  his  daughter  hastily. 

"  And  that  was  she,"  replied  the  locksmith  ;  "  and  I  no 
sooner  whispered  to  her  what  the  matter  was — as  softly,  Doll, 
and  with  nearly  as  much  art  as  you  could  have  used  your- 
self— than  she  gives  a  kind  of  scream  and  faints  away." 

"  What  did  you  do — what  happened  next  ?  "  asked  his 
daughter. 

"  Why,  the  masks  came  flocking  round,  with  a  general 
noise  and  hubbub,  and  I  thought  myself  in  luck  to  get  clear 
off,  that's  all,"  rejoined  the  locksmith.  ''  What  happened 
when  I  reached  home  you  may  guess,  if  you  didn't  hear  it. 
Ah  !  Well,  it's  a  poor  heart  that  never  rejoices.  Put 
Toby  this  way,  my  dear." 

This  Toby  was  the  brown  jug  of  which  previous  mention 
has  been  made.  Applying  his  lips  to  the  worthy  old  gentle- 
man's benevolent  forehead,  the  locksmith,  who  had  all  this 
time  been  ravaging  among  the  eatables,  kept  them  there  so 
long,  at  the  same  time  raising  the  vessel  slowly  in  the  air, 
that  at  length  Toby  stood  on  his  head  upon  his  nose,  when 
he  smacked  his  lips,  and  set  him  on  the  table  again  with 
fond  reluctance. 

Although  Sim  Tappertit  had  taken  no  share  in  this  con- 
versation, no  part  of  it  being  addressed  to  him,  he  had  not 
been  wanting  in  such  silent  manifestations  of  astonishment 
as  he  deemed  most  compatible  with  the  favorable  display  of 
his  eyes.  Regarding  the  pause  which  now  ensued,  as  a  par- 
ticularly advantageous  opportunity  for  doing  great  execution 
with  them  upon  the  locksmith's  daughter  (who  he  had  no 
doubt  was  looking  at  him  m  mute  admiration),  he  began  to 
screw  and  twist  his  face,  and  especially  those  features,  into 
such  extraordinary,  hideous,  and  unparalleled  contortions, 
that  Gabriel,  who  happened  to  look  toward  him,  was  stricken 
with  amazement. 

'  Why,  what  the  devil's  the  matter  with  the  lad  ?  "  cried 
the  locksmith.     "  Is  he  choking  ?  " 

"Who  ?"  demanded  Sim,  with  some  disdain. 

"Who  ?  why,  you,"  returned  his  master.  "  What  do  you 
mean  by  making  those  horrible  faces  over  your  breakfast  ? " 

"  Faces  are  matters  of  taste,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit, 
rather  discomfited  ;  not  the  less  so  because  he  saw  the  lock- 
smith's daughter  smiling. 

"  Sim,"  rejoined  Gabriel,  laughing  heartily,  "  don't  be   a 

fool,  for  I'd  rather  see  you  in  your  senses.     These  young 

-fellows,"  he  added,  turning  to  his  daughter,  "  are  always  com- 


44  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

mitting  some  folly  or  another.  There  was  a  quarrel  between 
Joe  Willet  and  old  John  last  night — though  I  can't  say  Joe 
was  much  in  fault  either.  He'll  be  missing  one  of  these 
mornings,  and  will  have  gone  away  upon  some  wild  goose 
errand,  seeking  his  fortune. — Why,  what's  the  matter,  Doll  ? 
Vou  are  making  faces  now.  The  girls  are  as  bad  as  the  boys 
every  bit !  " 

"  It's  the  tea,"  said  Dolly,  turning  alternately  very  red  and 
very  white,  which  is  no  doubt  the  effect  of  a  slight  scald — 
''  so  very  hot." 

Mr.  Tappertit  looked  immensely  big  at  a  quartern  loaf  on 
the  table,  and  breathed  hard. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  returned  the  locksmith.  *'  Put  some  more 
milk  in  it.  Yes,  I  am  sorry  for  Joe,  because  he  is  a  likely 
young  fellow,  and  gains  upon  one  every  time  one  sees  him. 
But  he'll  start  off,  you'll  find.  Indeed  he  told  me  as  much 
himself  !  " 

*'  Indeed  !  "  cried  Dolly  in  a  faint  voice.     "  In — deed  !  " 

"Is  the  tea  tickling  your  throat  still,  my  dear?"  said  the 
locksmith. 

But,  before  the  daughter  could  make  him  any  answer,  she 
was  taken  with  a  troublesome  cough,  and  it  was  such  a  very 
unpleasant  cough,  that  when  she  left  off,  the  tears  were  start- 
ing in  her  bright  eyes.  The  good-natured  locksmith  was 
Etill  patting  her  on  the  back  and  applying  such  gentle  res- 
toratives, when  a  message  arrived  from  Mrs.  Varden,  making 
known  to  all  whom  it  might  concern  that  she  felt  too  much 
indisposed  to  rise  after  her  great  agitation  and  anxiety  of 
the  previous  night  ;  and  therefore  desired  to  be  immediately 
accommodated  with  the  little  black  tea-pot  of  strong  mixed 
tea,  a  couple  of  rounds  of  buttered  toast,  a  middling-sized 
dish  of  beef  and  ham  cut  thin,  and  the  Protestant  Manual  in 
two  volumes  post  octavo.  Like  some  other  ladies  who,  in 
remote  ages,  flourished  upon  this  globe,  Mrs.  Varden  was 
most  devout  when  most  ill-tempered.  Whenever  she  and 
her  husband  were  at  unusual  variance,,  then  the  Protestant 
Manual  was  in  high  feather. 

Knowing  from  experience  what  these  requests  portended, 
the  triumvirate  broke  up  ;  Dolly,  to  see  the  orders  executed 
with  all  dispatch  ;  Gabriel,  to  some  out-of-door  work  in  his 
little  chaise  ;  and  Sim,  to  his  daily  duty  in  the  workshop,  to 
which  retreat  he  carried  the  big  look,  although  the  loaf  re- 
mained behind. 

Indeed,  the  big  look  increased   immensely,  and  when  he 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


45 


had  tied  his  apron  on,  became  quite  gigantic.  It  was  not 
until  he  had  several  times  walked  up  and  do\Yn  with  folded 
arms  and  the  longest  strides  he  could  take,  and  had  kicked 
a  great  many  small  articles  out  of  his  way,  that  his  lip  began 
to  curl.  At  length,  a  gloomy  derision  came  upon  his  feat- 
ures, and  he  smiled,  uttering  meanwhile  with  supreme  con- 
tempt the  monosyllable  "  Joe  !  " 

"  I  eyed  her  over  while  he  talked  about  the  fellow,"  he 
said,  "  and  that  was  of  course  the  reason  of  her  being  con- 
fused.    Joe  !  " 

He  walked  up  and  down  again  much  quicker  than  before, 
and  if  possible  with  longer  strides  ;  sometimes  stopping  to  take 
a  glance  at  his  legs,  and  sometimes  to  jerk  out,  and  cast 
from  him,  another  "  Joe  !  "  In  the  course  of  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  or  so  he  again  assumed  the  paper  cap  and  tried  to  work. 
No.     It  could  not  be  done. 

"  I'll  do  nothing  to-day,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  dashing  it 
down  again,  "  but  grind.  I'll  grind  up  all  the  tools.  Grind- 
ing will  suit  my  present  humor  well.     Joe  !  " 

Whirr-r-r-r.  The  grindstone  was  soon  in  motion  ;  the 
sparks  were  flying  off  in  showers.  This  was  the  occupation 
for  his  heated  spirit. 

Whir-r-r-r-r-r-r. 

"  Something  will  come  of  this  !  "  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  paus- 
ing as  if  in  triumph,  and  wiping  his  heated  face  upon  his 
sleeve.  "  Something  will  come  of  this.  I  hope  it  mayn't  be 
human  gore  !  " 

Whirr-r-r-r-r-r-r-r. 


CHAPTER  V. 

As  soon  as  the  business  of  the  day  was  over,  the  locksmith 
sallied  forth,  alone,  to  visit  the  wounded  gentleman  and 
ascertain  the  progress  of  his  recovery.  The  house  where  he 
had  left  him  was  in  a  by-street  in  Southwark,  not  far  from 
London  Bridge  ;  and  thither  he  hied  with  all  speed,  bent 
upon  returning  with  as  little  delay  as  might  be,  and  getting 
to  bed  betimes. 

The  evening  was  boisterous — scarcely  better  than  the 
previous  night  had  been.  It  was  not  easy  for  a  stout  man 
like  Gabriel  to  keep  his  legs  at  the  street  corners,  or  to  make 
head  against  the  high  wind,  Avhich  often  fairly  got  the  better 
of  him,  and  drove  him  back  some  paces,  or,  in  defiance  of  ail 


40  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

his  energy,  forced  him  to  take  shelter  in  an  arch  or  doorway 
until  the  fury  of  the  gust  was  spent.  Occasionally  a  hat  or 
wig,  or  both,  came  spinning  and  trundling  past  him,  like  a 
mad  thing,  while  the  more  serious  spectacle  of  falling  tiles 
and  slates,  or  of  masses  of  brick  and  mortar  or  fragments  of 
stone-coping  rattling  upon  the  pavement  near  at  hand,  and 
splitting  into  fragments,  did  not  increase  the  pleasure  of  the 
journey,  or  make  the  way  less  dreary. 

"  A  trying  night  for  a  man  like  me  to  walk  in  !  "  said  the 
locksmith,  as  he  knocked  softly  at  the  widow's  door.  "  I'd 
rather  be  in  old  John's  chimney-corner,  faith  !  " 

**  Who's  there  ?  "  demanded  a  woman's  voice  from  within. 
Being  answered,  it  added  a  hasty  word  of  welcome,  and  the 
door  was  quickly  opened. 

She  was  about  forty — perhaps  two  or  three  years  older — 
with  a  cheerful  aspect,  and  a  face  that  had  once  been  pretty.  It 
bore  traces  of  affliction  and  care,  but  they  were  of  an  old  date, 
and  time  had  smoothed  them.  Any  one  who  had  bestowed 
but  a  casual  glance  on  Barnaby  might  have  known  that  this 
was  his  mother,  from  the  strong  resemblance  between  them  ; 
but  where  in  his  face  there  was  wildnessand  vacancy,  in  hers 
there  was  the  patient  composure  of  long  effort  and  quiet 
resignation. 

One  thing  about  this  face  was  very  strange  and  startling. 
You  could  not  look  upon  it  in  its  most  cheerful  mood  with- 
out feeling  that  it  had  some  extraordinary  capacity  of 
expressing  terror.  It  was  not  on  the  surface.  It  was  in  no 
one  feature  that  it  lingered.  You  could  not  take  the  eyes, 
or  mouth,  or  lines  upon  the  cheek,  and  say,  if  this  or  that 
were  otherwise,  it  would  not  be  so.  Yet  there  it  always 
lurked — something  forever  dimly  seen,  but  ever  there, 
and  never  absent  for  a  moment.  It  was  the  faintest,  palest 
shadow  of  some  look,  to  which  an  instant  of  intense  and 
most  unutterable  horror  only  could  have  given  birth  ; 
but  indistinct  and  feeble  as  it  was,  it  did  suggest  what  that 
look  must  have  been,  and  fixed  it  in  the  mind  as  if  it  had 
had  existence  in  a  dream. 

More  faintly  imagined,  and  wanting  force  and  purpose,  as 
it  were  because  of  his  darkened  intellect,  there  was  this 
same  stamp  upon  the  son.  Seen  in  a  picture,  it  must  have 
had  some  legend  with  it,  and  would  have  haunted  those  who 
looked  upon  the  canvas.  They  who  knew  the  Maypole 
story,  and  could  remember  what  the  widow  was  before  her 
jjusband's   and   his  master's   murder     understood  it   well. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  47 

They  recollected  how  the  change  had  come,  and  could  call 
to  mind  that  when  her  son  was  born,  upon  the  very  day  the 
deed  was  known,  he  bore  upon  his  wrist  what  seemed  a 
smear  of  blood  but  half  washed  out. 

"  God  save  you,  neighbor  !  "  said  the  locksmith,  as  he 
followed  her,  with  the  air  of  an  old  friend,  into  a  little  par- 
lor where  a  cheerful  fire  was  burning. 

"  And  you,"  she  answered  smiling.  '"  ^  our  kind  heart  has 
brought  you  here  again.  Nothing  will  keep  you  at  home,  I 
know  of  old,  if  there  are  friends  to  serve  or  comfort  out  of 
doors." 

"  Tut,  tut,"  returned  the  locksmith,  rubbing  his  hands 
and  warming  them.  *'  You  women  are  such  talkers.  What 
of  the  patient,  neighbor?" 

"  He  is  sleeping  now.  He  was  very  restless  toward  day- 
light, and  for  some  hours  tossed  and  tumbled  sadly.  But 
the  fever  has  left  him,  and  the  doctor  says  he  will  soon  mend. 
He  must  not  be  removed  until  to-morrow." 

"  He    has  had   visitors   to-day— humph  ? "  said    Gabriel, 

slyly. 

"  Yes.  Old  Mr.  Chester  has  been  here  ever  since  we  sent 
for  him,  and  had  not  been  gone  many  minutes  when  you 
knocked." 

"No  ladies?"  said  Gabriel,  elevating  his  eyebrows  and 
looking  disappointed. 

"  A  letter,"  replied  the  widow. 

"  Come.  That's  better  than  nothing  !  "  replied  the  lock- 
smith.    "  Who  was  the  bearer?  " 

**  Barnaby,  of  course." 

"Barnaby's  a  jewel!"  said  Varden  ;  "and  comes  and 
goes  with  ease  where  we  who  think  ourselves  much  wiser 
would  make  but  a.  poor  hand  of  it.  He  is  not  out  wander- 
ing, again,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Thank  heaven  he  is  in  his  bed  ;  having  been  up  all 
night,  as  you  know,  and  on  his  feet  all  day.  He  was  quite 
tired  out.  Ah,  neighbor,  if  I  could  but  see  him  oftener^  so 
— if  I  could  but  tame  down  that  terrible  restlessness " 

"  In  good  time,"  said  the  locksmith  kindly,  "  in  good 
time— don't  be  down-hearted.  To  my  mind  he  grows  wiser 
every  day." 

The  widow  shook  her  head.  And  yet,  though  she  knew 
the  locksmith  sought  to  cheer  her,  and  spoke  from  no  con- 
viction of  his  own,  she  was  glad  to  hear  even  this  praise  of 
her  poor  benighted  son. 


48  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

*'  He  will  be  a  'cute  man  yet,"  resumed  the  locksmith. 
"  Take  care,  when  we  are  growing  old  and  foolish,  Barnaby 
doesn't  put  us  to  the  blush,  that's  all.  But  our  other  friend," 
he  added,  looking  under  the  table  and  about  the  floor — 
"  sharpest  and  cunningest  of  all  the  sharp  and  cunning  ones 
— where's  he  ?  " 

"  In  Barnaby's  room,"  rejoined  the  widow,  with  a  faint 
smile. 

"  Ah  ?  He's  a  knowing  blade  !  "  said  Varden,  shaking 
his  head.  *'  I  should  be  sorry  to  talk  secrets  .before  him. 
Oh  !  He's  a  deep  customer.  I've  no  doubt  he  can  read, 
and  write,  and  cast  accounts  if  he  chooses.  What  was  that  ? 
Him  tapping  at  the  door  ?  " 

**  No,"  returned  the  widow.  "  It  was  in  the  street,  I 
think.  Hark  !  Yes.  There  again  !  'Tis  some  one  knock- 
ing softly  at  the  shutter.     Who  can  it  be  !  " 

They  had  been  speaking  in  a  low  tone,  for  the  invalid  lay 
overhead,  and  the  walls  and  ceilings  being  thin  and  poorly 
built,  the  sound  of  their  voice  might  otherwise  have  disturbed 
his  slumber.  The  party  without,  whoever  it  was,  could  have 
stood  close  to  the  shutter  without  hearing  any  thing  spoken  ; 
and,  seeing  the  light  through  the  chinks  and  finding  all  so 
quiet,  might  have  been  persuaded  that  only  one  person  was 
there. 

"  Some  thief  or  rufifian  may  be,"  said  the  locksmith. 
''  Give  me  the  light." 

'*  No,  no,"  she  returned  hastily,  "  Such  visitors  have 
never  come  to  this  poor  dwelling.  Do  you  stay  here. 
You're  within  call,  at  the  worst.  I  would  rather  go  myself 
— alone." 

"  Why  ?  "  aaid  the  locksmith,  unwillingly  relinquishing  the 
candle  he  had  caught  up  from  the  table. 

''  Because — I  don't  know  why — because  the  wish  is  so 
strong  upon  me,"  she  rejoined.  "  There  again — do  not  de- 
tain me,  I  beg  of  you  !  " 

Gabriel  looked  at  her  in  great  surprise  to  see  one  who  was 
usually  so  mild  and  quiet  thus  agitated,  and  with  so  little 
cause.  She  left  the  room  and  closed  the  door  behind  her.  - 
She  stood  for  a  moment  as  if  hesitating,  with  her  hand  upon 
the  lock.  In  this  short  interval  the  knocking  came  again, 
and  a  voice  close  to  the  window — a  voice  the  locksmith 
seemed  to  recollect,  and  to  have  some  disagreeable  associa- 
tion with — whispered  "  Make  haste." 

The  words  were  uttered  in  that  low  distinct  voice  which 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  49 

finds  its  way  so  readily  to  sleepers'  ears,  and  wakes  them 
in  a  fright.  For  a  moment  it  startled  even  the  locksmith  ; 
who  involuntarily  drew  back  from  the  window,  and  listened. 

The  wind  rumbling  in  the  chimney  made  it  difficult  to 
hear  what  passed,  but  he  could  tell  that  the  door  was 
opened,  that  there  was  the  tread  of  a  man  upon  the  creak- 
ing boards,  and  then  a  moment's  silence — broken  by  a  sup- 
pressed something  which  was  not  a  shriek,  or  groan,  or  cry 
for  help,  and  yet  might  have  been  either  or  all  three  ;  and  the 
words  ''  My  God  !  "  uttered  in  a  voice  it  chilled  him  to  hear. 

He  rushed  out  upon  the  instant.  There,  at  last,  was  that 
dreadful  look — the  very  one  he  seemed  to  know  so  well 
and  yet  had  never  seen  before — upon  her  face.  There  she 
stood,  frozen  to  the  ground,  gazing  witii  starting  eyes,  and 
livid  cheeks,  and  every  feature  fixed  and  ghastly,  upon  the 
man  he  had  encountered  in  the  dark  last  night.  His  eyes 
met  those  of  the  locksmith.  It  was  but  a  flash,  an  instant, 
a  breath  upon  the  polished  glass,  and  he  was  gone. 

The  locksmith  was  upon  him — had  the  skirts  of  his 
streaming  garment  almost  in  his  grasp — when  his  arms  were 
tightly  clutched,  and  the  widow  flung  herself  upon  the 
ground  before  him. 

"  The  other  way — the  other  way,"  she  cried.  "  He  went 
the  other  way.     Turn — turn  !  " 

"  The  other  way  !  I  see  him  now,"  rejoined  the  lock- 
smith, pointing — "  yonder — there — there  is  his  shadow  pass- 
ing by  that  light.     What — who  is  this  ?     Let  me  go." 

"Come  back,  come  back  !  "  exclaimed  the  woman,  clasp- 
ing him.  "  Do  not  touch  him  on  your  life.  I  charge  you, 
come  back.  He  carries  other  lives  besides  his  own.  Come 
back  ! " 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  "  cried  the  locksmith. 

"  No  matter  what  it  means,  don't  ask,  don't  speak,  don't 
think  about  it.  He  is  not  to  be  followed,  checked,  or 
stopped.     Come  back  !  " 

The  old  man  looked  at  her  in  wonder,  as  she  writhed  and 
clung  about  him  ;  and  borne  down  by  her  passion,  suffered 
her. to  drag  him  into  the  house.  It  was  not  until  she  had 
chained  and  double-locked  the  door,  fastened  every  bolt 
and  bar  with  the  heat  and  fury  of  a  maniac,  and  drawn  him 
back  int©  the  room,  that  she  turned  upon  him,  once  again, 
that  stony  look  of  horror,  and  sinking  down  into  a  chair, 
covered  her  face,  and  shuddered,  as  though  the  hand  of 
death  were  on  her. 


5©  BARNABY  RUDGE. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Beyond  all  measure  astonished  by  the  strange  occurrences 
which  had  passed  with  so  much  violence  and  rapidity,  the 
locksmith  gazed  upon  the  shuddering  figure  in  the  chair  like 
one  half  stuf)efied,  and  would  have  gazed  much  longer,  had 
not  his  tongue  been    loosened  by  compassion  and  humanity. 

*' You  are  ill,"  said  Gabriel.  "  Let  me  call  some  neigh- 
bor in." 

"  Not  for  the  world,"  she  rejoined,  motioning  to  him 
with  her  trembling  hand,  and  holding  her  face  averted.  "It 
is  enough  that  you  have  been  by,  to  see  this." 

"  Nay,  more  than  enough — or  less,"  said  Gabriel. 

"  Be  it  so,"  she  returned.  '*  As  you  like.  Ask  me  no 
questions,  I  entreat  you." 

"  Neighbor,"  said  the  locksmith,  after  a  pause,  "is  this 
fair,  or  reasonable,  or  just  to  yourself.^  Is  it  like  you,  who 
have  known  me  so  long  and  sought  my  advice  in  all  matters 
— like  you,  who  from  a  girl  have  had  a  strong  mind  and  a 
staunch  heart  ?" 

"  I  have  need  of  them,"  she  replied.  "  I  am  growing  old, 
both  in  years  and  care.  Perhaps  that,  and  too  much  trial, 
have  made  them  weaker  than  they  used  to  be.  Do  not 
speak  to  me." 

"  How  can  I  see  what  I  have  seen,  and  hold  my  peace  ?  " 
returned  the  locksmith.  "  Who  was  that  man,  and  why  has 
his  coming  made  this  change  in  you  ? " 

She  was  silent,  but  held  to  the  chair  as  though  to  save 
herself  from  falling  on  the  ground. 

"  I  take  the  license  of  an  old  acquaintance,  Mary,"  said 
the  locksmith,  "  who  has  ever  had  a  warm  regard  for  you, 
and  may  be  has  tried  to  prove  it  when  he  could.  Who  is 
this  ill-favored  man,  and  what  has  he  to  do  with  you  ?  Who 
is  this  ghost,  that  is  only  seen  in  the  black  nights  and  bad 
weather  ?  How  does  he  know,  and  why  does  he  haunt  this 
house,  whispering  through  chinks  and  crevices,  as  if  there 
was  that  between  him  and  you  which  neitlier  durst  so  itiuch 
as  speak  aloud  of.     Who  is  he  ?  " 

"  You  do  well  to  say  he  haunts  this  house,"  returned  the 
widow,  faintly.  "  His  shadow  has  been  upon  it  and  me,  in 
light  and  darkness,  at  noonday  and  midnight.  And  now,  at 
last,  he  has  come  in  the  body  !  " 

"  13ut  he  wouldn't  have  gone  in  the  body,"  returned  the 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  51 

locksmith  with  some  irritation,  "  if   you   had  left  my   arms 
and  legs  at  liberty.     What  riddle  is  it  ? " 

"  It  is  one,"  she  answered,  rising  as  she  spoke,  "  that 
must  remain  forever  as  it  is.  I  dare  not  say  more  than 
that." 

"  Dare  not  !  "  repeated  the  wondering  locksmith. 

*'  Do  not  press  me,"  she  replied.  /'I  am  sick  and  faint, 
and  every  faculty  of  life  seems  dead  within  me. — No  ! — Do 
not  touch  me,  either." 

Gabriel,  who  had  stepped  forward  to  render  her  assistance, 
fell  back  as  she  made  this  hasty  exclamation,  and  regarded 
her  in  silent  wonder. 

"  Let  me  go  my  way  alone,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "  and 
let  the  hands  of  no  honest  man  touch  mine  to-night."  ^yhen 
she  had  tottered  to  the  door,  she  turned,  and  added  with  a 
stronger  effort,  "  This  is  a  secret,  which,  of  necessity,  I  trust 
to  you.  You  are  a  true  man.  As  you  have  ever  been  good 
and  kind  to  me— keep  it.  If  any  noise  was  heard  above, 
make  some  excuse — say  any  thing  but  what  you  really  saw, 
and  never  let  a  word  or  look  between  us,  recall  this  circum- 
stance. I  trust  to  you.  Mind,  I  trust  to  you.  How  much 
I  trust,  you  never  can  conceive." 

Casting  her  eyes  upon  him  for  an  instant,  she  withdrew 
and  left  him  there  alone. 

Gabriel,  not  knowing  what  to  think,  stood  staring  at  the 
door  with  a  countenance  full  of  surprise  and  dismay.  The 
more  he  pondered  on  what  had  passed,  the  less  able  he  was 
to  give  it  any  favorable  interpretation.  To  find  this  widow 
woman,  whose  life  for  so  many  years  had  been  supposed  to 
be  one  of  solitude  and  retirement,  and  who,  in  her  quiet 
suffering  character,  had  gained  the  good  opinion  and  respect 
of  all  who  knew  her— to  find  her  linked  mysteriously  with 
an  ill-omened  man,,  alarmed  at  his  appearance,  and  yet 
favoring  his  escape,  was  a  discovery  that  pained  as  nriuch  as 
startled  him.  Her  reliance  on  his  secrecy,  and  his  tacit 
acquiescence,  increased  his  distress  of  mind.  If  he  had 
spoken  boldly,  persisted  in  questioning  her,  detained  her 
when  she  rose  to  leave  the  room,  made  any  kind  of  protest, 
instead  of  silently  compromising  himself,  as  he  felt  he  had 
done,  he  would  have  been  more  at  ease. 

"Why  did  I  let  her  say  it  was  a  secret,  and  she  trusted  it 
to  me  !  "  said  Gabriel,  putting  his  wig  on  one  side  to  scratch 
his  head  with  greater  ease,  and  looking  ruefully  at  the  fire. 
"  I  have  r-o  more  readiness   than  old   John   himself.     Why 


52  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

didn't  I  say  firmly,  '  You  have  no  right  to  such  secrets,  and 
I  demand  of  you  to  tell  me  what  this  means,'  instead  of 
standing  gaping  at  her,  like  an  old  moon-calf  as  I  am  !  But 
there's  my  weakness.  I  can  be  obstinate  enough  with  men 
if  need  be,  but  women  may  twist  me  round  their  fingers  at 
their  pleasure." 

He  took  his  wig  off  outright  as  he  made  this  reflection, 
and,  warming  his  handkerchief  at  the  fire,  began  to  rub  and 
polish  his  bald  head  with  it,  until  it  glistened  again. 

"And  yet,"  said  the  locksmith,  softening  under  this  sooth- 
ing process,  and  stopping  to  smile,  ''  it  rnaj  be  nothing.  Any 
drunken  brawler  trying  to  make  his  way  into  the  house, 
would  have  alarmed  a  quiet  soul  like  her.  But  then  " — and 
here  was  the  vexation — "  how^  came  it  to  be  that  man  ;  how 
comes  he  to  have  this  influence  over  her  ;  how  came  she 
to  favor  his  getting  away  from  me  ;  and,  more  than  all,  how 
came  she  not  to  say  it  was  a  sudden  fright,  and  nothing 
more  ?  It's  a  sad  thing  to  have,  in  one  minute,  reason  to 
mistrust  a  person  I  have  known  so  long,  and  an  old  sweet- 
heart into  the  bargain  ;  but  what  else  can  I  do,  with  all  this 
upon  my  mind  ! — Is  that  Barnaby  outside  there  ? " 

"  Ay  !  "  he  cried,  looking  in  and  nodding.  "  Sure  enough 
it's  Barnaby — how  did  you  guess  ?  " 

"By  your  shadow,"  said  the  locksmith. 

"  Oho,"  cried  Barnaby,  glancing  over  his  shoulder.  "  He's 
a  merry  fellow  that  shadow,  and  keeps  close  to  me,  though 
I  am  silly.  We  have  such  pranks,  such  walks,  such  runs, 
such  gambols  on  the  grass  !  Sometimes  he'll  be  half  as  tall 
as  a  church  steeple,  and  sometimes  no  bigger  than  a  dwarf. 
Now,  he  goes  on  before,  and  now  behind,  and  anon  he'll  be 
stealing  on,  on  this  side,  or  on  that,  stopping  whenever  I 
stop,  and  thinking  I  can't  see  him,  though  I  have  my  eye 
on  him  sharp  enough.  Oh  !  he's  a  merry  fellow.  Tell  me 
— is  he  silly,  too  ?    I  think  he  is." 

"Why?"    asked  Gabriel. 

"  Because  he  never  tires  of  mocking  me,  but  does  it  all 
day  long.     Why  don't  you  come  ?  " 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  Up  stairs.  He  wants  you.  Stay — where's  At's  shadow  ^ 
Come.     You're  a  wise  man  ;  tell  me  that." 

"  Beside  him,  Barnaby  ;  beside  Ui-TQ,  I  suppose,"  returned 
the  locksmith. 

"  No  !  "  he  replied,  shaking  his  head.     "  Guess  again." 

"  Gone  out  ^  "'"'^ing,  may  be  ?  " 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  S3 

*'  He  has  changed  shadows  with  a  woman,"  the  idiot 
whispered  in  his  ear,  and  then  fell  back  with  a  look  of  tri- 
umph. "  Her  shadow's  always  with  him,  and  his  with  her. 
That's  sport  I  think,  eh?" 

"  Barnaby,"  said  the  locksmith,  with  a  grave  look  ;  "  come 
hither,  lad." 

"  I  know  what  you  want  to  say.  I  know  !  "  he  replied, 
keeping  away  from  him.  ''  But  I'm  cunning,  I'm  silent.  I 
only  say  so  much  to  you — are  you  ready  ?  "  As  he  spoke, 
he  caught  up  the  light,  and  waved  it  with  a  wild  laugh 
above  his  head. 

''  Softly— gently,"  said  the  locksmith,  exerting  all  his 
influence  to  keep  him  calm  and  quiet.  "  I  thought  you  had 
been  asleep." 

"  So  I  /lave  been  asleep,"  he  rejoined,  with  widely-opened 
eyes.  *'  There  have  been  great  faces  coming  and  going — 
close  to  my  face,  and  then  a  mile  away — low  places  to  creep 
through,  whether  I  would  or  no — high  churches  to  fall  down 
from — strange  creatures  crowded  up  tog&ther  neck  and  heels, 
to  sit  upon  the  bed — that's  sleep,  eh  ?  " 

"  Dreams,  Barnaby,  dreams,"  said  the  locksmith. 
*'  Dreams  !  "    he   echoed   softly,   drawing  closer  to  him. 
"  Those  are  not  dreams." 

*'  What  are,"  replied  the  locksmith,  "  if  they  are  not  ?  " 
"I  dreamed,"  said  Barnaby,  passing  his  arm  through 
Varden's  and  peering  close  into  his  face  as  he  answered  in 
a  whisper,  "  1  dreamed  just  now  that  something — it  was  in 
the  shape  of  a  man — followed  me — came  softly  after  me — 
wouldn't  let  me  be — but  was  always  hiding  and  crouching, 
like  a  cat  in  dark  corners,  waiting  till  I  should  pass  ;  when  it 
crept  out  and  came  softly  after  me.  Did  you  ever  see  me  run? " 
*'  Many  a  time,  you  know." 

"  You  never  saw  me  run  as  I  did  in  this  dream.  Still  it 
came  creeping  on  to  worry  me.  Nearer,  nearer,  nearer— I 
ran  faster — leaped — sprung  out  of  bed,  and  to  the  window 
— and  there,  in  the  street  below — but  he  is  waiting  for  us. 
Are  you  coming  ?  " 

"  \Vhat  in  the  street  below,  Barnaby  ? "  said  Varden, 
imagining  that  he  traced  some  connection  between  this 
vision  and  what  had  actually  occurred. 

Barnaby  looked  into  his  face,  muttered  incoherently, 
waved  the  light  above  his  head  again,  laughed,  and  drawing 
the  locksmith's  arm  more  tightly  through  his  own,  led  him 
up  the  stairs  in  silence. 


54  BARNABY  RUDGR. 

They  entered  a  homely  bed-chamber,  garnished  in  a  scanty 
way  with  chairs,  whose  spindle-shanks  bespoke  their  age, 
and  other  furniture  of  very  little  worth  ;  but  clean  and 
neatly  kept.  Reclining  in  an  easy-chair  before  the  fire,  pale 
and  weak  from  waste  of  blood,  was  Edward  Chester,  the 
young  gentleman  who  had  been  the  first  to  quit  the  May- 
pole on  the  previous  night,  and  who,  extending  his  hand  to 
the  locksmith,  welcomed  him  as  his  preserver  and  friend. 

"  Say  no  more,  sir,  say  no  more,"  said  Gabriel.  "  I  hope 
1  would  have  done  at  least  as  much  for  any  man  in  such  a 
strait,  and  most  of  all  for  you,  sir.  A  certain  young  lady," 
he  added,  with  some  hesitation,  "  has  done  us  many  a  kind 
turn,  and  we  naturally  feel — I  hope  I  give  you  no  offense 
in  saying  this,  sir  ?  " 

The  young  man  smiled  and  shook  his  head  ;  at  the  same 
time  moving  in  his  chair  as  if  in  pain. 

"  It's  no  great  matter,"  he  said,  in  answer  to  the  lock- 
smith's sympathizing  look,  "  a  mere  uneasiness  arising  at 
least  as  much  from  being  cooped  up  here,  as  from  the  slight 
wound  I  have,  or  from  the  loss  of  blood.  Be  seated,  Mr. 
Varden." 

"  If  I  may  make  so  bold,  Mr,  Edward,  as  to  lean  upon 
your  chair,"  returned  the  locksmith,  accommodating  his 
action  to  his  speech,  and  bending  over  him,  "  I'll  stand  here 
for  the  convenience  of  speaking  low.  Barnaby  is  not  in  his 
quietest  humor  to-night,  and  at  such  times  talking  never 
does  him  good." 

They  both  glanced  at  the  subject  of  this  remark,  who  had 
taken  a  seat  on  the  other  side  of  the  fire,  and,  smiling  va- 
cantly, was  making  puzzles  on  his  fingers  with  a  skein  of 
string. 

"  Pray,  tell  me,  sir,"  said  Varden,  dropping  his  voice  still 
lower,  "  exactly  what  happened  last  night.  I  have  my  reason 
for  inquiring.     You  left  the  Maypole  alone  ?  " 

"  And  walked  homeward  alone,  until  1  had  nearly  reached 
the  place  where  you  found  me,  when  I  heard  the  gallop  of  a 
horse." 

*'  Behind  you  ?"  said  the  locksmith. 

*'  Indeed,  yes — behind  me.  It  was  a  single  rider,  who  soon 
overtook  me,  and  checking  his  horse,  inquired  the  way  to 
London." 

"  You  were  on  the  alert,  sir,  knowing  how  many  highway- 
men there  are,  scouring  the  roads  in  all  directions  ? "  said 
Varden. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.    ,  55 

"  I  was,  but  I  had  only  a  stick,  having  imprudently  left  my 
I  istols  in  their  holster-case  with  the  landlord's  son.  I  div 
I'ccted  him  as  he  desired.  Before  the  words  had  passed  my 
lips,  he  rode  upon  me  furiously,  as  if  bent  on  trampling  me 
down  beneath  his  horse's  hoofs.  In  starting  aside  I  slipped 
and  fell.  You  found  me  with  this  stab  and  an  ugly  bruise 
or  two,  and  without  my  purse — in  which  he  found  little 
enough  for  his  pains.  And  now,  Mr.  Varden,"  he  added, 
shaking  the  locksmith  by  the  hand, "  saving  the  extent  of 
my  gratitude  to  you,  you  know  as  much  as  I." 

"  Except,"  said  Gabriel,  bending  down  yet  more,  and  look- 
ing cautiously  toward  their  silent  neighbor,  "  except  in  re- 
spect of  the  robber  himself.  What  like  was  he,  sir  ?  Speak 
low,  if  you  please.  Barnaby  means  no  harm,  but  I  have 
watched  him  oftener  than  you,  and  I  know,  little  as  you 
would  think  it,  that  he's  listening  now." 

It  required  a  strong  confidence  in  the  locksmith's  veracity 
to  lead  any  one  to  this  belief,  for  every  sense  and  faculty 
that  Barnaby  possessed  seemed  to  be  fixed  upon  his  game,  to 
the  exclusion  of  all  other  things.  Something  in  the  young 
man's  face  expressed  this  opinion,  for  Gabriel  repeated  what 
he  had  just  said,  more  earnestly  than  before,  and,  with  an- 
other glance  toward  Barnaby,  again  asked  what  like  the  man 
was. 

"  The  night  was  so  dark,"  said  Edward,  "  the  attack  so 
sudden,  and  he  so  wrapped  and  muffled  up,  that  I  can  hardly 
say.     It  seems  that " 

"  Don't  mention  his  name,  sir,"  returned  the  locksmith, 
following  his  look  toward  Barnaby  ;  "  I  know  he  saw  him.  I 
want  to  know  yi\s.dX you  saw." 

"  All  I  remember  is,"  said  Edward,  "  that  as  he  checked 
his  horse  his  hat  was  blown  off.  He  caught  it,  and  replaced 
it  on  his  head,  which  I  observed  was  bound  with  a  dark 
handkerchief.  A  stranger  entered  the  Maypole  while  I  was 
there,  whom  I  had  not  seen — for  I  had  sat  apart  for  reasons 
of  my  own — and  when  I  rose  to  leave  the  room  and  glanced 
round,  he  was  in  the  shadow  of  the  chimney  and  hidden 
from  my  sight.  But,  if  he  and  the  robber  were  two  differ- 
ent persons,  their  voices  were  strangely  and  most  remark- 
ably alike  ;  for  directly  the  man  addressed  me  in  the  road, 
1  recognized  his  speech  again." 

"  It  is  as  I  feared.  The  very  man  was  here  to-night," 
thought  the  locksmith,  changing  color.  "  What  dark  his- 
tory is  this  !  " 


56  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  Halloo  !  "  cried  a  hoarse  voice  in  his  ear.  "  Halloo, 
halloo,  halloo  !  Bow,  wow,  wow.  What's  the  matter  here  ! 
Halloo  !  " 

The  speaker — who  niade  the  locksmith  start  as  if  he  had 
seen  some  supernatural  agent — was  a  large  raven,  who  had 
perched  upon  the  top  of  the  easy-chair,  unseen  by  him  and 
Edward,  and  listened  with  a  polite  attention  and  a  most  ex- 
traordinary appearance  of  comprehending  every  word,  to  all 
they  had  said  up  to  this  point  ;  turning  his  head  from  one  to 
the  other,  as  if  his  office  were  to  judge  between  them,  and  it 
were  of  the  very  last  importance  that  he  should  not  lose  a 
word. 

"  Look  at  him  !  "  said  Varden,  divided  between  admira- 
tion of  the  bird  and  a  kind  of  fear  of  him.  "  Was  there  ever 
such  a  knowing  imp  as  that !     Oh,  he's  a  dreadful  fellow  !  " 

The  raven,  with  his  head  very  much  on  one  side,  and  his 
bright  eye  shining  like  a  diamond,  preserved  a  thoughtful 
silence  for  a  few  seconds,  and  then  replied  in  a  voice  so 
hoarse  and  distant,  that  it  seemed  to  come  through  his  thick 
feathers  rather  than  out  of  his  mouth. 

"  Halloo,  halloo,  halloo  !  What's  the  matter  here  !  Keep 
Tip  your  spirits.  Never  say  die.  Bow,  wow,  wow.  I'm  a 
devil,  I'm  a  devil,  I'm  a  devil.  Hurrah  !  "  And  then,  as  if 
exulting  in  his  infernal  character,  he  began  to  whistle. 

"  I  more  than  half  believe  he  speaks  the  truth.  Upon  my 
word  I  do,"  said  Varden.  ^'  Do  you  see  how  he  looks  at  me, 
as  if  he  knew  what  I  was  saying  ?  " 

To  which  the  bird,  balancing  himself  on  tiptoe,  as  it  were, 
and  moving  his  body  up  and  down  in  a  sort  of  grave  dance, 
rejoined,  *^  I'm  a  devil,  I'm  a  devil,  I'm  a  devil,"  and  flapped 
his  wings  against  his  sides  as  if  he  were  bursting  with  laughter. 
Barnaby  clapped  his  hands,  and  fairly  rolled  upon  the  ground 
in  an  ecstasy  of  delight. 

"  Strange  companions,  sir,"  said  the  locksmith,  shaking  his 
head,  and  looking  from  one  to  the  other.  "  The  bird  has  all 
the  wit." 

"  Strange  indeed  !  "  said  Edward,  holding  out  his  fore- 
finger to  the  raven,  who,  in  acknowledgment  of  the  atten- 
tion, made  a  dive  at  it  immediately  with  his  iron  bill.  **  Is 
he  old  ?  " 

'*  A  mere  boy,  sir,"  replied  the  locksmith.  **  A  hundred 
and  twenty  or  thereabouts.  Call  him  down,  Barnaby,  my 
man." 

*'  Call  him  !  "  echoed  Barnaby,  sitting   upright   upon  the 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  57 

floor,  and  staring  vacantly  at  Gabriel,  as  he  thrust  his  hair 
back  from  his  face.  "  But  who  can  make  him  come  !  He 
calls  me,  and  makes  me  go  where  he  will.  He  goes  on  be- 
fore, and  I  follow.  He's  the  master,  and  I'm  the  man.  Is 
that  the  truth.  Grip  ?  " 

The  raven  gave  a  short,  comfortable,  confidential  kind  of 
croak  ; — a  most  expressive  croak,  which  seemed  to  say, 
*'  You  needn't  let  these  fellows  into  our  secrets.  We  under- 
stand each  other.     It's  all  right." 

"  /  make  him  come  ?  "  cried  Barnaby,  pointing  to  the 
bird.  "  Him  who  never  goes  to  sleep,  or  so  much  as  winks  ! 
— Why,  any  time  of  night,  you  may  see  his  eyes  in  my  dark 
room,  shining  like  two  sparks.  And  every  night,  and  all 
night  too,  he's  broad  awake,  talking  to  himself,  thinking 
what  he  shall  do  to-morrow,  where  we  shall  go,  and  what  he 
shall  steal,  and  hide,  and  bury.  /  make  him  come  !  Ha, 
ha,  ha  !  " 

On  second  thoughts,  the  bird  appeared  disposed  to  come 
of  himself.  After  a  short  survey  of  the  ground,  and  a  few 
sidelong  looks  at  the  ceiling  and  at  every  body  present  in  turn, 
he  fluttered  to  the  floor,  and  went  to  Barnaby — not  in  a  hop, 
or  walk,  or  run,  but  in  a  pace  like  that  of  a  very  particular 
gentleman  with  exceedingly  tight  boots  on,  trying  to  walk 
fast  over  loose  pebbles.  Then,  stepping  into  his  extended 
hand,  and  condescending  to  be  held  out  at  arm's-length,  he 
gave  vent  to  a  succession  of  sounds,  not  unlike  the  drawing 
of  some  eight  or  ten  dozen  long  corks,  and  again  asserted 
his  brimstone  birth  and  parentage  with  great  distinct- 
ness. 

The  locksmith  shook  his  head — perhaps  in  some  doubt  of 
the  creature's  being  really  nothing  but  a  bird— perhaps  in 
pity  for  Barnaby,  who  by  this  time  had  him  in  his  arms,  and 
was  rolling  about,  with  him,  on  the  ground.  As  he  raised  his 
eyes  from  the  poor  fellow  he  encountered  those  of  his  mother, 
who  had  entered  the  room,  and  was  looking  on  in  silence. 

She  was  quite  white  in  the  face,  even  to  her  lips,  but  had 
wholly  subdued  her  emotion,  and  wore  her  usual  quiet  look. 
Varden  fancied  as  he  glanced  at  her  that  she  shrunk  from 
his  eye  ;  and  that  she  busied  herself  about  the  wounded  gen- 
tleman to  avoid  him  the  better. 

It  was  time  he  went  to  bed,  she  said.  He  was  to  be  re- 
moved to  his  own  home  on  the  morrow,  and  he  had  already 
exceeded  his  time  for  sitting  up,  by  a  full  hour.  Acting  on 
this  hint,  the  locksmith  prepared  to  take  his  leave. 


58  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  By  the  by,"  said  Edward,  as  he  shook  him  by  the  hand, 
and  looked  from  him  to  Mrs.  Rudge  and  back  again,  "  what 
noise  was  that  below  ?  T  heard  your  voice  in  the  midst  of 
it,  and  should  have  inquired  before,  but  our  other  conversa- 
tion drove  it  from  my  memory.     What  was  i"  ?  " 

The  locksmith  looked  toward  her,  and  bit  his  lip.  She 
leaned  against  the  chair,  and  bent  her  eyes  upon  the  ground. 
Barnaby  too — he  was  listening. 

— *'  Some  mad  or  drunken  fellow,  sir,"  Varden  at  length 
made  answer,  looking  steadily  at  the  window  as  he  spoke. 
"  He  mistook  the  house,  and  tried  to  force  an  entrance." 

She  breathed  more  freely,  but  stood  quite  motionless.  As 
the  locksmith  said  "  Good-night,"  and  Barnaby  caught  up 
the  candle  to  light  him  down  the  stairs,  she  took  it  from  him, 
and  charged  him — with  more  haste  and  earnestness  than  so 
slight  an  occasion  appeared  to  warrant — not  to  stir.  The 
raven  followed  them  to  satisfy  himself  that  all  was  right  be- 
low, and  when  they  reached  the  street  door,  stood  on  the 
bottom  stair  drawing  corks  out  of  number. 

With  a  trembling  hand  she  unfastened  the  chain  and  bolts, 
and  turned  the  key.  As  she  had  her  hand  upon  the  latch, 
the  locksmith  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

*'  I  have  told  a  lie  to-night,  for  your  sake,  Mary,  and  for 
the  sake  of  by-gone  times  and  old  acquaintance,  when  I  would 
scorn  to  do  so  for  my  own.  I  hope  I  may  have  done  no 
harm,  or  led  to  none.  I  can't  help  the  suspicions  you  have 
forced  upon  me,  and  I  am  loth,  I  tell  you  plainly,  to  leave 
Mr.  Edward  here.  Take  care  he  comes  to  no  hurt.  I  doubt 
the  safety  of  this  roof,  and  am  glad  he  leaves  it  so  soon. 
Now,  let  me  go." 

For  a  moment  she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and  wept  ;  but 
resisting  the  strong  impulse  which  evidently  moved  her  to  re- 
ply, opened  the  door — no  wider  than  was  sufficient  for  the 
passage  of  his  body — and  motioned  him  away.  As  the  lock- 
smith  stood  upon  the  step,  it  was  chained  and  locked  behind 
him,  and  the  raven,  in  the  furtherance  of  these  precautions, 
barked  like  a  lusty  house-dog. 

"  In  league  with  that  ill-looking  figure  that  might  have 
fallen  from  a  gibbet — he  listening  and  hiding  here — Barn- 
aby first  upon  the  spot  last  night — can  she  who  has  always 
borne  so  fair  a  name  be  guilty  of  such  crimes  in  secret  !  " 
said  the  locksmith,  musing.  "  Heaven  forgive  me  if  I  am 
wrong,  and  send  me  just  thoughts  ;  but  she  is  poor,  the 
temptation   may  be  great,   and  we   daily  hear  of  things  as 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  59 

strange. — Ah,  bark  away,  my  friend.     If  there's  any  wicked- 
ness going  on,  that  raven's  in  it,  I'll  be  sworn." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

Mrs.  Varden  was  a  lady  of  what  is  commonly  called  an 
uncertain  temper — a  phrase  which  being  interpreted  signifies  a 
temper  tolerably  certain  to  make  every  body  more  or  less 
uncomfortable.  Thus  it  generally  happened,  that  when 
other  people  were  merry,  Mrs.  Varden  was  dull  ;  and  that 
when  other  people  were  dull,  Mrs.  Varden  was  disposed  to 
be  amazingly  cheerful.  Indeed  the  worthy  housewife  was 
of  such  a  capricious  nature,  that  she  not  only  attained  a 
higher  pitch  of  genius  than  Macbeth,  in  respect  of  her 
ability  to  be  wise,  amazed,  temperate  and  furious,  loyal  and 
neutral  in  an  instant,  but  would  sometimes  ring  the  changes 
backward  and  forward  on  all  possible  moods  and  flights  in 
one  short  quarter  of  an  hour  ;  performing,  as  it  were,  a  kind 
of  triple  bob  major  on  the  peal  of  instruments  in  the  female 
belfry,  with  a  skillfulness  and  rapidity  of  execution  that  as- 
tonished all  who  heard  her. 

It  had  been  observed  in  this  good  lady  (who  did  not  want 
for  personal  attractions,  being  plump  and  buxom  to  look  at, 
though,  like  her  fair  daughter,  somewhat  short  in  stature) 
that  this  uncertainty  of  disposition  strengthened  and  in- 
creased with  her  temporal  prosperity  ;  and  divers  wise  men 
and  matrons,  on  friendly  terms  with  the  locksmith  and  his 
family,  even  went  so  far  as  to  assert,  that  a  tumble  down 
some  half  dozen  rounds  in  the  world's  ladder — such  as  the 
breaking  of  the  bank  in  which  her  husband  kept  his  money 
or  some  little  fall  of  that  kind — would  be  the  making  of  her, 
and  could  hardly  fail  to  render  her  one  of  the  most  agree- 
able companions  in  existence.  Whether  they  were  right  or 
wrong  in  this  conjecture,  certain  it  is  that  minds,  like  bodies, 
will  often  fall  into  a  pimpled  ill-conditioned  state  from 
mere  excess  of  comfort,  and  like  them,  are  often  success- 
luUy  cured  by  remedies  in  themselves  very  nauseous  and 
unpalatable. 

Mrs.  V^arden's  chief  aider  and  abettor,  and  at  the  same 
time  her  principal  victim  and  object  of  wrath,  was  her  sin- 
gle domestic  servant,  one  Miss  Miggs  ;  or  as  she  was  called, 
in  conformity  with  those  prejudices  of  society  which  lop  and 
top  from  poor  handmaidens  all  such  genteel  excrescences — 


6o  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

Miggs.  This  Miggs  was  a  tall  young  lady,  very  much 
addicted  to  pattens  in  private  life  ;  slender  and  shrewish,  of 
a  rather  uncomfortable  figure,  and  though  not  absolutely 
ill-looking,  of  a  sharp  and  acid  visage.  As  a  general  prin- 
ciple and  abstract  proposition,  Miggs  held  the  male  sex  to 
be  utterly  contemptible  and  unworthy  of  notice,  to  be  fickle, 
false,  base,  sottish,  inclined  to  perjury,  and  wholly  undeserv- 
ing. When  particularly  exasperated  against  them  (which, 
scandal  said,  was  when  Sim  Tappertit  slighted  her  most)  she 
was  accustomed  to  wish  witli  great  emphasis  that  the  whole 
race  of  women  could  but  die  off,  in  order  that  the  men 
might  be  brought  to  know  the  real  value  of  the  blessings  by 
which  they  set  so  little  store  ;  nay,  her  feeling  for  her  order 
ran  so  high,  that  she  sometimes  declared,  if  she  could  only 
have  good  security  for  a  fair,  round  number — say  ten  thou- 
sand— of  young  virgins  following  her  example,  she  would, 
to  spite  mankind,  hang,  drown,  stab,  or  poison  herself,  with  a 
joy  past  all  expression. 

It  was  the  voice  of  Miggs  that  greeted  the  locksmith,  when 
he  knocked  at  his  own  house,  with  a  shrill  cry  of  "  Who's 
there  ? " 

**  Me,  girl,  me,"  returned  Gabriel. 

"  What,  already,  sir  !  "  said  Miggs,  opening  the  door  with 
a  look  of  surprise.  "  We  were  just  getting  on  our  nightcaps  to 
sit  up — me  and  mistress.     Oh,  she  has  been  so  bad  !  " 

Miggs  said  this  with  an  air  of  uncommon  candor  and 
concern  ;  but  the  parlor  door  was  standing  open,  and  as 
Gabriel  very  well  knew  for  whose  ears  it  was  designed,  he 
regarded  her  with  any  thing  but  an  approving  look  as  he 
passed  in. 

''  Master's  come  home,  mini,"  cried  Miggs,  running  before 
him  into  the  parlor.  "You  was  wrong,  mim,  and  I  was 
right.  I  thought  he  wouldn't  keep  us  up  so  late,  two  nights 
running,  mim.  Master's  always  censiderate  so  far.  I'm  so 
glad,  mim,  on  your  account.  I'm  a  little  " — here  Miggs 
simpered — "a  little  sleepy  myself;  I'll  own  it  now,  mim, 
though  I  said  I  wasn't  when  you  asked  me.  It  ain't  of  no 
consequence,  mim,  of  course." 

"  You  had  better,"  said  the  locksmith,  who  most  devoutly 
wished  that  Barnaby's  raven  was  at  Miggs's  ankles,  "  you 
had  better  go  to  bed  at  once  then." 

*'  Thanking  you  kindly,  sir,"  returned  Miggs,  "  I  couldn't 
take  my  rest  in  peace,  nor  fix  my  thoughts  upon  my  prayers, 
otherways  than  that  I  knew  mistress  was  comfortable  in  her 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  61 

bed  this  night  ;  by  rights  she  ought  to  have  been  there 
hours  ago." 

"  You're  talkative,  mistress,"  said  Vardcn,  pulling  off  his 
great-coat,  and  looking  at  her  askew. 

''  Taking  the  hint,  sir,"  cried  Miggs,  with  a  flushed  face, 
''  and  thanking  you  for  it  most  kindly,  I  will  make  bold  to 
say,  that  if  I  give  offense  by  having  consideration  for  my 
mistress,  I  do  not  ask  your  pardon,  but  am  content  to  get 
myself  into  trouble  and  to  be  in  suffering." 

Here  Mrs.  Vardcn,  who,  with  her  countenance  shrouded 
in  a  large  nightcap,  had  been  all  this  time  intent  upon  the 
Protestant  Manuel,  looked  round,  and  acknowledged 
Miggs's  championship  by  commanding  her  to  hold  her 
tongue. 

Every  little  bone  in  Miggs's  throat  and  neck  developed 
itself  with  a  spitefulness  quite  alarming,  as  she  replied,  "  Yes, 
mini,  I  will." 

**  How  do  you  find  yourself  now,  my  dear  ?  "  said  the 
locksmith,  taking  a  chair  near  his  wife  (who  had  resumed 
her  book),  and  rubbing  his  knees  hard  as  he  made  the 
inquiry. 

"  You're  very  anxious  to  know,  ain't  you  ?  "  returned  Mrs. 
Varden,  with  her  eyes  upon  the  print.  "  You,  that  have  not 
been  near  me  all  day,  and  wouldn't  have  been  if  I  was 
dying  !  " 

*'  My  dear  Martha — "  said  Gabriel. 

Mrs.  Varden  turned  over  to  the  next  page  ;  then  went  back 
again  to  the  bottom  line  over  leaf  to  be  quite  sure  of  the  last 
words  ;  and  then  went  on  reading  with  an  appearance  of  the 
deepest  interest  and  study. 

"  My  dear  Martha,"  said  the  locksmith,  "  how  can  you 
say  such  things,  when  you  know  you  don't  mean  them  ?  If 
you  were  dying  !  Why,  if  there  was  any  thing  serious  the 
matter  with  you,  Martha^  shouldn't  I  be  in  constant  attend- 
ance upon  you  ?  " 

"  Yes  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Varden,  bursting  into  tears,  "  yes,  you 
would.  I  don't  doubt  it,  Varden.  Certainly  you  would. 
That's  as  much  as  to  tell  me  that  you  would  be  hovering 
round  me  like  a  vulture,  waiting  till  the  breath  was  out  of 
my  body,  that  you  might  go  and  marry  somebody  else." 

Miggs  groaned  in  sympathy — a  little  short  groan,  checked 
in  its  birth,  and  changed  into  a  cough.  It  seemed  to  say, 
"  I  can't  help  it.  It's  wrung  from  me  by  the  dreadful  bru- 
tality of  that  monster  master." 


62  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

''  But  you'll  break  my  heart  one  of  these  days,"  adued 
Mrs.  Varden,  witli  more  resignation,  "  and  then  we  shall 
both  be  happy.  My  only  desire  is  to  see  Dolly  comfort- 
ably settled,  and  when  she  is,  you  may  settle  me  as  soon  as 
you  like." 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Miggs — and  coughed  again. 

Poor  Gabriel  twisted  his  wig  about  in  silence  for  a  long 
time,  and  then  said  mildly,  **  Has  Dolly  gone  to  bed  ? " 

"  Your  master  speaks  to  you,"  said  Mrs.  Varden,  looking 
sternly  over  her  shoulder  at  Miss  Miggs  in  waiting. 

'•'  No,  my  dear,  I  spoke  to  you,"  suggested  the  locksmith. 

**  Did  you  hear  me,  Miggs  ? "  cried  the  obdurate  lady, 
stamping  her  foot  upon  the  ground.  "  You  are  beginning 
to  despise  me  now,  are  you  ?     But  this  is  example  !  " 

At  this  cruel  rebuke,  Miggs,  whose  tears  were  always 
ready,  for  large  or  small  parties,  on  the  shortest  notice  and 
the  most  reasonable  terms,  fell  a  crying  violently  ;  holding 
both  her  hands  tight  upon  her  heart  meanwhile,  as  if  noth- 
ing less  would  prevent  its  splitting  into  small  fragments. 
Mrs.  Varden,  who  likewise  possessed  that  faculty  in  high 
perfection,  wept  too,  against  Miggs  ;  and  with  such  effect 
that  Miggs  gave  in  after  a  time,  and,  except  for  an  occasional 
sob,  which  seemed  to  threaten  some  remote  intention  of 
breaking  out  again,  left  her  mistress  in  possession  of  the  field. 
Her  superiority  being  thoroughly  asserted,  that  lady  soon 
desisted  likewise,  and  fell  into  a  quiet  melancholy. 

The  relief  was  so  great,  and  the  fatiguing  occurrences  of 
last  night  so  completely  overpowered  the  locksmith,  that  he 
nodded  in  his  chair,  and  would  doubtless  have  slept  there 
all  night,  but  for  the  voice  of  Mrs.  Varden,  which,  after  a 
pause  of  some  five  minutes,  awoke  him  with  a  start. 

*'  If  I  am  ever,"  said  Mrs.  V. — not  scolding,  but  in  a  sori 
of  monotonous  remonstrance — "  in  spirits,  if  I  am  eve: 
cheerful,  if  I  am  ever  more  than  usually  disposed  to  be 
talkative  and  comfortable,  this  is  the  way  I  am  treated." 

"  Such  spirits  as  you  was  in  too,  mim,  but  half  an  hour 
ago  !  "  cried  Miggs.     "  I  never  see  such  company  !  " 

**  Because,"  said  Mrs.  Varden,  **  because  I  never  interfere 
or  interrupt  ;  because  I  never  question  where  any  body  comes 
or  goes  ;  because  my  whole  mind  and  soul  is  bent  on  saving 
where  I  can  save,  and  laboring  in  this  house  ; — therefore, 
they  try  me  as  they  do." 

**  Martha,"  urged  the  locksmith,  endeavoring  to  look  as 
wakeful  as  possible,  "what  i?  it  you  complain  of?     I  really 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  63 

came  home  with  every  wish  and  desire  to  be  happy.     I  did, 
indeed." 

"  What  do  I  complain  of  !  "  retorted  his  wife.  '  Is  it 
a  chilling  thing  to  have  one's  hubsand  sulking  and  falling 
asleep  directly  he  comes  home — to  have  him  freezing  all 
one's  warm-heartedness,  and  throwing  cold  water  over  the 
fireside  ?  Is  it  natural,  when  I  know  he  went  out  upon  a 
matter  in  which  I  am  as  much  interested  as  any  body  can 
be,  that  I  should  wish  to  know  all  that  has  happened,  or  that 
he  should  tell  me  without  my  begging  and  praying  him  to  do 
it  ?     Is  that  natural,  or  is  it  not  ? " 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  Martha,"  said  the  good-natured  lock- 
smith. "  I  was  really  afraid  you  were  not  disposed  to  talk 
pleasantly  ;  I'll  tell  you  every  thing  ;  I  shall  only  be  too  glad, 
my  dear." 

''No,  Varden,"  returned  his  wife,  rising  with  dignity. 
"  I  dare  say— thank  you  !  I'm  not  a  child  to  be  corrected 
one  minute  and  petted  the  next— I'm  a  little  too  old  for 
that,  Varden.  INIiggs,  carry  the  light.  You  can  be  cheer- 
ful, Miggs,  at  least." 

Miggs,  who,  to  this  moment,  had  been  in  the  very  depths 
of  compassionate  despondency,  passed  instantly  into  the 
liveliest  state  conceivable,  and  tossing  her  head  as  she 
glanced  toward  the  locksmith,  bore  off  her  mistress  and  the 
light  together. 

"  Now,  who  would  think,"  thought  Varden,  shrugging  his 
shoulders  and  drawing  his  chair  nearer  to  the  fire,  "  that 
that  woman  could  ever  be  pleasant  and  agreeable  ?  And 
yet  she  can  be.  Well,  well,  all  of  us  have  our  faults.  I'll 
not  be  hard  upon  hers.  We  have  been  man  and  wife  too 
long  for  that." 

He  dozed  again — not  the  less  pleasantly,  perhaps,  for  his 
hearty  temper.  While  his  eyes  were  closed,  the  door  lead- 
ing to  the  upper  stairs  was  partially  opened,  and  a  head 
appeared,  which,  at  sight  of  him,  hastily  drew  back  again. 

"  I  wish,"  murmured  Gabriel,  waking  at  the  noise,  and 
looking  round  the  room,  "  I  wish  somebody  would  marry 
Miggs.  But  that's  impossible  !  I  wonder  whether  there's 
any  madman  alive  who  would  marry  Miggs  ! " 

This  was  such  a  vast  speculation  that  he  fell  into  a  doze 
again,  and  slept  until  the  fire  was  quite  burned  out.  At  last 
he  roused  himself,  and  having  double-locked  the  street  door 
according  to  custom,  and  put  the  key  in  his  pocket,  werit  oS 
to  bed. 


64  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

He  had  not  left  the  room  in  darkness  many  minutes,  when 
the  head  again  appeared,  and  Sim  Tappertit  entered,  bear- 
ing in  his  hand  a  little  lamp. 

"What  the  devil  business  has  he  to  stop  up  so  late  !  " 
muttered  Sim,  passing  into  the  workshop,  and  setting  it 
down  upon  the  forge.  ''  Here's  half  the  night  gone  already. 
There's  only  one  good  that  has  ever  come  to  me,  out  of  this 
cursed  old  rusty  mechanical  trade,  and  that's  this  piece  of 
ironmongery,  upon  my  soul  !  " 

As  he  spoke,  he  drew  from  the  right  hand,  or  rather  right 
leg  pocket  of  his  smalls,  a  clumsy  large-sized  key,  which  he 
inserted  cautiously  in  the  lock  his  master  had  secured,  and 
softly  opened  the  door.  That  done,  he  replaced  his  piece 
of  secret  workmanship  in  his  pocket ;  and  leaving  the  lamp 
burning,  and  closing  the  door  carefully  and  without  noise, 
stole  out  into  the  street — as  little  suspected  by  the  lock- 
smith in  his  sound  deep  sleep,  as  by  Barnaby  himself  in  his 
phantom-haunted  dreams. 


CHAPTER   VHI. 

Clear  of  the  locksmith's  house,  Sim  Tappertit  laid  aside 
his  cautious  manner,  and  assuming  in  its  stead  that  of  a  ruf- 
fling, swaggering,  roving  blade,  who  would  rather  kill  a  man 
than  otherwise,  and  eat  him  too  if  needful,  made  the  best  of 
his  way  along  the  darkened  streets. 

Half  pausing  for  an  instant  now  and  then  to  smite  his 
pocket  and  assure  himself  of  the  safety  of  his  master  key, 
he  hurried  on  to  Barbican,  and  turning  into  one  of  the  nar- 
rowest of  the  narrow  streets  which  diverged  from  that  cen- 
ter, slackened  his  pace  and  wiped  his  heated  brow,  as  if  the 
termination  of  his  walk  were  near  at  hand. 

It  was  not  a  very  choice  spot  for  midnight  expeditions, 
being  in  truth  one  of  more  than  questionable  character, 
and  of  an  appearance  by  no  means  inviting.  From  the 
main  street  he  had  entered,  itself  little  better  than  an 
alley,  a  low-browed  doorway  led  into  a  blind  court,  or 
yard,  profoundly  dark,  unpaved,  and  reeking  with  stag- 
nant odors.  Into  this  ill-favored  pit,  the  locksmith's 
vagrant  'prentice  groped  his  way  ;  and  stopping  at  a  house 
from  whose  defaced  and  rotten  front  the  rude  effigy  of  a 
bottle  swung  to  and  fro  like  some  gibbeted  malefactor,  struck 
thrice  upon  an  iron  grating  with  his  foot.     After  listening  in 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  65 

vain  for  some  response  to  his  signal,   Mr.  Tappertit  became 
impatient,  and  struck  the  grating  thrice  again. 

A  further  delay  ensued,  but  it  was  not  of  long  duration. 
The  ground  seemed  to  open  at  his  feet,  and  a  ragged  head 
appeared. 

"  Is  that  the  captain  ?  "  said  a  voice  as  ragged  as  the  head. 
*'  Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Tappertit  haughtily,  descending  as  he 
spoke,  "  Who  should  it  be  ?  " 

"  It's  so  late,  we  gave  you  up,"  returned  the  voice,  as  its 
owner  stopped  to  shut  and  fasten  the  grating.  "  You're  late, 
sir." 

"  Lead  on,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  with  a  gloomy  majesty, 
'*  and  make  remarks  when  I  require  you.     Forward  !  " 

This  latter  word  of  command  was  perhaps  somewhat  theat- 
rical and  unnecessary,  inasmuch  as  the  descent  was  by  a  very 
narrow,  steep,  and  slippery  flight  of  steps,  and  any  rashness 
or  departure  from  the  beaten  track  must  have  ended  in  a 
yawning  water-butt.  But  Mr.  Tappertit  being,  like  some 
other  great  commanders,  favorable  to  strong  effects,  and  per- 
sonal display,  cried  "  Forward  !  "  again,  in  the  hoarsest  voice 
he  could  assume  ;  and  led  the  way,  with  folded  arms  and  knit- 
ted brows,  to  the  cellar  down  below,  where  there  was  a  small 
copper  fixed  in  one  corner,  a  chair  or  two,  a  form  and  table, 
a  glimmering  fire,  and  a  truckle-bed,  covered  with  a  ragged 
patchwork  rug. 

''  Welcome,  noble  captain  !  "  cried  a  lanky  figure,  rising  as 
from  a  nap. 

The  captain  nodded.  Then,  throwing  off  his  outer  coat, 
he  stood  composed  in  all  his  dignity,  and  eyed  his  follower 
over. 

"  What  news  to-night  ?  "  he  asked,  when  he  had  looked 
into  his  very  soul. 

"  Nothing  particular,"  replied  the  other,  stretching  himself 
— and  he  was  so  long  already  that  it  was  quite  alarming  to 
see  him  do  it — "  how  come  you  to  be  so  late  ?  " 

"  No  matter,"  was  all  the  captain  deigned  to  say  in  answer. 
"  Is  the  room  prepared  ?  " 

'*  It  is,"  replied  the  follower. 

"  The  comrade — is  he  here  ?  " 

"Yes.     And  a  sprinkling  of  the  others — you  hear  'em  ?  " 

"  Playing  skittles  1  "  said  the  captain  moodily.  "  Light- 
hearted  revelers  !  " 

There  was  no  doubt  respecting  the  particular  amusement 
in  which  these  heedless  spirits  were  indulging,  for  even  in 


66  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

the  close  and  stifling  atmosphere  of  the  vault,  the  noise 
sounded  like  distant  thunder.  It  certainly  appeared,  at  first 
sight,  a  singular  spot  to  choose,  for  that  or  any  other  pur- 
pose of  relaxation,  if  the  other  cellars  answered  to  the  one 
in  which  this  brief  colloquy  took  place  ;  for  the  floors  were 
of  sodden  earth,  the  walls  and  roof  of  damp  bare  brick 
tapestried  with  the  tracks  of  snails  and  slugs  ;  the  air  was 
sickening,  tainted,  and  offensive.  It  seemed,  from  one 
strong  flavor  which  was  uppermost  among  the  various  odors 
of  the  place,  that  it  had,  at  no  very  distant  period,  been 
used  as  a  storehouse  for  cheeses  ;  a  circumstance  which, 
while  it  accounted  for  the  greasy  moisture  that  hung  about 
it,  was  agreeably  suggestive  of  rats.  It  was  naturally  damp 
besides,  and  little  trees  of  fungus  sprung  from  every  molder- 
ing  corner. 

The  proprietor  of  this  charming  retreat,  and  owner  of  the 
ragged  head  before  mentioned — for  he  wore  an  old  tie-wig 
as  bare  and  frouzy  as  a  stunted  hearth-broom — had  by  this 
time  joined  them  ;  and  stood  a  little  apart,  rubbing  his  hands, 
wagging  his  hoary  bristled  chin,  and  smiling  in  silence. 
His  eyes  were  closed  ;  but  had  they  been  wide  open,  it  would 
have  been  easy  to  tell,  from  the  attentive  expression  of  the 
face  he  turned  toward  them — pale  and  unwholesome  as 
might  be  expected  in  one  of  his  underground  existence — 
and  from  a  certain  anxious  raising  and  quivering  of  the  lids, 
that  he  was  blind. 

"  Even  Stagg  hath  been  asleep,"  said  the  long  comrade, 
nodding  toward  this  person. 

"  Sound,  captain,  sound  !  "  cried  the  blind  man  ;  "  what 
does  my  noble  captain  drink — is  it  brandy,  rum,  usquebaugh  ? 
Is  it  soaked  gunpowder,  or  blazing  oil  ?  Give  it  a  name, 
heart  of  oak,  and  we'd  get  it  for  you,  if  it  was  wine  from  a 
bishop's  cellar,  or  melted  gold  from  King  George's  mint." 

**  See,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit  haughtily,  "  that  it's  something 
strong,  and  comes  quick  ;  and  so  long  as  you  take  care 
of  that,  you  may  bring  it  from  the  devil's  cellar,  if  you 
like." 

"  Boldly  said,  noble  captain  !  "  rejoined  the  blind  man. 
"  Spoken  like  the  'Prentices'  Glory.  Ha,  ha  !  From  the 
devil's  cellar  !  A  brave  joke  !  The  captain  joketh.  Ha, 
ha,  ha  !  " 

"  I'll  tell  you  what,  my  fine  feller,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit, 
eying  the  host  over  as  he  walked  to  a  closet,  and  took  out 
a  bottle  and  glass  as  carelessly  as  if  he  had  been  in  full 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  67 

possession  of  his  sight,  "  if  you  make  that  row,  you'll  find 
that  the  captain's  very  far  from  joking,  and  so  I  tell  you." 

"  He's  got  his  eyes  on  me  !  "  cried  Stagg,  stopping  short  on 
his  way  back,  and  affecting  to  screen  his  face  with  the  bottle. 
*'  I  feel  'em  though  I  can't  see  'em.  Take  'em  off,  noble  cap- 
tain.    Remove  'em,  for  they  pierce  like  gimlets." 

Mr.  Tappertit  smiled  grimly  at  his  comrade  ;  and  twisting 
out  one  more  look — a  kind  of  ocular  screw — under  the  influ- 
ence of  which  the  blind  man  feigned  to  undergo  great  anguish 
and  torture,  bade  him,  in  a  softened  tone,  approach  and  hold 
his  peace. 

"  I  obey  you,  captain,"  cried  Stagg,  drawing  close  to  him 
and  filling  out  a  bumper  without  spilling  a  drop,  by  reason 
that  he  held  his  little  finger  at  the  brim  of  the  glass,  and 
stopped  at  the  instant  the  liquor  touched  it,  ''drink,  noble 
governor.  Death  to  all  masters,  life  to  all  'prentices,  and  love 
to  all  fair  damsels.  Drink,  brave  general,  and  warm  your 
gallant  heart  ! " 

Mr.  Tappertit  condescended  to  take  the  glass  from  his  out- 
stretched hand.  Stagg  then  dropped  on  one  knee,  and  gently 
smoothed  the  calves  of  his  legs,  with  an  air  of  humble  admi- 
ration. 

"  That  I  had  but  eyes  !  "  he  cried,  "  to  behold  my  captain's 
symmetrical  proportions  !  That  I  had  but  eyes  to  look  upon 
these  twin  invaders  of  domestic  peace  !  " 

"  Get  out !  "  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  glancing  downward  at  his 
favorite  limbs.    "  Go  along,  will  you,  Stagg  !  " 

"  When  I  touch  my  own  afterward,"  cried  the  host,  smit- 
ing them  reproachfully,  "  I  hate  'em.  Comparatively  speaking, 
they've  no  more  shape  than  wooden  legs,  beside  these  models 
of  my  noble  captain's." 

*'  Yours  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Tappertit.  "  No,  I  should  think 
not.  Don't  talk  about  those  precious  old  toothpicks  in  the 
same  breath  with  mine  ;  that's  rather  too  much.  Here.  Take 
the  glass.     Benjamin.    Lead  on.    To  business  !  " 

With  these  words,  he  folded  his  arms  again  ;  and  frowning 
with  a  sullen  majesty,  passed  with  his  companion  through  a 
little  door  at  the  upper  end  of  the  cellar,  and  disappeared  ; 
leaving  Stagg  to  his  private  meditations. 

The  vault  they  entered,  strewn  with  sawdust  and  dimly 
lighted,  was  between  the  outer  one  from  which  they  had  just 
come,  and  that  in  which  the  skittle-players  were  diverting 
themselves  ;  as  was  manifested  by  the  increased  noise  and 
clamor  of  tongues,  which  was  suddenly  stopped,  however,  and 


68  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

replaced  by  a  dead  silence,  at  a  signal  from  the  long  comrade. 
Then,  this  young  gentleman,  going  to  a  little  cupboard, 
returned  with  a  thigh  bone,  which  in  former  times  must  have 
been  part  and  parcel  of  some  individual  at  least  as  long  as 
himself,  and  placed  the  same  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Tappertit; 
who,  receiving  it  as  a  scepter  and  staff  of  authority,  cocked 
his  three-cornered  hat  fiercely  on  the  top  of  his  head,  and 
mounted  a  large  table,  whereon  a  chair  of  state,  cheerfully 
ornamented  with  a  couple  of  skulls,  was  placed  ready  for  his 
reception. 

He  had  no  sooner  assumed  this  position  than  another 
young  gentleman  appeared,  bearing  in  his  arms  a  huge  clasped 
book,  who  made  him  a  profound  obeisance,  and  delivering  it 
to  the  long  comrade,  advanced  to  the  table,  and  turning  his 
back  upon  it,  stood  there  Atlas-wise.  Then  the  long  com- 
rade got  upon  the  table,  too  ;  and  seating  himself  in  a  lov^-er 
chair  than  Mr.  Tappertit's,  with  much  state  and  ceremony, 
placed  the  large  book  on  the  shoulders  of  their  mute  com- 
panion as  deliberately  as  if  he  had  been  a  wooden  desk,  and 
prepared  to  make  entries  therein  with  a  pen  of  corresponding 
size. 

When  the  long  comrade  had  made  these  preparations,  he 
looked  toward  Mr.  Tappertit ;  and  Mr.  Tappertit,  flourishing 
the  bone,  knocked  nine  times  therewith  upon  one  of  the  skulls. 
At  the  ninth  stroke,  a  third  young  gentleman  emerged  from 
the  door  leading  to  the  skittle  ground,  and  bowing  low, 
awaited  his  commands. 

*' '  Prentice  !  "  said  the  mighty  captain,  "  who  w^aits  with- 
out ?" 

The  'prentice  made  answer  that  a  stranger  was  in  attend- 
ance, who  claimed  admission  into  that  secret  society  of 
'Prentice  Knights,  and  a  free  participation  in  their  rights, 
privileges,  and  immunities.  Thereupon  Mr.  Tappertit  flour- 
ished the  bone  again,  and  giving  the  other  skull  a  prodigious 
rap  on  the  nose,  exclaimed  "  Admit  him  !  "  At  these  dread 
words  the  'prentice  bowed  once  more,  and  so  withdrew  as 
he  had  come. 

There  soon  appeared  at  the  same  door,  two  other  'prentices, 
having  between  them  a  third,  whose  eyes  were  bandaged,  and 
who  was  attired  in  a  bag  wig  and  broad  skirted-coat,  trimmed 
with  tarnished  lace  ;  and  who  was  girded  with  a  sword,  in 
compliance  with  the  laws  of  the  institution  regulating  the  in- 
troduction of  candidates,  which  required  them  to  assume  this 
courtly  dress,  and  kept  ii  constantly  in   lavender,  for  their 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  69 

convenience.  One  of  the  conductors  of  this  novice  held  a 
rusty  blunderbuss  pointed  at  his  ear,  and  the  other  a  very- 
ancient  saber,  with  which  he  carved  imaginary  offenders  as 
he  came  along  in  a  sanguinary  and  anatomical  manner. 

As  this  silent  group  advanced,  Mr.  Tappertit  fixed  his  hat 
upon  his  head.  The  novice  then  laid  his  hand  upon  his  breast 
and  bent  before  him.  When  he  had  humbled  himself  suffi- 
ciently, the  captain  ordered  the  bandage  to  be  removed,  and 
proceeded  to  eye  him  over. 

"  Ha  !  "  said  the  captain,  thoughtfully,  when  he  had  con- 
cluded this  ordeal.     "  Proceed." 

The  long  comrade  read  aloud  as  follows  : — "  Mark  Gilbert. 
Age,  nineteen.  Bound  to  Thomas  Curzon,  hosier,  Golden 
Fleece,  Aldgate.  Loves  Curzon's  daughter.  Can  not  say 
that  Curzon's  daughter  loves  him.  Should  think  it  probable. 
Curzon  pulled  his  ears  last  Tuesday  week." 

"  How  ! "  cried  the  captain,  starting. 

"  For  looking  at  his  daughter,  please  you,"  said  the  novice. 

"  Write  Curzon  down,  denounced,"  said  the  captain. 
**  Put  a  black  cross  against  the  name  of  Curzon," 

*'  So  please  you,"  said  the  novice,  *'  that's  not  the  worst — 
he  calls  his  'prentice  idle  dog,  and  stops  his  beer  unless  he 
works  to  his  liking.  He  gives  Dutch  cheese,  too,  eating 
Cheshire,  sir,  himself  ;  and  Sundays  out,  are  only  once  a 
month." 

*'  This,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit  gravely,  "  is  a  flagrant  case. 
Put  two  black  crosses  to  the  name  of  Curzon." 

"  If  the  society,"  said  the  novice,  who  was  an  ill-looking, 
one-sided,  shambling  lad,  with  sunken  eyes  set  close  togother 
in  his  head — "  if  the  society  would  burn  his  house  down — for 
he's  not  insured — or  beat  him  as  he  comes  home  from  his 
club  at  night,  or  help  me  to  carry  off  his  daughter,  and 
marry   her  at  the  Fleet,  whether  she  gave  consent  or  no — " 

Mr.  Tappertit  waved  his  grizzly  truncheon  as  an  admoni- 
tion to  him  not  to  interrupt,  and  ordered  three  black  crosses 
to  the  name  of  Curzon. 

*'  Which  means,"  he  said,  in  gracious  explanation,  "  ven- 
geance, complete  and  terrible.  'Prentice,  do  you  love  the 
constitution  ?" 

To  which  the  novice  (being  to  that  end  instructed  by  his 
attendant  sponsors)  replied  "  I  do  !  " 

"  The  church,  the  state,  and  every  thing  established — but 
the  masters  ?  "  quoth  the  captain. 

Again  the  novice  said  "  I  do." 


70  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

Having  said  it,  he  listened  meekly  to  the  captain,  who  in 
an  address  prepared  for  such  occasions,  told  him  how  that 
under  that  same  constitution  (which  was  kept  in  a  strong 
box  somewhere,  but  where  exactly  he  could  not  find  out,  or 
he  would  have  endeavored  to  procure  a  copy  of  it),  the 
'prentices  had,  in  times  gone  by,  had  frequent  holidays  of 
right,  broken  people's  heads  by  scores,  defied  their  masters, 
nay,  even  achieved  some  glorious  murders  in  the  streets, 
which  privileges  had  gradually  been  wrested  from  them,  and 
in  all  which  noble  aspirations  they  were  now  restrained  ; 
how  the  degrading  checks  imposed  upon  them  were  unques- 
•tionably  attributable  to  the  innovating  spirit  of  the  times, 
and  how  they  united  therefore  to  resist  all  change  except 
such  change  as  would  restore  those  good  old  English  cus- 
toms, by  which  they  would  stand  or  fall.  After  illustrating 
the  wisdom  of  going  backward,  by  reference  to  that  saga- 
cious fish,  the  crab,  and  the  not  unfrequent  practice  of  the 
mule  and  donkey,  he  described  their  general  objects  ;  which 
were  briefly  vengeance  on  their  tyrant  masters  (of  whose 
grievous  and  insupportable  oppression  no  'prentice  could 
entertain  a  moment's  doubt)  and  the  restoration,  as  afore- 
said, of  their  ancient  rights  and  holidays  ;  for  neither  of 
which  objects  were  they  now  quite  ripe,  being  barely  twenty 
strong,  but  which  they  pledged  themselves  to  pursue  with  fire 
and  sword  when  needful.  Then  he  described  the  oath  which 
every  member  of  that  remnant  of  a  noble  body  took, 
and  which  was  of  a  dreadful  and  impressive  kind  ;  binding 
him,  at  the  bidding  of  his  chief,  to  resist  and  obstruct  the 
lord  mayor,  sword-bearer,  and  chaplain  ;  to  despise  the 
authority  of  the  sheriffs  ;  and  to  hold  the  court  of  aldermen 
as  naught ;  but  not  on  any  account,  in  case  the  fullness  of 
time  should  bring  a  general  rising  of  'prentices,  to  damage 
or  in  any  way  disfigure  Temple  Bar,  which  was  strictly  con- 
stitutional and  always  to  be  approached  with  reverence. 
Having  gone  over  these  several  heads  with  great  eloquence 
and  force,  and  having  further  informed  the  novice  that  this 
society  had  its  origin  in  his  own  teeming  brain,  stimulated 
by  a  swelling  sense  of  wrong  and  outrage,  Mr.  Tappertit 
demanded  whether  he  had  strength  of  heart  to  take  the 
mighty  pledge  required,  or  whether  he  would  withdraw  while 
retreat  was  yet  in  his  power. 

To  this  the  novice  made  rejoinder,  that  he  would  cake  the 
vow,  though  it  should  choke  him  ;  and  it  was. accordingly 
administered  with   many  impressive   circumstances,  among 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  71 

which  the  lighting  up  of  the  two  skulls  with  a  candle-end 
inside  of  each,  and  a  great  many  flourishes  with  the  bone, 
were  chiefly  conspicuous  ;  not  to  mention  a  variety  of 
grave  exercises  with  the  blunderbuss  and  saber,  and  some 
dismal  groaning  by  unseen  'prentices  without.  All  these 
dark  and  direful  ceremonies  being  at  length  completed,  the 
table  was  put  aside,  the  chair  of  state  removed,  the  scepter 
locked  up  in  its  usual  cupboard,  the  doors  of  communica- 
tion between  the  three  cellars  thrown  freely  open,  and  the 
'Prentice  Knights  resigned  themselves  to  merriment. 

But  Mr.  Tappertit,  who  had  a  soul  above  the  vulgar  herd, 
and  who,  on  account  of  his  greatness,  could  only  afford  to 
be  merry  now  and  then,  threw  himself  on  a  bench  with  the 
air  of  a  man  who  was  faint  with  dignity.  He  looked  with 
an  indifferent  eye,  alike  on  skittles,  cards,  and  dice,  thinking 
only  of  the  locksmith's  daughter,  and  the  base  degenerate 
days  on  which  he  had  fallen, 

"  My  noble  captain  neither  games,  nor  sings,  nor  dances," 
said  his  host,  caking  a  seat  beside  him.  "  Drink,  gallant 
general  !  " 

Mr.  Tappertit  drained  the  proffered  goblet  to  the  dregs  ; 
then  thrust  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  and  with  a  lowering 
visage  walked  among  the  skittles,  while  his  followers  (such  is 
the  influence  of  superior  genius)  restrained  the  ardent  ball, 
and  held  his  little  shins  in  dumb  respect. 

"  If  I  had  been  born  a  corsair  or  a  pirate,  a  brigand,  gen- 
teel highwayman  or  patriot — and  they're  the  same  thing," 
thought  Mr.  Tappertit,  musing  among  the  nine-pins,  "  I 
should  have  been  all  right.  But  to  drag  out  a  ignoble  exist- 
ence unbeknown  to  mankind  in  general — patience  !  I  will 
be  famous  yet.  A  voice  within  me  keeps  on  whispering 
greatness.  I  shall  burst  out  one  of  these  days,  and  when  I  do, 
what  power  can  keep  me  down  ?  I  feel  my  soul  getting  into 
my  head  at  the  idea.     More  drink  there  !  " 

"  The  novice,"  pursued  Mr,  Tappertit,  not  exactly  in  a 
voice  of  thunder,  for  his  tones,  to  say  the  truth,  were  rather 
cracked  and  shrill — but  very  impressively,  notwithstanding 
— "  where  is  he  ?  " 

"  Here,  noble  captain  !  "  cried  Stagg.  "  One  stands  be- 
side me  who  I  feel  is  a  stranger," 

"  Have  you,'*  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  letting  his  gaze  fall  on 
the  party  indicated,  who  was  indeed  the  new  knight,  by  this 
time  restored  to  his  own  apparel  ;  "  have  you  the  impression 
of  your  street  door  key  in  wax  ?  " 


72  BARNABY  RUDGE, 

The  long  comrade  anticipated  the  reply,  by  producing  it 
from  the  shelf  on  which  it  had  been  deposited. 

*' Good, "said  Mr.  Tappertit,  scrutinizing  it  attentively, 
while  a  breathless  silence  reigned  around  ;  for  he  had  con- 
structed secret  door-keys  for  the  v/hole  society,  and  perhaps 
owed  something  of  his  influence  to  that  mean  and  trivial  cir- 
cumstance— on  such  slight  accidents  do  even  men  of  mind 
depend  ! — "  This  is  easily  made.     Come  hither,  friend." 

With  that,  he  beckoned  the  new  knight  apart,  and  putting 
the  pattern  in  his  pocket,  motioned  him  to  walk  by  his  side. 

'^  And  so,"  he  said,  when  he  had  taken  a  few  turns  up  and 
down,  ''  you — you  love  your  master's  daughter  !  " 

'*  1  do,"  said  the  'prentice.  "  Honor  bright.  No  chaff, 
you  know." 

"  Have  you,"  rejoined  Mr.  Tappertit,  catching  him  by  the 
wrist,  and  giving  him  a  look  which  would  have  been  express- 
ive of  the  most  deadly  malevolence,  but  for  an  accidental 
hiccup  that  rather  interfered  with  it ;  "  have  you  a — a 
rival  ?  "— 

"  Not  as  1  know  on,"  replied  the  'prentice. 

"If  you  had  now — "said  Mr.  Tappertit — "what  v/ould 
you — eh  ? —  " 

The  'prentice  looked  fierce  and  clenched  his  fists. 

*'  It  is  enough,"  cried  Mr.  Tappertit  hastily,  "  we  under- 
stand each  other.     We  are  observed.     I  thank  you." 

So  saying,  he  cast  him  off  again  ;  and  calling  the  long 
comrade  aside  after  taking  a  few  hasty  turns  by  himself, 
bade  him  immediately  write  and  post  against  the  wall,  a  no- 
tice, proscribing  one  Joseph  ^Villet  (commonly  known  as 
Joe)  of  Chigwell ;  forbidding  all  'prentice  knights  to  succor, 
comfort,  or  hold  communion  with  him  ;  and  requiring  them, 
on  the  pain  of  excommunication,  to  molest,  hurt,  wrong, 
annoy,  and  pick  quarrels  with  the  said  Joseph,  whensoever 
and  wheresoever  they,  or  any  of  them,  should  happen  to  en- 
counter him. 

Having  relieved  his  mind  by  this  energetic  proceeding,  he 
condescended  to  approach  the  festive  board,  and  warming 
by  degrees,  at  length  deigned  to  preside,  and  even  to  en- 
chant the  company  with  a  song.  After  this,  he  rose  to  such 
a  pitch  as  to  consent  to  regale  the  society  with  a  hornpipe, 
which  he  actually  performed  to  the  music  of  a  fiddle  (played 
by  an  ingenious  member)  with  such  surpassing  agility  and 
brilliancy  of  execution,  that  the  spectators  could  not  be  suf- 
ficiently enthusiastic   in  their  admiration  ;    and  their  host 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  73 

protested,  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  that  he  had  never  truly  fe-lt 
his  blindness  until  that  moment. 

But  the  host  withdrawing — probably  to  weep  in  secret — 
soon  returned  with  the  information  that  it  wanted  little 
more  than  an  hour  of  day,  and  that  all  the  cocks  in  Barbi- 
can had  already  begun  to  crow,  as  if  their  lives  depended  on 
it.  At  this  intelligence,  the  'prentice  knights  arose  in  haste, 
and  marshaling  into  a  line,  filed  off  one  by  one  and  dispersed 
with  all  speed  to  their  several  homes,  leaving  their  leader  to 
pass  the  grating  last. 

*'  Good-ni  ght,  noble  captain,"  whispered  the  blind  man  as  he 
held  it  open  for  his  passage  out ;  "  farewell,  brave  general 
By,  by,  illustrious  commander.  Good  luck  go  with  you  for 
a — conceited,  bragging,  empty-headed,  duck-legged  idiot." 

With  which  parting  words,  coolly  added  as  he  listened  to 
his  receding  footsteps  and  locked  the  grate  upon  himself, 
he  descended  the  steps,  and  lighting  the  fire  below  the  little 
copper,  prepared,  without  any  assistance,  for  his  daily  occu- 
pation ;  which  was  to  retail  at  the  area-head  above  penny- 
worths of  broth  and  soup,  and  savory  puddings,  compounded 
of  such  scraps  as  were  to  be  bought  in  the  heap  for  the  least 
money  at  Fleet  Market  in  the  evening  time  ;  and  for  the  sale 
of  which  he  had  need  to  have  depended  chiefly  on  his  pri- 
vate connection,  for  the  court  had  no  thoroughfare,  and  was 
not  that  kind  of  a  place  in  which  many  people  were  likely  to 
take  the  air,  or  to  frequent  as  an  agreeable  promenade. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Chroniclers  are  privileged  to  enter  where  they  list,  to  come 
and  go  through  keyholes,  to  ride  upon  the  wind,  to  over- 
come, in  their  soarings  up  and  down,  all  obstacles  of  dis- 
tance, time  and  place.  Thrice  blest  be  this  last  considera- 
tion, since  it  enables  us  to  follow  the  disdainful  Miggs  even 
into  the  sanctity  of  her  chamber,  and  to  hold  her  in  sweet 
companionship  through  the  dreary  watches  of  the  night. 

Miss  Miggs,  having  undone  her  mistress,  as  she  phrased  it 
(which  means  assisted  to  undress  her),  and  having  seen  her 
comfortably  to  b«=-d  in  the  back  room  on  the  first  floor, withdrew 
to  her  own  apartment  in  the  attic  story.  Notwithstanding 
her  declaration  in  the  locksmith's  presence,  she  was  in  no 
mood  for  sleep  ;  so,  putting  her  light  upon   the  table  and 


74  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

withdrawing  the  little  window  curtain,  she  gazed  out  pen- 
sively at  the  wild  night  sky. 

Perhaps  she  wondered  what  star  was  destined  for  her  hab- 
itation when  she  had  run  her  little  course  below  ;  perhaps 
speculated  which  of  those  glimmering  spheres  might  be  the 
natal  orb  of  Mr.  Tappertit  ;  perhaps  miarveled  how  they 
could  gaze  down  on  that  perfidious  creature,  man,  and  not 
sicken  and  turn  green  as  chemist's  lamps  ;  perhaps  thought 
nothing  in  particular.  Whatever  she  thought  about,  there 
she  sat,  until  her  attention,  alive  to  any  thing  connected 
with  the  insinuating  'prentice,  was  attracted  by  a  noise  in 
the  next  room  to  her  own — his  room  ;  the  room  in  which  he 
slept,  and  dreamed — it  might  be  sometimes  dreamed   of  her. 

That  he  was  not  dreaming  now,  unless  he  was  taking  a 
walk  in  his  sleep,  was  clear,  for  every  now  and  then  there 
came  a  shuffling  noise,  as  though  he  were  engaged  in  pol- 
ishing the  whitewashed  wall  ;  then  a  gentle  creaking  of  his 
door  ;  then  the  faintest  indication  of  his  stealthy  footsteD*^ 
on  the  landing-place  outside.  Noting  this  latter  circum- 
stance, Miss  Miggs  turned  pale  and  shuddered,  as  mistrust- 
ing his  intentions  ;  and  more  than  once  exclaimed  below  her 
breath,  "  Oh  !  what  a  providence  it  is,  as  I  am  bolted  in  !  " 
— which,  owing  doubtless  to  her  alarm,  was  a  confusion  of 
ideas  on  her  part  between  a  bolt  and  its  use  ;  for  though 
there  was  one  on  the  door,  it  was  not  fastened. 

Miss  Miggs's  sense  of  hearing,  however,  having  as  sharp 
an  edge  as  her  temper,  and  being  of  the  same  snappish  and 
suspicious  kind,  very  soon  informed  her  that  the  footsteps 
passed  her  door,  and  appeared  to  have  some  object  quite 
separate  and  disconnected  from  herself.  At  this  discovery 
she  became  more  alarmed  than  ever,  and  was  about  to  give 
utterance  to  those  cries  of  "  thieves  !  "  and  '*  murder  !  " 
which  she  had  hitherto  restrained,  when  it  occurred  to  her  to 
look  softly  out,  and  see  that  her  fears  had  some  good  palpa- 
ble foundation. 

Looking  out  accordingly,  and  stretching  her  neck  over  the 
handrail,  sh^  descried,  to  her  great  amazement,  ]\Ir.  Tap- 
pertit completely  dressed,  stealing  down  stairs,  one  step  at  a 
time,  with  his  shoes  in  one  hand  and  a  lamp  in  the  other. 
Following  him  with  her  eyes,  and  going  down  a  little  way 
herself  to  get  the  better  of  an  intervening  angle,  she  beheld 
him  thrust  his  head  in  the  parlor  door,  draw  it  back  again  with 
great  swiftness,  and  immediately  begin  a  retreat  up-stairs 
with  all  possible  expedition. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  75 

"  Here's  mysteries  ! "  said  the  damsel,  when  she  was  safe 
in  her  own  room  again,  quite  out  of  breath.  "  Oh,  gracious, 
here's  mysteries." 

The  prospect  of  finding  any  body  out  in  any  thing,  would 
have  kept  Miss  Miggs  awake  under  the  influence  of  henbane. 
Presently  she  heard  the  step  again,  as  she  would  have  done 
if  it  had  been  a  feather  endowed  with  motion  and  walking 
down  on  tiptoe.  Then  gliding  out  as  before,  she  again  be- 
held the  retreating  figure  of  the  'prentice  ;  again  he  looked 
cautiously  in  at  the  parlor  door,  but  this  time  instead  of  re- 
treating, he  passed  in  and  disappeared. 

Miggs  was  back  in  her  room,  and  had  her  head  out  of  the 
window,  before  an  elderly  gentleman  could  have  winked  and 
recovered  from  it.  Out  he  came  at  the  street-door,  shut  it 
carefully  behind  him,  tried  it  with  his  knee,  and  swaggered 
off,  putting  something  in  his  pocket  as  he  went  along.  At 
this  spectacle  Miggs  cried  "  Gracious "  again,  and  then 
''  Goodness  gracious  !  "  and  then  ''Goodness  gracious  me  1" 
and  then,  candle  in  hand,  went  down  stairs  as  he  had  done. 
Coming  to  the  workshop,  she  saw  the  lamp  burning  on  the 
forge,  and  every  thing  as  Sim  had  left  it. 

"  Why,  I  wish  I  may  only  have  a  walking  funeral,  and 
never  be  buried  decent  with  a  mourning  coach  and  feathers, 
if  the  boy  hasn't  been  and  made  a  key  for  his  own  self  !  " 
cried  Miggs.     "  Oh  the  little  villain  !  " 

This  conclusion  was  not  arrived  at  without  consideration, 
and  much  peeping  and  peering  about :  nor  was  it  unassisted 
by  the  recollection  that  she  had  on  several  occasions  come 
upon  the  'prentice  suddenly  and  found  him  busy  at  some 
mysterious  occupation.  Lest  the  fact  of  Miss  Miggs  calling 
him,  on  whom  she  stooped  to  cast  a  favorable  eye,  a  boy 
should  create  surprise  in  any  breast,  it  may  be  observed  that 
she  invariably  affected  to  regard  all  male  bipeds  under  thirty 
as  mere  chits  and  infants,  which  phenomenon  is  not  unusual 
in  ladies  of  Miss  Miggs's  temper,  and  is,  indeed,  generally 
found  to  be  the  associate  of  such  indomitable  and  savage 
virtue. 

Miss  Miggs  deliberated  within  herself  for  some  little  time, 
looking  hard  at  the  shop-door  while  she  did  so,  as  though 
her  eyes  and  thoughts  were  both  upon  it ;  and  then  taking 
a  sheet  of  paper  from  a  drawer  twisted  it  into  a  long  thin 
spiral  tube.  Having  filled  this  instrument  with  a  quantity 
of  small  coal-dust  from  the  forge,  she  approached  the  door, 
and  dropping  on  one  knee  before  it,  dexterously  blew  into 


76  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

the  keyhole  as  much  of  these  fine  ashes  as  the  lock  would 
hold.  When  she  had  filled  it  to  the  brim  in  a  very  woman- 
like and  skillful  manner,  she  crept  up-stairs  again,  and 
chuckled  as  she  went. 

"There!"  cried  Miggs,  rubbing  her  hands,  "  now  let's 
see  whether  you  won't  be  glad  to  take  some  notice  of  me, 
mister.  He,  he,  he  !  You'll  have  eyes  for  somebody  be- 
sides Miss  Dolly  now,  I  think.  A  fat-faced  puss  she  is,  as 
ever  /  come  across  !  " 

As  she  uttered  this  criticism,  she  glanced  approvingly  at 
her  small  mirror,  as  who  should  say,  I  thank  my  stars  that 
can't  be  said  of  me  ! — as  it  certainly  could  not  ;  for  Miss 
Miggs's  style  of  beauty  was  of  that  kind  which  Mr.  Tapper- 
tit  himself  had  not  inaptly  termed  in  private,  "  scraggy." 

**  I  don't  go  to  bed  this  night !  "  said  Miggs,  wrapping 
herself  in  a  shawl  and  drawing  a  couple  of  chairs  near  the 
window,  flouncing  down  upon  one  and  putting  her  feet  upon 
the  other,  "till  you  come  home,  my  lad.  I  wouldn't,"  said 
Miggs  viciously,  "  no,  not  for  five-and-forty  pound  !  " 

With  that,  and  with  an  expression  of  face  in  which  a  great 
number  of  opposite  ingredients,  such  as  mischief,  cunning, 
malice,  triumph  and  patient  expectation  were  all  mixed  up 
together  in  a  kind  of  physiognomical  punch.  Miss  Miggs 
composed  herself  to  wait  and  listen,  like  some  fair  ogress 
who  had  set  a  trap  and  was  watching  for  a  nibble  from  a 
plump  young  traveler. 

She  sat  there,  with  perfect  composure,  all  night.  At 
length,  just  upon  break  of  day,  there  was  a  footstep  in  tlie 
street,  and  presently  she  could  hear  Mr.  Tappertit  stop  at 
the  door.  Then  she  could  make  out  that  he  tried  his  key — 
that  he  was  blowing  into  it — that  he  knocked  it  on  the  near- 
est post  to  beat  the  dust  out — that  he  took  it  under  a  lamp 
to  look  at  it — that  he  poked  bits  of  stick  into  the  lock  to 
clear  it — that  he  peeped  into  the  keyhole,  first  with  one  eye 
and  then  with  the  other — that  he  tried  the  key  again — that 
he  couldn't  turn  it,  and  what  was  worse,  couldn't  get  it  out — 
that  he  bent  it — that  then  it  was  much  less  disposed  to  come 
out  than  before — that  he  gave  it  a  mighty  twist  and  a  great 
pull,  and  then  it  came  out  so  suddenly  that  he  staggered 
backwards — that  he  kicked  the  door — that  he  shook  it — 
finally,  that  he  smote  his  forehead  and  sat  down  on  the  step 
in  despair. 

When  this  crisis  had  arrived,  Miss  Miggs,  affecting  to  be 
exhausted  with  terror,  and  to  cling  to  the  window-sill  for 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  77 

support,  put  out  her  nightcap  and  demanded  in  a  faint  voice 
who  was  there. 

Mr.  Tappertit  cried  "  Hush  !  "  and  backing  into  the  road 
exhorted  her  in  frenzied  pantomime  to  secrecy  and  silence, 

"  Tell  me  one  thing,"  said  Miggs.     "  Is  it  thieves  ?  " 

''  No — no — no  !  "  cried  Mr.  Tappertit. 

"  Then,"  said  Miggs,  more  faintly  than  before,  "  it's  fire. 
Where  is  it,  sir  ?  It's  near  this  room,  I  know.  I've  a  good 
conscience,  sir,  and  would  much  rather  die  than  go  down  a 
ladder.  All  I  wish  is,  respecting  my  love  to  my  married 
sister,  Golden  Lion  Court,  number  twenty-sivin,  second  bell- 
handle  on  the  right-hand  door-post." 

"Miggs,"  cried  Mr.  Tappertitt,  "  don't  you  know  me? 
Sim,  you  know — Sim — " 

"  Oh  !  what  about  him  ?  "  cried  Miggs,  clasping  her  hands. 
"  Is  he  in  any  danger  ?  Is  he  in  the  midst  of  flames  and 
blazes  ?     Oh  gracious,  gracious  !  " 

"Why  I'm  here,  an't  I?"  rejoined  Mr.  Tappertit,  knock- 
ing himself  on  the  breast.  "  Don't  you  see  me  ?  What  a 
fool  you  are,  Miggs  !  " 

"  There  !  "  cried  Miggs,  unmindful  of  this  compliment. 
"  Why — so  it — Goodness,  what  is  the  meaning  of —  If  you 
please,  mim,  here's — " 

"  No,  no  !  "  cried  Mr.  Tappertit,  standing  on  tiptoe,  as  if 
by  that  means  he,  in  the  street,  were  any  nearer  being  able 
to  stop  the  mouth  of  Miggs,  in  the  garret.  "  Don't — I've 
been  out  without  leave,  and  something  or  another's  the 
matter  with  the  lock.  Come  down  and  undo  the  shop  win- 
dow, that  I  may  get  in  that  way." 

"  I  dursn't  do  it,  Simmun,"  cried  Miggs — for  that  was  her 
pronunciation  of  his  Christian  name.  "  I  dursn't  do  it,  in- 
deed. You  know  as  well  as  any  body,  how  particular  I  am. 
And  to  come  down  in  the  dead  of  night,  when  the  house  is 
wrapped  in  slumbers  and  welled  in  obscurity."  And  there 
she  stopped  and  shivered,  for  her  modesty  caught  cold  at 
the  very  thought. 

"  But,  Miggs,"  cried  Mr.  Tappertit,  getting  under  the  lamp, 
that  she  might  see  his  eyes.     "  My  darling  Miggs " 

Miggs  screamed  slightly. 

"  That  I  love  so  much,  and  never  can  help  thinking  of," 
and  it  is  impossible  to  describe  the  use  he  made  of  his  eyes 
when  he  said  this — "  do — for  my  sake,  do." 

"Oh  Simmun,"  cried  Miggs,  "this  is  worse  than  all.  I 
know  if  I  com.e  down,  you'll  go,  and " 


78  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  And  what,  my  precious  !  "  said  Mr.  Tappertit. 

*' And  try,"  said  Miggs,  hysterically,  "  to  kiss  me,  or  some 
such  dread  fulness  ;  I  know  you  will !  " 

"  I  swear  I  won't,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  v/ith  remarkable 
earnestness.  *'  Upon  my  soul  I  won't.  It's  getting  broad 
day,  and  the  watchman's  waking  up.  Angelic  Miggs  !  If 
you'll  only  come  and  let  me  in,  I  promise  you  faithfully  and 
truly  I  won't." 

Miss  Miggs,  whose  gentle  heart  was  touched,  did  not 
wait  for  the  oath  (knowing  how  strong  the  temptation  was, 
and  fearing  he  might  forswear  himself),  but  tripped  lightly 
down  the  stairs,  and  with  her  own  fair  hands  drew  back  the 
rough  fastenings  of  the  workshop  window.  Having  helped 
the  wayward  'prentice  in,  she  faintly  articulated  the  words 
"  Simmun  is  safe  !  "  and,  yielding  to  her  woman's  nature, 
immediately  became  insensible. 

"  I  knew  I  should  quench  her,"  said  Sim,  rather  embar- 
rassed by  this  circumstance.  "  Of  course  I  was  certain  it 
would  come  to  this,  but  there  was  nothing  else  to  be  done. 
— If  I  hadn't  eyed  her  over,  she  wouldn't  have  come  down. 
Here.  Keep  up  a  minute,  Miggs.  What  a  slippery  figure 
she  is  !  There's  no  holding  her,  comfortably.  Do  keep  up 
a  minute,  Miggs,  will  you  .? " 

As  Miggs,  however,  was  deaf  to  all  entreaties,  Mr.  Tapper- 
tit leaned  her  against  the  wall  as  one  might  dispose  of  a 
walking-stick  or  umbrella,  until  he  had  secured  the  window, 
when  he  took  her  in  his  arms  again,  and,  in  short  stages  and 
with  great  difficulty — arising  from  her  being  tall,  and  his 
being  short,  and  perhaps  in  some  degree  from  that  peculiar 
physical  conformation  on  which  he  had  already  remarked — 
carried  her  up  stairs,  and  planting  her  in  the  same  umbrella 
and  walking-stick  fashion,  just  inside  her  own  door,  left  her 
to  her  repose. 

"  He  may  be  as  cool  as  he  likes,"  said  Miss  Miggs,  recov- 
ering as  soon  as  she  was  left  alone  ;  but  I'm  in  his  confi- 
dence, and  he  can't  help  himself,  nor  couldn't  if  he  was 
tu'enty  Simmunses  !  " 


CHAPTER  X. 

It  was  on  one  of  those  mornings,  common  in  early  spring, 
when  the  year,  fickle  and  chnntieable  in  its  youth,  like  all 
Other  created  things,  is  undecided  whether  to  step  backward 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  79 

into  winter  or  forward  into  summer,  and  in  its  uncertainty 
inclines  now  to  the  one  and  now  to  the  ether,  and  now  to 
both  at  once — wooing  summer  in  the  sunshine,  and  lingering 
still  with  winter  in  the  shade — it  was,  in  short,  on  one  of 
those  mornings  when  it  is  hot  and  cold,  wet  and  dry,  bright 
and  lowering,  sad  and  cheerful,  withering  and  genial,  in  the 
compass  of  one  short  hour,  that  old  John  Willet,  who  was 
dropping  asleep  over  the  copper  boiler,  was  roused  by  the 
sound  of  a  horse's  feet,  and  glancing  out  at  window,  beheld 
a  traveler  of  goodly  promise,  checking  his  bridle  at  the 
Maypole  door. 

He  was  none  of  your  flippant  young  fellow^s,  who  would  call 
for  a  tankard  of  mulled  ale,  and  make  themselves  as  much  at 
home  as  if  they  had  ordered  a  hogshead  of  wine  ;  none  of  your 
audacious  young  swaggerers  who  would  even  penetrate  into 
the  bar — that  solemn  sanctuary — and,  smiting  old  John 
upon  the  back,  inquire  if  there  was  never  a  pretty  girl  in  the 
house,  and  where  he  hid  his  little  chambermaids,  with  a 
hundred  other  impertinences  of  that  nature  ;  none  of  your 
free-and-easy  companions,  who  would  scrape  their  boots 
upon  the  firedogs  in  the  common  room,  and  be  not  at  all  par- 
ticular on  the  subject  of  spittoons  ;  none  of  your  uncon- 
scionable blades,  requiring  imp£)ssible  chops,  and  taking  un- 
heard-of pickles  for  granted.  He  was  a  staid,  grave,  placid 
gentleman,  something  past  the  prime  of  life,  yet  upright  in 
his  carriage,  for  all  that,  and  slim  as  a  greyhound.  He  was 
well- mounted  upon  a  sturdy  chestnut  cob,  and  had  the 
graceful  seat  of  an  experienced  horseman  ;  while  his  riding 
gear,  though  free  from  such  fopperies  as  were  then  in  vogue, 
was  handsome  and  well  chosen.  He  wore  a  riding-coat  of  a 
somewhat  brighter  green  than  might  have  been  expected  to 
suit  the  taste  of  a  gentleman  of  his  years,  with  a  short,  black 
velvet  cape,  and  laced  pocket-holes  and  cuffs,  all  of  a  jaunty 
fashion  ;  his  linen,  too,  was  of  the  finest  kind,  worked  in  a 
rich  pattern  at  the  wrists  and  throat,  and  scrupulously  white. 
Although  he  seemed,  judging  from  the  mud  he  had  picked 
up  on  the  way,  to  have  come  from  London,  his  Jiorse  was  as 
smooth  and  cool  as  his  own  iron-gray  periwig  and  pigtail. 
Neither  man  nor  beast  had  turned  a  single  hair  ;  and  saving 
for  his  soiled  skirts  and  spatterdashes,  this  gentleman,  with 
his  blooming  face,  white  teeth,  exactly-ordered  dress,  and 
perfect  calmness,  might  have  come  from  making  an  elaborate 
and  leisurely  toilet,  to  sit  for  an  equestrian  portrait  at  old 
John  Willet's  gate. 


8o  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

It  must  not  be  supposed  that  John  observed  these  several 
characteristics  by  other  than  very  slow  degrees,  or  that  he 
took  in  more  than  half  a  one  at  a  time,  or  that  he  even  made 
up  his  mind  upon  that,  without  a  great  deal  of  very  serious 
consideration.  Indeed,  if  he  had  been  distracted  in  the  first 
instance  by  questionings  and  orders,  it  would  have  takec 
him  at  the  least  a  fortnight  to  have  noted  what  is  here  set 
down  ;  but  it  happened  that  the  gentleman,  being  struck 
with  the  old  house,  or  with  the  plump  pigeons  which  were 
skimming  and  courtesying  about  it,  or  with  the  tall  maypole, 
on  the  top  of  which  a  weather-cock,  which  had  been  out  of 
order  for  fifteen  years,  performed  a  perpetual  walk  to  the 
music  of  its  own  creaking,  sat  for  some  time  looking  round 
in  silence.  Hence  John,  standing  with  his  hand  upon  the 
horse's  bridle,  and  his  great  eyes  on  the  rider,  and  with 
nothing  passing  to  divert  his  thoughts,  had  really  got  some 
of  these  little  circumstances  into  his  brain  by  the  time  he  was 
called  upon  to  speak. 

'*  A  quaint  place  this,"  said  the  gentleman — and  his  voice 
was  as  rich  as  his  dress.     "  Are  you  the  landlord  ? "' 

*'  At  your  service,  sir,"  replied  John  Willet. 

"  You  can  give  my  horse  good  stabling,  can  you,  and  me  an 
early  dinner  (I  am  not  particular  what,  so  that  it  be  cleanly 
served),  and  a  decent  -oom — of  which  there  seems  to  be  no 
lack  in  this  great  mansion,"  said  the  stranger,  again  running 
his  eyes  over  the  exterior. 

"  You  can  have,  sir,"  returned  John  with  a  readiness  quite 
surprising,  "  any  thing  you  please." 

"  It's  well  I  am  easily  satisfied,"  returned  the  other  with  a 
smile,  "  or  that  might  prove  a  hardy  pledge,  my  friend."  And 
saying  so,  he  dismounted,  with  the  aid  of  the  block  before 
the  door,  in  a  twinkling. 

"  Halloa  there  !  Hugh  !  "  roared  John.  "  I  ask  your 
pardon,  sir,  for  keeping  you  standing  in  the  porch  ;  but  my 
son  has  gone  to  town  on  business,  and  the  boy  being,  as  I 
may  say,  of  a  kind  of  use  to  me,  I'm  rather  put  out  when 
he's  away.  Hugh  ! — a  dreadful  idle  vagrant  fellow,  sir,  half 
a  gipsy,  as  I  think — always  sleeping  in  the  sun  in  summer, 
and  in  the  straw  in  winter  time,  sir — Hugh  !  Dear  lord,  to 
keep  a  gentleman  a  waiting  here  through  him  ! — Hugh  !  I 
wish  that  chap  was  dead,  I  do  indeed." 

"  Possibly  he  is,"  returned  the  other.  *'  I  should  think  if  he 
^were  living,  he  would  have  heard  you  by  this  time." 

•*' In  his  fits  of  laziness,  he  sleeps  so  desperate  hard,"  said 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  8i 

the  distracted  host,  *'  that  if  you  were  to  fire  off  cannon-balls 
into  his  ears,  it  wouldn't  v/ake  him,  sir." 

The  guest  made  no  remark  upon  this  novel  cure  for  drows- 
iness, and  recipe  for  making  people  lively,  but,  with  his 
hands  clasped  behind  him,  stood  in  the  porch  very  much 
amused  to  see  old  John,  with  the  bridle  in  his  hand,  waver- 
ing between  a  strong  impulse  to  abandon  the  animal  to  his 
fate,  and  a  half  disposition  to  lead  him  into  the  house,  and 
shut  him  up  in  the  parlor,  while  he  waited  on  his  master. 

"  Pillory  the  fellow,  here  he  is  at  last  !  "  cried  John,  in  the 
very  height  and  zenith  of  his  distress.  "  Did  you  hear  me  a 
calling,  villain  } " 

The  figure  he  addressed  made  no  answer,  but  putting 
his  hand  upon  the  saddle,  sprung  into  it  at  a  bound,  turned 
the  horse's  head  toward  the  stable,  and  was  gone  in  an 
instant. 

"  Brisk  enough  when  he  is  awake,"  said  the  guest. 

"  Brisk  enough,  sir  !  "  replied  John,  looking  at  the  place 
where  the  horse  had  been,  as  if  not  yet  understanding  quite 
what  had  become  of  him.  "  He  melts,  I  think.  He  goes 
like  a  drop  of  froth.  You  look  at  him,  and  there  he  is.  You 
look  at  him  again,  and — there  he  isn't." 

Having,  in  the  absence  of  any  more  words,  put  this  sud- 
den climax  to  what  he  had  faintly  intended  should  be  a  long 
explanation  of  the  whole  life  and  character  of  his  man,  the 
oracular  John  Willet  led  the  gentleman  up  his  wide  dis- 
mantled staircase  into  the  Maypole's  best  apartment. 

It  was  spacious  enough  in  all  conscience,  occupying  the 
whole  depth  of  the  house,  and  having  at  either  end  a  great 
bay  window,  as  large  as  many  modern  rooms  ;  in  which 
some  few  panes  of  stained  glass,  emblazoned  with  fragments 
of  armorial  bearings,  though  cracked,  and  patched,  and  shat- 
tered, yet  remained  ;  attesting,  by  their  presence,  that  the 
former  owner  had  made  the  very  light  subservient  to  his  state, 
and  pressed  the  sun  itself  into  his  lifft  of  flatterers  ;  bidding  it, 
when  it  shone  into  his  chamber,  reflect  the  badges  of  his  an- 
cient family,  and  take  new  hues  and  colors  from  their  pride. 

But  those  were  old  days,  and  now  every  little  ray  came 
and  went  as  it  would  ;  telling  the  plain,  bare,  searching 
truth.  Although  the  best  room  of  the  inn,  it  had  the  mel- 
ancholy aspect  of  grandeur  in  decay,  and  was  much  too  vast 
for  comfort.  Rich  rustling  hangings,  waving  on  the  walls  ; 
and,  better  far,  the  rustling  of  youth  and  beauty's  dress  ;  the 
light  of  women's  eyes,  outshining  the  tapers  and  their  ov/n 


82  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

rich  jewels ;  the  sound  of  gentle  tongues,  and  the  tread  of 
maiden  feet,  had  once  been  there,  and  filled  it  with  delight. 
But  they  were  gone,  and  with  them  all  its  gladness.  It  was 
no  longer  a  home  ;  children  were  never  born  and  bred 
there  ;  the  fireside  had  become  mercenary — a  something  to 
be  bought  and  sold — a  very  courtesan  :  let  who  would  die, 
or  sit  beside,  or  leave  it,  it  was  still  the  same — it  missed 
nobody,  cared  for  nobody,  had  equal  warmth  and  smiles  for 
all.  God  help  the  man  whose  heart  ever  changes  with  the 
world,  as  an  old  mansion  when  it  becomes  an  inn  ! 

No  effort  had  been  made  to  furnish  this  chilly  waste,  but 
before  the  broad  chimney  a  colony  of  chairs  and  tables  had 
been  planted  on  a  square  of  carpet,  flanked  by  a  ghostly 
screen,  enriched  with  figures,  grinning  and  grotesque.  After 
lighting  with  his  own  hands  the  fagots  which  were  heaped 
upon  the  earth,  old  John  withdrew  to  hold  grave  council 
with  his  cook,  touching  the  stranger's  entertainment ;  while 
the  guest  himself,  seeing  small  comfort  in  the  yet  unkindled 
wood,  opened  a  lattice  in  the  distant  window,  and  basked  in 
a  sickly  gleam  of  cold  March  sun. 

Leaving  the  window  now  and  then,  to  rake  the  crackling 
logs  together,  or  pace  the  echoing  room  from  end  to  end,  he 
closed  it  when  the  fire  was  quite  burned  up,  and  having 
wheeled  the  easiest  chair  into  the  warmest  corner,  summoned 
John  Willet. 

"  Sir,"  said  John. 

He  wanted  pen,  ink,  and  paper.  There  was  an  old  stand- 
ish  on  the  high  mantle-shelf  containing  a  dusty  apology  for 
all  three.  Having  set  this  before  him,  the  landlord  was  re- 
tiring, when  he  motioned  him  to  stay. 

*'  There's  a  house  not  far  from  here,"  said  the  guest,  when 
he  had  written  a  few  lines,  **  which  you  call  the  Warren,  I 
believe?" 

As  this  was  said  in  the  tone  of  one  who  knew  the  fact, 
and  asked  the  question  a^a  thing  of  course,  John  contented 
himself  with  nodding  his  head  in  the  affirmative  ;  at  the  same 
time  taking  one  hand  out  of  his  pockets  to  cough  behind, 
and  then  putting  it  in  again. 

"  I  want  this  note  " — said  the  guest,  glancing  on  what  he 
had  written,  and  folding  it,  "  conveyed  there  without  loss  of 
time.  And  an  answer  brought  back  here.  Have  you  a  mes- 
senger at  hand  ? " 

John  was  thoughtful  for  a  minute  or  thereabouts,  and 
then  said  yes. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  83 

"Let  me  see  him,"  said  the  guest. 

This  was  disconcerting  ;  for  Joe  being  out,  and  Hugh  en- 
gaged in  rubbing  down  the  chestnut  cob,  he  designed  send- 
ing on  the  errand  Barnaby,  who  had  just  then  arrived  in  one 
of  his  rambles,  and  who,  so  that  he  thought  himself  em- 
ployed on  a  grave  and  serious  business,  would  go  anywhere. 

"  Why  the  truth  is,"  said  John,  after  a  long  pause,  "  that 
the  person  who'd  go  quickest,  is  a  sort  of  natural,  as  one 
may  say,  sir  ;  and  though  quick  of  foot,  and  as  much  to  be 
trusted  as  the  post  itself,  he's  not  good  at  talking,  being 
touched  and  flighty,  sir." 

"You  don't,"  said  the  guest,  raising  his  eyes  to  John's  fat 
face,  "  you  don't  mean — what's  the  fellow's  name — you  don't 
mean  Barnaby  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  do,"  returned  the  landlord,  his  features  turning 
quite  expressive  with  surprise. 

"  How  comes  he  to  be  here  ? "  inquired  the  guest,  leaning 
back  in  his  chair;  speaking  in  the  bland,  even  tone  from  which 
he  never  varied  ;  and  with  the  same  soft,  courteous,  never- 
changing  smile  upon  his  face.  "  I  saw  him  in  London  last 
night." 

"  He's  forever  here  one  hour  and  there  the  next,"  returned 
old  John,  after  the  usual  pause  to  get  the  question  in  his 
mind.  "  Sometimes  he  walks,  and  sometimes  runs.  He's 
knoivn  along  the  road  by  every  body,  and  sometimes  comes 
here  in  a  cart  or  chaise,  and  sometimes  riding  double.  He 
comes  and  goes,  through  wind,  rain,  snow,  and  hail,  and  on 
the  darkest  nights.     Nothing  hurts  him!' 

"  He  goes  often  to  the  Warren,  does  he  not  ?  "  said  the 
guest  carelessly.  "  I  seem  to  remember  his  mother  telling 
me  something  to  that  effect  yesterday.  But  I  was  not  attend- 
ing to  the  good  woman  much." 

"  You're  right,  sir,"  John  made  answer,  "  he  does.  His 
father,  sir,  was  murdered  in  that  house." 

"  So  I  have  heard,"  returned  the  guest,  taking  a  gold  tooth- 
pick from  his  pocket  with  the  same  sweet  smile.  '*  A  very 
disagreeable  circumstance  for  the  family." 

*'  Very,"  said  John,  with  a  puzzled  look,  as  if  it  occurred  to 
him,  dimly,  and  afar  off,  that  this  might  by  possibility  be  a 
cool  way  of  treating  the  subject. 

"  All  the  circumstances  after  a  murder,"  said  the  guest  so- 
liloquizing, "  must  be  dreadfully  unpleasant — so  much  bus- 
tle and  disturbance — no  response — a  constant  dwelling 
upon  one  subject — and  the  running  in  and  out,  and  up  and 


84  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

down  stairs,  intolerable.  I  wouldn't  have  such  a  thing  hap- 
pen to  any  body  I  was  nearly  interested  in,  on  any  account. 
'Twould  be  enough  to  wear  one's  life  out.  You  were  going 
to  say,  friend — "  he  added,  turning  to  John  again. 

"Only  that  Mrs.  Rudge  lives  on  a  little  pension  from  the 
family,  and  that  Barnaby's  as  free  of  the  house  as  any  cat  or 
dog  about  it,"  said  John.     "  Shall  he  do  your  errand,  sir  ? " 

"Oh  yes,"  replied  the  guest.  "  Oh,  certainly.  Let  him 
do  it  by  all  means.  Please  to  bring  him  here  that  I  may 
charge  him  to  be  quick.  If  he  objects  to  come,  you  may 
tell  him  it's  Mr.  Chester.  He  will  remember  my  name,  I 
dare  say." 

John  was  so  very  much  astonished  to  find  who  the  visitor 
was,  that  he  could  express  no  astonishment  at  all,  by  looks  or 
otherwise,  but  left  the  room  as  if  he  were  in  the  most  placid 
and  imperturbable  of  all  possible  conditions.  It  has  been 
reported  that  when  he  got  down  stairs,  he  looked  steadily  at 
the  boiler  for  ten  minutes  by  the  clock,  and  all  that  time 
never  once  left  off  shaking  his  head  ;  for  which  statement 
there  would  seem  to  be  some  ground  of  truth  and  feasi- 
bility, inasmuch  as  that  interval  of  time  did  certainly 
lapse,  before  he  returned  with  Barnaby  to  the  guest's  apart- 
ment. 

"  Come  hither,  lad,"  said  Mr.  Chester.  "  You  know  Mr. 
Geoffrey  Haredale  ?  " 

Barnaby  laughed,  and  looked  at  the  landlord  as  though 
he  would  say,  "You  hear  him?"  John,  who  was  greatly 
shocked  at  this  breach  of  decorum,  clapped  his  finger  to  his 
nose,  and  shook  his  head  in  mute  remonstrance. 

"  He  knows  him,  sir,"  said  John,  frowning  aside  at  Barn- 
aby, "  as  well  as  you  or  I  do." 

"  I  haven't  the  pleasure  of  much  acquaintance  with  the 
gentleman,"  returned  his  guest.  "  Vou  may  have.  Limit 
the  comparison  to  yourself,  my  friend." 

Although  this  was  said  with  the  same  easy  affability,  and 
the  same  smile,  John  felt  himself  put  down,  and  laying  the 
indignity  at  Barnaby's  door,  determined  to  kick  his  raven, 
on  the  very  first  opportunity. 

"  Give  that,"  said  the  guest,  who  had  by  this  time  sealed 
the  note,  and  who  beckoned  his  messenger  toward  him  as  he 
spoke,  "  into  Mr.  Haredale's  own  hands.  Wait  for  an  an- 
swer, and  bring  it  back  to  me — here.  If  you  should  find 
that  Mr.  Haredale  is  engaged  just  now,  tell  him — can  he  re- 
*aember  a  message,  landlord  ? " 


BARNABY  RUUGE.  85 

"  When  he  chooses,  sir  !  "  replied  John.  "  He  won't  for- 
get this  one." 

"  How  are  you  sure  of  that  ?  " 

John  merely  pointed  to  him  as  he  stood  with  his  head  bent 
forward,  and  his  earnest  gaze  fixed  closely  on  his  question- 
er's face  ;  and  nodded  sagely. 

"  Tell  him  then,  Barnaby,  should  he  be  engaged,"  said  Mr. 
Chester,  "  that  I  shall  be  glad  to  wait  his  convenience  here, 
and  to  see  him  (if  he  will  call)  at  any  time  this  evening — 
At  the  worst  I  can  have  abed  here,  Willet,  I  suppose  ?  " 

Old  John,  immensely  flattered  by  the  personal  notoriety 
implied  in  this  familiar  form  of  address,  answered,  with 
something  like  a  knowing  look,  "  I  should  believe  you  could 
sir,"  and  was  turning  over  in  his  mind  various  forms  of  eulo- 
gium,  with  the  view  of  selecting  one  appropriate  to  the  qual- 
ities of  his  best  bed,  when  his  ideas  were  put  to  flight  by  Mr. 
Chester  giving  Barnaby  the  letter,  and  bidding  him  make  all 
speed  away, 

"  Speed  !"  said  Barnaby,  folding  the  little  packet  in  his 
breast.  "  Speed  !  If  you  want  to  see  hurry  and  mystery, 
come  here.     Here  !  " 

With  that,  he  put  his  hand,  very  much  to  John  Willet's 
horror,  on  the  guest's  fine  broadcloth  sleeve,  and  he  led  him 
stealthily  to  the  back  window. 

"  Look  down  here,"  he  said,  softly  ;  "do  you  mark  how 
they  whisper  in  each  other's  ears  ;  then  dance  and  leap,  to 
make  believe  they  are  in  sport  ?  Do  you  see  how  they  stop 
for  a  moment,  when  they  think  there  is  no  one  looking,  and 
mutter  among  themselves  again  ;  and  then  how  they  roll 
and  gambol,  delighted  with  the  mischief  they've  been  plot- 
ting ?  Look  at  'em  now.  See  how  they  whirl  and  plunge. 
And  now  they  stop  again,  and  whisper  cautiously  together — 
little  thinking,  mind,  how  often  I  have  lain  upon  the  grass 
and  watched  them.  I  say — what  is  it  that  they  plot  and 
hatch  ?     Do  you  know  ?  " 

"  They  are  only  clothes,"  returned  the  guest,  "  such  as  we 
wear,  hanging  on  those  lines  to  dry,  and  fluttering  in  the 
wind." 

"  Clothes  !  "  echoed  Barnaby,  looking  close  into  his  face, 
and  falling  quickly  back.  '*  Ha  !  ha  !  Why,  how  much 
better  to  be  silly,  than  as  wise  as  you  !  You  don't  see  shadowy 
people  there,  like  those  that  live  in  sleep — not  you.  Nor 
eyes  in  the  knotted  panes  of  glass,  nor  swift  ghosts  when  it 
blows  hard,  nor  do  you  hear  voices  in  the   air,  nor  see  men 


86  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

stalking  in  the  sky — not  you  !  I  lead  a  merrier  life  than  you, 
with  all  your  cleverness.  You're  the  dull  men.  We're  the 
bright  ones.  Ha  !  ha  !  I'll  not  change  with  you,  clever  as 
you  are — not  I  !  " 

With  that,  he  waved  his  hat  above  his  head,  and  darted  off. 

"  A  strange  creature,  upon  my  word  !  "  said  the  guest, 
pulling  out  a  handsome  box,  and  taking  a  pinch  of  snuff. 

"  He  wants  imagination,"  said  Mr.  Willet,  very  slowly,  and 
after  a  long  silence  ;  ''  that's  what  he  wants.  Tve  tried  to 
instill  it  into  him,  many  and  many's  the  time  ;  but " — John 
added  this  in  confidence — "  he  an't  made  for  it  :  that's  the 
fact." 

To  record  that  Mr.  Chester  smiled  at  John's  remark  woulr* 
be  little  to  the  purpose,  for  he  preserved  the  same  concilia- 
tory and  pleasant  look  at  all  times.  He  drew  his  chair 
nearer  to  the  fire  though,  as  a  kind  of  hint  that  he  would 
prefer  to  be  alone,  and  John,  having  no  reasonable  excuse 
for  remaining,  left  him  to  himself. 

Very  thoughtful  old  John  Willet  was,  while  the  dinner 
was  preparing  ;  and  if  his  brain  were  ever  less  clear  at  one 
time  than  another,  it  is  but  reasonable  to  suppose  that  he 
addled  it  in  no  slight  degree  by  shaking  his  head  so  much 
that  day.  That  Mr.  Chester,  between  whom  and  Mr.  Hare- 
dale,  it  was  notorious  to  all  the  neighborhood,  a  deep  and 
bitter  animosity  existed,  should  come  down  there  for  the 
sole  purpose,  as  it  seemed,  of  seeing  him,  and  should  choose 
the  Maypole  for  their  place  of  meeting,  and  should  send  to 
him  express,  were  stumbling-blocks  John  could  not  over- 
come. The  only  resource  he  had  was  to  consult  the  boiler, 
and  wait  impatiently  for  Barnaby's  return. 

But  Barnaby  delayed  beyond  all  precedent.  The  visitor's 
dinner  was  served,  removed,  his  wine  was  set,  the  fire  re- 
plenished, the  hearth  clean  swept ;  the  light  waned  without, 
it  grew  dusk,  became  quite  dark,  and  still  no  Barnaby  ap- 
peared. Yet,  though  John  Willet  was  full  of  wonder  and 
misgiving,  his  guest  sat  cross-legged  in  the  easy-chair,  to  all 
appearance  as  little  rufiled  in  his  thoughts  as  in  his  dress— 
the  same  calm,  easy,  cool  gentleman,  without  a  care  or 
thought  beyond  his  golden  toothpick. 

"  Barnaby's  late,"  John  ventured  to  observe,  as  he  placed 
a  pair  of  tarnished  candlesticks,  some  three  feet  high,  upon 
the  table,  and  snuffed  the  lights  they  held. 

"  He  is  rather  so,"  replied  the  guest,  sipping  his  wine- 
"  He  will  not  be  much  longer,  I  dare  say." 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  87 

John  coughed  and  raked  the  fire  together. 

"  As  your  roads  bear  no  very  good  character,  if  I  may 
judge  from  my  son's  mishap,  though,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  "  and 
as  I  have  no  fancy  to  be  knocked  on  the  head — which  is  not 
only  disconcerting  at  the  moment,  but  places  one,  besides, 
in  a  ridiculous  position  with  respect  to  the  people  who 
chance  to  pick  one  up — I  shall  stop  here  to-night.  I  think 
you  said  you  had  a  bed  to  spare." 

"  Such  a  bed,  sir,"  returned  John  Willet  ;  "  ay,  such  a  bed 
as  few,  even  of  the  gentry's  houses,  own.  A  fixter  here,  sir. 
I've  heard  say  that  bedstead  is  nigh  two  hundred  years  of 
age.  Your  noble  son— a  fine  young  gentleman— slept  in  it 
last,  sir,  half  a  year  ago." 

"Upon  my  life,  a  recommendation!"  said  the  guest, 
shrugging  his  shoulders  and  wheeling  his  chair  nearer  to  the 
fire.  "  See  that  it  be  well  aired,  Mr.  Willet,  and  let  a  blaz- 
ing fire  be  lighted  there  at  once.  This  house  is  something 
damp  and  chilly." 

John  raked  the  fagots  up  again,  more  from  habit  than 
presence  of  mind,  or  any  reference  to  this  remark,  and  was 
about  to  withdraw,  when  a  bounding  step  was  heard  upon 
the  stair,  and  Barnaby  came  panting  in. 

"He'll  have  his  foot  in  the  stirrup  in  an  hour's  time,"  he 
cried,  advancing.  "  He  has  been  riding  hard  all  day — has  just 
come  home — but  will  be  in  the  saddle  again  as  soon  as  he  has 
eat  and  drank,  to  meet  his  loving  friend." 

"  Was  that  his  message  ?  "  asked  the  visitor,  looking  up, 
but  without  the  smallest  discomposure — or  at  least  without 
the  show  of  any. 

"  All  but  the  last  words,"  Barnaby  rejoined.  "  He  meant 
those.     I  saw  that  in  his  face." 

"  This  for  your  pains,"  said  the  other,  putting  money  in  his 
hand,  and  glancing  at  him  steadfastly.  "  This  for  your  pains, 
sharp  Barnaby." 

"  For  Grip  and  me,  and  Hugh,  to  share  among  us,"  he 
rejoined,  putting  it  up,  and  nodding,  as  he  counted  it  on 
his  fingers.  "  Grip  one,  me  two,  Hugh  three  ;  the  dog,  the 
goat,  the  cats — well,  we  shall  spend  it  pretty  soon,  I  warn 
you.  Stay. — Look.  Do  you  wise  men  see  nothing  there, 
now  ?  " 

He  bent  eagerly  down  on  one  knee,  and  gazed  intently 
at  the  smoke,  which  was  rolling  up  the  chimney  in  a  thick, 
black  cloud.  John  Willet,  who  appeared  to  consider  him- 
self   particularly   and  chiefly  referred  to    under    the    term 


BS  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

wise  men,  looked  that  way  likewise,  and  with  great  solidity 
of  feature. 

"  Now,  where  do  they  go  to,  when  they  spring  so  fast  up 
there,"  asked  Barnaby  ;  ''  eh  ?  Why  do  they  tread  so  closely 
on  each  other's  heels,  and  why  are  they  always  in  a  hurry — 
which  is  what  you  blame  me  for,  when  I  only  take  pattern  by 
these  busy  folk  about  me.  More  of  'em  !  catching  to  each 
other's  skirts  ;  and  as  fast  as  they  go,  others  come  !  What  a 
merry  dance  it  is  !  I  would  that  Grip  and  I  could  frisk  like 
that  !  " 

'^  What  has  he  in  that  basket  at  his  back  ?  "  asked  the  guest 
after  a  few  moments,  during  which  Barnaby  was  still  bend- 
ing down  to  look  higher  up  the  chimney,  and  earnestly  watch- 
ing the  smoke. 

'^  In  this  ?  "  he  answered,  jumping  up,  before  John  Willet 
could  reply — shaking  it  as  he  spoke,  and  stooping  his  head 
to  listen.     '' In  this  !     What  is  there  here?     Tell  him  !  " 

"  A  devil,  a  devil,  a  devil  ?  "  cried  a  hoarse  voice. 

**  Here's  money  !  "  said  Barnaby,  chinking  it  in  his  hand, 
"  money  for  a  treat.  Grip  !  " 

"  Hurrah  !  hurrah  !  hurrah  !  "  replied  the  raven,  "  keep 
up  your  spirits.     Never  say  die.     Bow,  wow,  wow." 

Mr.  Willet,  who  appeared  to  entertain  strong  doubts 
whether  a  customer  in  a  laced  coat  and  fine  linen  could  be 
supposed  to  have  any  acquaintance  even  with  the  existence 
of  such  unpolite  gentry  as  the  bird  claimed  to  belong  to,  took 
Barnaby  off  at  this  juncture,  with  the  view  of  preventing  any 
other  improper  declarations,  and  quitted  the  room  with  his 
very  best  bow. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

There  was  great  news  that  night  for  the  regular  Maypole 
customers,  to  each  of  whom,  as  he  straggled  in  to  occupy  his 
allotted  seat  in  the  chimney-corner,  John,  with  a  most  im- 
pressive slowness  of  delivery,  and  in  an  apoplectic  whisper, 
communicated  the  fact  that  Mr.  Chester  was  alone  in  the 
large  room  up-stairs,  and  was  waiting  the  arrival  of  Mr, 
Geoffrey  Haredale,  to  whom  he  had  sent  a  letter  (doubtless 
of  a  threatening  nature)  by  the  hands  of  Barnaby,  then  and 
there  present. 

For  a  little  knot  of  smokers  and  solemn  gossips,  who  had 
seldom  any  new  topics  of  discussion,  this  was  a  perfect  God- 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  89 

send.  Here  was  a  good,  dark-looking  mystery  progressing 
under  that  very  roof — brought  home  to  the  fireside,  as  it 
were,  and  enjoyable  without  the  smallest  pains  or  trouble. 
It  is  extraordinary  what  a  zest  and  relish  it  gave  to  the  drink, 
and  how  it  heightened  the  flavor  of  the  tobacco.  Every  man 
smoked  his  pipe  with  a  face  of  grave  and  serious  delight,  and 
looked  at  his  neighbor  with  a  sort  of  quiet  congratulation. 
Nay,  it  was  felt  to  be  such  a  holiday  and  special  night,  that, 
on  the  motion  of  little  Solomon  Daisy,  every  man  (including 
John  himself)  put  down  his  sixpence  for  a  can  of  flip,  which 
grateful  beverage  was  brewed  with  all  dispatch,  and  set  down 
in  the  midst  of  them  on  the  brick  floor  ;  both  that  it  might 
simmer  and  stew  before  the  fire,  and  that  its  fragrant  steam, 
rising  up  among  them,  and  mixing  with  the  wreaths  of  vapor 
from  their  pipes,  might  shroud  them  in  a  delicious  atmos- 
phere of  their  own,  and  shut  out  all  the  world.  The  very 
furniture  of  the  room  seemed  to  mellow  and  deepen  in  its 
tone  ;  the  ceiling  and  walls  looked  blacker  and  more  highly 
polished,  the  curtains  of  a  ruddier  red  ;  the  fire  burned  clear 
and  high,  and  the  crickets  in  the  hearthstone  chirped  with  a 
more  than  wonted  satisfaction. 

There  were  present  two,  however,  who  showed  but  little 
interest  in  the  general  contentment.  Of  these,  one  was  Barn- 
aby  himself,  who  slept,  or,  to  avoid  being  beset  with  ques- 
tions, feigned  to  sleep,  in  the  chimney-corner  ;  the  other, 
Hugh,  who,  sleeping  too,  lay  stretched  upon  the  bench  on 
the  opposite  side,  in  the  full  glare  of  the  blazing  fire. 

The  light  that  fell  upon  this  slumbering  form,  showed  it  in 
all  its  muscular  and  handsome  proportions.  It  was  that  of 
a  young  man,  of  a  hale,  athletic  figure,  and  a  giant's  strength, 
whose  sunburned  face  and  swarthy  throat,  overgrown  with  jet 
black  hair,  might  have  served  a  painter  for  a  model.  1  oosely 
attired,  in  the  coarsest  and  roughest  garb,  with  scraps  of  straw 
and  hay — his  usual  bed — clinging  here  and  there,  ana  mni- 
gling  with  his  uncombed  locks,  he  had  fallen  asleep,  in  a  pos- 
ture as  careless  as  his  dress.  The  negligence  and  disorder 
of  the  whole  man,  with  something  fierce  and  sullen  in  his 
features,  gave  him  a  picturesque  appearance,  that  attracted 
the  regards  even  of  the  Maypole  customers  who  knew  him 
well,  and  caused  Long  Parkes  to  say  that  Hugh  looked  more 
like  a  poaching  rascal  to-night  than  ever  he  had  seen  him 
yet. 

"  He's  waiting  here,  I  suppose,"  said  Solomon,  "  to  take 
Mr.  Haredale's  horse." 


90  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  That's  it,  sir,"  replied  John  Willet.  "  He's  not  often  in 
the  house,  you  know.  He's  more  at  his  ease  among  horses 
than  men.     I  look  upon  him  as  a  animal  himself." 

Following  up  this  opinion  with  a  shrug  that  seemed  meant 
to  say,  "  we  can't  expect  everybody  to  be  like  us,"  John  put 
his  pipe  into  his  mouth  again,  and  smoked  like  one  who  felt 
his  superiority  over  the  general  run  of  mankind. 

"  That  chap,  sir,"  said  John,  taking  it  out  again  after  a  time, 
and  pointing  at  him  with  the  stem,  "  though  he's  got  all  his 
faculties  about  him — bottled  up  and  corked  down,  if  I  may 
say  so,  somewheres  or  another " 

''  Very  good  !  "  said  Parkes,  nodding  his  head.  "  A  very 
good  expression,  Johnny.  You'll  be  a  tackling  somebody 
presently.     You're  in  twig  to-night,  I  see." 

"  Take  care,"  said  Mr.  Willet,  not  at  all  grateful  for  the 
compliment,  "  that  I  don't  tackle  you,  sir,  which  I  shall  cer- 
tainly endeavor  to  do,  if  you  interrupt  me  when  I'm  making 
observations.  That  chap,  I  was  a  saying,  though  he  has  all 
his  faculties  about  him,  somewheres  or  another,  bottled  up 
and  corked  down,  has  no  more  imagination  than  Barnaby 
has.     And  why  hasn't  he  ? " 

The  three  friends  shook  their  heads  at  each  other  ;  saying 
by  that  action,  without  the  trouble  of  opening  their  lips,  "  Do 
you  observe  what  a  philosophical  mind  our  friend  has  ? " 

"  Why  hasn't  he  ?  "  said  John,  gently  striking  the  table 
with  his  open  hand.  "  Because  they  was  never  drawed  out 
of  him  when  he  was  a  boy.  That's  why.  What  would  any 
of  us  have  been,  if  our  fathers  hadn't  drawed  our  faculties 
out  of  us?  What  would  my  boy  Joe  have  been,  if  I  hadn't 
drawed  his  faculties  out  of  him  } — Do  you  mind  what  I'm  a 
saying  of,  gentlemen  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  we  mind  you,"  cried  Parkes.  '^  Go  on  improving 
of  us,  Johnny." 

"  Consequently,  then,"  said  Mr.  Willet,  "  that  chap,  whose 
mother  was  hung  when  he  was  a  little  boy,  along  with  six 
others,  for  passing  bad  notes — and  it's  a  blessed  thing  to 
think  how  many  people  are  hung  in  batches  every  six  weeks 
for  that,  and  such  like  offenses,  as  showing  how  wide  awake 
our  government  is — that  chap  was  then  turned  loose,  and 
had  to  mind  cows,  and  frighten  birds  away,  and  what  not, 
for  a  few  pence  to  live  on,  and  so  got  on  by  degrees  to  mind 
horses,  and  to  sleep  in  course  of  time  in  lofts  and  litter,  in- 
stead of  under  hay-stacks  and  hedges,  till  at  last  he  come  to 
be  hostler  at  the  Maypole  for  his  board  and  lodging  and  a 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  91 

annual  trifle — that  chap  that  can't  read  nor  write,  and  has 
never  had  much  to  do  with  any  thing  but  animals,  and  has 
never  lived  in  any  way  but  like  the  animals  he  has  lived 
among,  is  a  animal.  And,"  said  Mr.  Willet,  arriving  at  his 
logical  conclusion,  ''  is  to  be  treated  accordingly." 

"  Willet,"  said  Solomon  Daisy,  who  had  exhibited  some 
impatience  at  the  intrusion  of  so  unworthy  a  subject  on  their 
more  interesting  theme,  *'  when  Mr.  Chester  come  this  morn- 
ing, did  he  order  the  large  room  ?  " 

''  He  signified,  sir,"  said  John,  "  that  he  wanted  a  large 
apartment.     Yes.     Certainly." 

'*  Why  then,  I'll  tell  you  what,"  said  Solomon,  speaking 
softly  and  with  an  earnest  look.  "  He  and  Mr.  Haredale  are 
going  to  fight  a  duel  in  it." 

Every  body  looked  at  Mr.  Willet,  after  this  alarming  sug- 
gestion. Mr.  Willet  looked  at  the  fire,  weighing  in  his  own 
mind  the  effect  which  such  an  occurrence  would  be  likely  to 
have  on  the  establishment. 

"  Well,"  said  John,  "  I  don't  know — I  am  sure— I  remem- 
ber that  when  I  went  up  last,  he  had  put  the  lights  upon  the 
mantle-shelf." 

"  It's  as  plain,"  returned  Solomon,  '*  as  the  nose  on  Parkes's 
face  " — Mr.  Parkes,  who  had  a  large  nose,  rubbed  it,  and 
looked  as  if  he  considered  this  a  personal  allusion — "  they'll 
fight  in  that  room.  You  know  by  the  newspapers,  what  a 
common  thing  it  is  for  gentlemen  to  fight  in  coffee-houses 
without  seconds.  One  of  'em  will  be  wounded  or  perhaps 
killed  in  this  house." 

"  That  was  a  challenge  that  Barnaby  took  then,  eh  ? "  said 
John. 

*' — Inclosing  a  slip  of  paper  with  the  measure  of  his  sword 
upon  it,  I'll  bet  a  guinea,"  answered  the  little  man.  *' We 
know  what  sort  of  gentleman  Mr.  Haredale  is.  You  have 
told  us  what  Barnaby  said  about  his  looks,  when  he  came 
back.     Depend  upon  it,  I'm  right.     Now,  mind." 

The  flip  had  had  no  flavor  till  now.  The  tobacco  had 
been  of  mere  English  growth,  compared  with  its  present 
taste.  A  duel  in  that  great  old  rambling  room  up-stairs, 
and  the  best  bed  ordered  already  for  the  wounded  man  ! 

"  Would  it  be  swords  or  pistols,  now  ?  "  said  John. 

"  Heaven  knows.  Perhaps  both,"  returned  Solomon. 
"  The  gentlemen  wear  swords  and  may  easily  have  pistols 
in  their  pockets — most  likely  have,  indeed.  If  they  fire  at 
each  other  without  effect,  then  they'll  draw,  and  go  to  work 
in  earnest." 


92  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

A  shade  passed  over  Mr.  Willet's  face  as  he  thought  of 
broken  windows  and  disabled  furniture,  but  bethinking  him- 
self that  one  of  the  parties  would  probably  be  left  alive  to 
pay  the  damage,  he  brightened  up  again. 

"And  then,"  said  Solomon,  looking  from  face  to  face, 
''  then  we  shall  have  one  of  those  stains  upon  the  floor  that 
never  come  out.  If  Mr.  Haredale  wins,  depend  upon  it, 
it'll  be  a  deep  one  ;  or  if  he  loses,  it  will  perhaps  be  deeper 
still,  for  he'll  never  give  in  unless  he's  beaten  down.  We 
know  him  better,  eh  ?" 

"  Better  indeed  !  "  they  whispered  all  together. 

"  As  to  its  ever  being  got  out  again,"  said  Solomon,  "  I 
tell  you  it  never  will,  or  can  be.  Why,  do  you  know  that 
it  has  been  tried,  at  a  certain  house  we  are  acquainted 
with?" 

"  The  Warren  !  "  cried  John.     "  No,  sure  !  " 

"Yes,  sure — yes.  It's  only  known  by  very  few.  It  has 
been  whispered  about  though  for  all  that.  They  planed  the 
board  away,  but  there  it  was.  They  went  deep,  but  it  went 
deeper.  They  put  new  boards  down,  but  there  was  one 
great  spot  that  came  through  still,  and  showed  itself  in  the 
old  place.  And — harkye — draw  nearer — Mr.  Geoffrey  made 
that  room  his  study,  and  sits  there,  always,  with  his  foot  (as 
I  have  heard)  upon  it  ;  and  he  believes,  through  thinking  of 
it  long  and  very  much,  that  it  will  never  fade  until  he  finds 
the  man  who  did  the  deed." 

As  this  recital  ended,  and  they  all  drew  closer  round  the 
fire,  the  tramp  of  a  horse  was  heard  without. 

"  The  very  man  !  "  cried  John,  starting  up.  **  Hugh  ! 
Hugh!" 

The  sleeper  staggered  to  his  feet,  and  hurried  after  him. 
John  quickly  returned,  ushering  in  with  great  attention  and 
deference  (for  Mr.  Haredale  was  his  landlord)  the  long-ex- 
pected visitor,  who  strode  into  the  room  clanking  his  heavy 
boots  upon  the  floor  ;  and  looking  keenly  round  upon  the 
bowing  group,  raised  his  hat  in  acknowledgment  of  their 
profound  respect. 

'*  You  have  a  stranger  here,  Willet,  who  sent  to  me,"  he 
said,  in  a  voice  which  sounded  naturally  stern  and  deep. 
"Where  is  he?" 

"  In  the  great  room  up-stairs,  sir,"  answered  John. 

"Show  the  way.  Your  staircase  is  dark,  1  know.  Gentle- 
men, good-night." 

With  that  he  signed  to  the  landlord  to  go  on  before  ;  and 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  93 

went  clanking  out,  and  up  the  stairs  ;  old  John,  in  his  agi- 
tation, ingeniously  lighting  every  thing  but  the  way,  and 
making  a  stumble  at  every  second  step. 

"  Stop  !  "  he  said,  when  they  reached  the  landing.  *'  I  can 
announce  myself.     Don't  wait." 

He  laid  his  hand  upon  the  door,  entered,  and  shut  it 
heavily.  Mr.  Willet  was  by  no  means  disposed  to  stand 
there  listening  by  himself,  especially  as  the  walls  were  very 
thick  ;  so  descended,  with  much  greater  alacrity  than  he 
had  come  up,  and  joined  his  friends  below. 


CHAPTER   XH. 

There  was  a  brief  pause  in  the  state-room  of  the  Maypole, 
as  Mr.  Haredale  tried  the  lock  to  satisfy  himself  that  he  had 
shut  the  door  securely,  and,  striding  up  the  dark  chamber 
to  where  the  screen  inclosed  a  little  patch  of  light  and 
warmth,  presented  himself  abruptly  and  in  silence,  before 
the  smiling  guest. 

If  the  two  had  no  greater  sympathy  in  their  inward  thoughts 
than  in  their  outward  bearing  and  appearance,  the  meeting 
did  not  seem  likely  to  prove  a  very  calm  or  pleasant  one. 
With  no  great  disparity  between  them  in  point  of  years, 
they  were,  in  every  other  respect,  as  unlike  and  far  removed 
from  each  other  as  two  men  could  well  be.  The  one  was 
soft-spoken,  delicately  made,  precise,  and  elegant ;  the  other, 
a  burly  square-built  man,  negligently  dressed,  rough  and 
abrupt  in  manner,  stern,  and,  in  his  present  mood,  forbidding 
both  in  look  and  speech.  The  one  preserved  a  calm  and 
placid  smile  ;  the  other  a  distrustful  frown.  The  new-comer, 
indeed,  appeared  bent  on  showing  by  his  every  tone  and 
gesture  his  determined  opposition  and  hostility  to  the  man 
he  had  come  to  meet.  The  guest  who  received  him,  on  the 
other  hand,  seemed  to  feel  that  the  contrast  between  them 
was  all  in  his  favor,  and  to  derive  a  quiet  exultation  from  it 
which  put  him  more  at  his  ease  than  ever. 

"  Haredale,"  said  the  gentleman,  without  the  least  appear- 
ance of  embarrassment  or  reserve,  "  I  am  very  glad  to  see 
you." 

"  Let  us  dispense  with  compliments.  They  are  misplaced 
between  us,"  returned  the  other,  waving  his  hand,  ''  and  say 
plainly  what  we  have  to  say.  You  have  asked  me  to  meet 
you.     I  am  here.     Why  do  we  stand  face  to  face  again  .?  " 


94  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  Still  the  same  frank  and  sturdy  character,  I  see ! 

*'  Good  or  bad,  sir,  I  am,"  returned  the  other,  leaning  his 
arm  upon  the  chimney-piece,  and  turning  a  haughty  look 
upon  the  occupant  of  the  easy  chair,  *'  the  man  I  used  to 
be.  I  have  lost  no  old  likings  or  dislikings  ;  my  memory 
has  not  failed  me  by  a  hair-breadth.  You  ask  me  to  give 
you  a  meeting.     I  say  I  am  here." 

''  Our  meeting,  Haredale,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  tapping  his 
snuff-box,  and  following  with  a  smile  the  impatient  gesture 
he  had  made — perhaps  unconsciously — toward  his  sword, 
"  is  one  of  conference  and  peace,  I  hope  ?  " 

"I  have  come  here,"  returned  the  other,  "at  your  desire, 
holding  myself  bound  to  meet  you,  when  and  where  you 
would.  I  have  not  come  to  bandy  pleasant  speeches,  or  hol- 
low professions.  You  are  a  smooth  man  of  the  world,  sir, 
and  at  such  play  have  me  at  a  disadvantage.  The  very  last 
man  on  this  earth  with  whom  I  would  enter  the  list  to  com.- 
bat  with  gentle  compliments  and  masked  faces,  is  Mr. 
Chester,  I  do  assure  you.  I  am  not  his  match  at  such 
weapons,  and  have  reason  to  believe  that  few  men  are." 

"  You  do  me  a  great  deal  of  honor,  Haredale,"  returned 
the  other,  most  composedly,  "  and  I  thank  you.     I  will  be 

frank  with  you " 

^  "  I  beg  your  pardon — will  be  v/hat }  " 

**  Frank — open — perfectly  candid." 

*'  Hah  !  "  cried  Mr.  Haredale,  drawing  his  breath.  "  But 
don't  let  me  interrupt  you." 

"  So  resolved  am  I  to  hold  this  course,"  returned  the 
other,  tasting  his  wine  with  great  deliberation,  "  that  I  have 
determined  not  to  quarrel  with  you,  and  not  to  be  betrayed 
into  a  warm  expression  or  a  hasty  word." 

"  There  again,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  "  you  have  me  at  a 
great  advantage.     Your  self-command " 

*'  Is  not  to  be  disturbed,  when  it  will  serve  my  purpose, 
you  would  say" — rejoined  the  other,  interrupting  him  with 
the  same  complacency.  '*  Granted.  I  allow  it.  And  I 
have  a  purpose  to  serve  now.  So  have  you.  I  am  sure  our 
object  is  the  same.  Let  us  attain  it  like  sensible  men,  who 
have  ceased  to  be  boys  some  time. — Do  you  drink  ? " 

"  With  my  friends,"  returned  the  other. 

"  At  least,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  "  you  will  be  seated  ?  "  ^ 

"  I  will  stand,"  returned  Mr.  Haredale  impatiently,  "  on 
this  dismantled  beggared  hearth,  and  not  pollute  it,  fallen  as 
it  is,  with  mockeries.     Go  on." 


BARNABV  PvUDGE.  95 

"You  are  wrong,  Haredale,"  said  the  other,  crossing  his 
legs,  and  smiling  as  he  held  his  glass  up  in  the  bright  glow 
of  the  tire.  ''  You  are  really  wrong.  The  world  is  a  lively 
place  enough,  in  which  we  must  accommodate  ourselves  to 
circumstances,  sail  with  the  stream  as  glibly  as  we  can,  be 
content  to  take  froth  for  substance,  the  surface  for  the 
depth,  the  counterfeit  for  the  real  coin.  I  wonder  no  phi- 
losopher has  ever  established  that  our  globe  itself  is  hollow. 
It  should  be,  if  Nature  is  content  in  her  works." 

*'  You  think  it  is,  perhaps  !  " 

"  1  should  say,"  he  returned,  sipping  his  wine,  ''  there 
could  be  no  doubt  about  it.  Well  ;  we,  in  trifling  with  this 
jingling  toy,  have  had  the  ill  luck  to  jostle  and  fall  out.  We 
are  not  what  the  world  calls  friends  ;  but  we  are  as  good 
and  true  and  loving  friends  for  all  that,  as  nine  out  of  every 
ten  of  those  on  whom  it  bestows  the  title.  You  have  a 
niece,  and  I  a  son — a  fine  lad,  Haredale,  but  foolish.  They 
fall  in  love  with  each  other,  and  from  what  this  same  world 
calls  an  attachment  ;  meaning  a  something  fanciful  and 
false  like  the  rest,  which,  if  it  took  its  own  free  time,  would 
break  like  any  other  bubble.  But  it  may  not  have  its  own 
free  time — will  not,  if  they  are  left  alone — and  the  question 
is,  shall  we  two,  because  society  calls  us  enemies,  stand 
aloof,  and  let  them  rush  into  each  other's  arms,  when,  by  ap- 
proaching each  other  sensibly,  as  we  do  now,  we  can  prevent 
it,  and  part  them  ?  " 

"  I  love  my  niece,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  after  a  short 
silence.  "  It  may  sound  strangely  to  your  ears  ;  but  I  love 
her." 

"  Strangely,  my  good  fellow  !  "  cried  Mr.  Chester,  lazily 
filling  his  glass  again,  and  pulling  out  his  toothpick.  "  Not  at 
all.  I  like  Ned  too — or,  as  you  say,  love  him — that's  the  word 
among  such  near  relations.  I'm  very  fond  of  Ned.  He's  an 
amazingly  good  fellow,  and  a  handsome  fellow — foolish 
and  weak  as  yet  ;  that's  all.  But  the  thing  is,  Haredale — 
for  I'll  be  very  frank,  as  I  told  you  I  would  at  first — inde- 
pendently of  any  dislike  that  you  and  I  might  have  to  being 
related  to  each  other,  and  independently  of  the  religious 
differences  between  us — and  damn  it,  that's  important — I 
couldn't  afford  a  match  of  this  description.  Ned  and  I 
couldn't  do  it.     It's  impossible." 

"  Curb  your  tongue,  in  God's  name,  if  this  conversation 
is  to  last,"  retorted  Mr.  Haredale,  fiercely.  "I  have  said  I 
love  my  niece.     Do  you  think  that,  loving  her,  I  would  have 


96  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

her  fling  her  heart  away  on  any  man  who  had  your  blood  in 
his  veins  ?" 

"  You  see,"  said  the  other,  not  at  all  disturbed,  "  the  ad- 
vantage of  being  so  frank  and  open.  Just  what  I  was  about 
to  add,  upon  my  honor  !  I  am  amazingly  attached  to  Ned 
— quite  dote  upon  him,  indeed — and  even  if  we  could  afford 
to  throw  ourselves  away,  that  very  objection  would  be  quite 
insuperable,     I  wish  you'd  take  some  wine  !  " 

"  Mark  me,"  said  Air.  Haredale,  striding  to  the  table,  and 
laying  his  hand  upon  it  heavily.  "  If  any  man  believes — 
presumes  to  think — that  I,  in  word  or  deed,  or  in  the  wildest 
dream,  ever  entertained  remotely  the  idea  of  Emma  Hare- 
dale's  favoring  the  suit  of  any  one  who  was  akin  to  you — in 
any  way — I  care  not  what — he  lies.  He  lies,  and  does  me 
grievous  wrong,  in  the  mere  thought," 

"  Haredale,"  returned  the  other,  rocking  himself  to  and 
fro  as  in  assent,  and  nodding  at  the  fire,  "  it's  extremely 
manly,  and  really  very  generous  in  you,  to  meet  me  in  this 
unreserved  and  handsome  w^ay.  Upon  my  word,  those  are 
exactly  my  sentiments,  only  expressed  with  much  more  force 
and  power  than  I  could  use — you  know  my  sluggish  nature, 
and  will  forgive  me,  I  am  sure," 

"While  I  would  restrain  her  from  all  correspondence 
with  your  son,  and  sever  their  intercourse  here,  though  it 
should  cause  her  death,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  who  had  been 
pacing  to  and  fro,  "  I  would  do  it  kindly  and  tenderly  if  I 
can.  I  have  a  tr  jst  to  discharge,  which  my  nature  is  not 
formed  to  understand,  and,  for  this  reason,  the  bare  fact  of 
there  being  any  love  -between  them  comes  upon  me  to-night, 
almost  for  the  first  time." 

"  I  am  more  delighted  than  I  can  possibly  tell  you,"  re- 
joined Mr.  Chester  with  the  utmost  blandness,  "to  find 
my  own  impression  so  confirmed.  You  see  the  advantage 
of  our  having  met.  We  understand  each  other.  We  quite 
agree.  We  have  a  most  complete  and  thorough  explanation, 
and  we  know  what  course  to  take.  Why  don't  you  taste 
your  tenant's  wine  ?     It's  really  very  good." 

**Pray  who,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  "  have  aided  Emma,  or 
your  son  ?  Who  are  their  go-betweens,  and  agents — do  you 
know  ?  " 

"All  the  good  people  hereabouts — the  neighborhood  in 
general,  I  think,"  returned  the  other,  with  his  most  affable 
smile.  "  The  messenger  I  sent  to  you  to-day,  foremost  among 
them  all" 


BARNABY  RUdOE,  97 

**  The  idiot  ?     Barnaby  ?  " 

"  You  are  surprised  ?  I  am  glad  of  that,  for  I  was  rather 
so  myself.  Yes.  I  wrung  that  from  his  mother — a  very 
decent  sort  of  woman — from  whom,  indeed,  I  chiefly  learned 
how  serious  the  matter  had  become,  and  so  determined  to 
ride  out  here  to-day,  and  hold  a  parley  with  you  on  this 
neutral  ground.  You're  stouter  than  you  used  to  be,  Hare- 
dale,  but  you  look  extremely  well." 

"Our  business,  I  presume,  is  nearly  at  an  end,"  said  Mr 
Haredale,  with  an  expression  of  impatience  he  was  at  no 
pains  to  conceal.  *'  Trust  me,  Mr.  Chester,  my  niece  shall 
change  from  this  time.  I  will  appeal,"  he  added  in  a  lower 
tone,  "  to  her  woman's  heart,  her  dignity,  her  pride,  her 
duty — " 

"I  shall  do  the  same  by  Ned,"  said  Mr,  Chester,  restor- 
ing some  errant  fagots  to  their  places  in  the  grate  with  the 
toe  of  his  boot.  "  If  there  is  any  thing  real  in  this  world,  i: 
is  those  amazingly  fine  feelings  and  those  natural  obliga- 
tions which  must  subsist  between  father  and  son.  I  shall 
put  it  to  him  on  every  ground  of  moral  and  religious  feel- 
ing. I  shall  represent  to  him  that  we  can  not  possibly  afford 
it — that  I  have  always  looked  forward  to  his  marrying  well, 
for  a  genteel  provision  for  myself  in  the  autumn  of  life — 
there  are  a  great  many  clamorous  dogs  to  pay,  whose  claims 
are  perfectly  just  and  right,  and  who  must  be  paid  out  of  his 
wife's  fortune.  In  short,  that  the  very  highest  and  most 
honorable  feelings  of  our  nature,  with  every  consideration 
of  filial  duty  and  affection,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  im- 
peratively demand  that  he  should  run  away  with  an  heiress." 

"And  break  her  heart  as  speedily  as  possible?"  said  Mr. 
Haredale,  drawing  on  his  glove. 

"  There  Ned  will  act  exactly  as  he  pleases,"  returned  the 
other,  sipping  his  wine  ;  '*  that's  entirely  his  afi'air.  I  wouldn't 
for  the  world  interfere  with  my  son,  Haredale,  beyond  a 
certain  point.  The  relationship  between  father  and  son, 
you  know,  is  positively  quite  a  holy  kind  of  bond. —  Won  t 
you  let  me  persuade  you  to  take  one  glass  of  wine  ?  Well  !  as 
you  please,  as  you  please,"  he  added,  helping  himself  again. 

"  Chester,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  after  a  short  silence,  dur- 
ing which  he  had  eyed  his  smiling  face  from  time  to  time 
intently,  "  you  have  the  head  and  the  heart  of  an  evil  spirit 
in  all  matters  of  deception." 

"  Your  health  !  "  said  the  other,  with  a  nod.  "  But  I  have 
interrupted  you — " 


98  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  If  now,"  pursued  Mr.  Haredale,  *'  we  should  find  it  diri% 
cult  to  separate  these  young  people,  and  break  off  their  i.,- 
tercourse — if,  for  instance,  you  find  it  difficult  on  your  side, 
what  course  do  you  intend  to  take  ?  " 

"  Nothing  plainer,  my  good  fellow,  nothing  easier,"  re- 
turned the  other,  shrugging  his  shoulders  and  stretching 
himself  more  comfortably  before  the  fire.  *'  I  shall  then 
exert  those  powers  on  which  you  flatter  me  so  highly — 
though,  upon  my  word,  I  don't  deserve  your  compliments  to 
their  full  extent — and  resort  to  a  few  little  trivial  subter- 
fuges for  rousing  jealousy  and  resentment.     You  see  ?  " 

"  In  short,  justifying  the  means  by  the  end,  we  are,  as  a 
last  resource  for  tearing  them  asunder,  to  resort  to  treachery 
and — and  lying,"  said  Mr.  Haredale. 

"  Oh  dear  no.  Fie,  fie  !  "  returned  the  other,  relishing 
a  pinch  of  snuff  extremely.  "Not  lying.  Only  a  little 
management,  a  little  diplomacy,  a  little — intriguing,  that's 
the  word." 

"I  wish,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  moving  to  and  fro,  and 
stopping,  and  moving  on  again,  like  one  who  was  ill  at  ease, 
"that  this  could  have  been  foreseen  or  prevented.  But  as 
it  has  gone  so  far,  and  it  is  necessary  for  us  to  act,  it  is  of 
no  use  shrinking  or  regretting.  Well  !  I  shall  second  your 
endeavors  to  the  utmost  of  my  power.  There  is  one  topic 
in  the  whole  wide  range  of  human  thoughts  on  which  we 
both  agree.  We  shall  act  in  concert,  but  apart.  There  will 
be  no  need,  I  hope,  for  us  to  meet  again." 

"Are  you  going?"  said  Mr.  Chester,  rising  with  a  grace- 
ful indolence.     "  Let  me  light  you  down  the  stairs." 

"  Pray  keep  your  seat,"  returned  the  other  drily,  "  I  know 
the  way."  So,  waving  his  hand  slightly,  and  putting  on  his 
hat  as  he  turned  upon  his  heel,  he  went  clanking  out  as  he  had 
come,  shut  the  door  behind  him,  and  tramped  down  the 
echoing  stairs. 

"  Pah  !  A  very  coarse  animal,  indeed  !  "  said  Mr.  Ches- 
ter, composing  himself  in  the  easy  chair  again.  "  A  rough 
brute.     Quite  a  human  badger  !  " 

John  Willet  and  his  friends,  who  had  been  listening  in- 
tently for  the  clash  of  swords,  or  firing  of  pistols  in  the  great 
room,  and  had  indeed  settled  the  order  in  which  they  should 
rush  in  when  summoned — in  which  procession  old  John  had 
carefully  arranged  that  he  should  bring  up  the  rear — were 
very  much  astonished  to  see  Mr,  Haredale  come  down  with- 
out a  scratch,  call  for  his  horse,  and  ride  away  thoughtfully 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  99 

at  a  footpace.  After  some  consideration,  it  was  decided  that 
he  had  left  the  gentleman  above,  for  dead,  and  had  adopted 
this  stratagem  to  divert  suspicion  or  pursuit. 

As  this  conclusion  involved  the  necessity  of  _  their  going 
up-stairs  forthwith,  they  were  about  to  ascend  in  the  order 
they  had  agreed  upon,  when  a  smart  ringing  at  the  guest's 
bell,  as  if  he  had  pulled  it  vigorously,  overthrew  all  their 
speculations,  and  involved  them  in  great  uncertainty  and 
doubt.  At  length  Mr.  Willet  agreed  to  go  up-stairs  himself, 
escorted  by  Hugh  and  Barnaby,  as  the  strongest  and  stoutest 
fellows  on  the  premises,  who  were  to  make  their  appearance 
under  pretense  of  cleaning  away  the  glasses. 

Under  this  protection,  the  brave  and  broadfaced  John 
boldly  entered  the  room,  half  a  foot  in  advance,  and  re- 
ceived an  order  for  a  boot-jack  without  trembling.  But  when 
it  was  brought,  and  he  leaned  his  sturdy  shoulder  to  the  guest, 
Mr.  Willet  was  observed  to  look  very  hard  into  his  boots  as 
he  pulled  them  off,  and,  by  opening  his  eyes  much  wider 
than  usual,  to  appear  to  express  some  surprise  and  disap- 
pointment at  not  finding  them  full  of  blood.  He  took  oc- 
casion, too,  to  examine  the  gentleman  as  closely  as  he  could, 
expecting  to  discover  sundry  loop-holes  in  his  person, 
pierced  by  his  adversary's  sword.  Finding  none,  however, 
and  observing  in  course  of  time  that  his  guest  was  as  cool 
and  unruffled,  both  in  his  dress  and  temper,  as  he  had  been 
all  day,  old  John  at  last  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  began  to 
think  no  duel  had  beeen  fought  that  night. 

"  And  now,  Willet,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  "  if  the  room's  well 
aired,  I'll  try  the  merits  of  that  famous  bed." 

"  The  room,  sir,"  returned  John,  taking  up  a  candle  and 
nudging  Barnaby  and  Hugh  to  accompany  them,  in  case  the 
gentleman  should  unexpectedly  drop  down  faint  or  dead 
from  some  internal  wound,  **the  room's  as  warm  as  any 
toast  in  a  tankard.  Barnaby,  take  you  t^at  other  candle, 
and  go  on  before.  Hugh  !  Follow  up,  sir,  with  the  easy 
chair." 

In  this  order — and  still,  in  his  earnest  inspection,  holding 
his  candle  very  close  to  the  guest  ;  now  making  him  feel  ex- 
tremely warm  about  the  legs,  now  threatening  to  set  his  wig 
on  fire  and  constantly  begging  his  pardon  with  great  awk- 
wardness and  embarrassment — John  led  the  party  to  the 
best  bedroom,  which  was  nearly  as  large  as  the  chamber 
from  which  they  had  come,  and  held,  drawn  out  near  the 
fire  for  warmth,  a  great  old   spectral  bedstead,   hung  with 


loo  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

faded  brocade,  and  ornamented  at  the  top  of  each  carved 
post,  with  a  plume  of  feathers  that  had  once  been  white,  but 
with  dust  and  age  had  now  grown  hearse-like  and  funereal. 

*'  Good-night,  my  friends,"  said  Mr.  Chester  with  a  sweet 
smile,  seating  himself,  when  he  had  surveyed  the  room  from 
end  to  end,  in  the  easy-chair  which  his  attendants  wheeled 
before  the  fire.  "  Good-night !  Barnaby,  my  good  fellow, 
you  say  some  prayers  before  you  go  to  bed,  1  hope  ?" 

Barnaby  nodded.  "  He  has  some  nonsense  that  he  calls 
his  prayers,  sir,"  returned  old  John,  officiously.  "  I'm  afraid 
there  an't  much  good  in  'em." 

"And  Hugh  ?  "  said  Mr.  Chester,  turning  to  him. 

**  Not  I,"  he  answered.  *'  I  know  his  " — pointing  to  Barn- 
aby— *'  they're  well  enough.  He  sings  'em  sometimes  in 
the  straw.     I  listen." 

'He's  quite  a  animal,  sir,"  John  whispered  in  his  ear 
with  dignity.  "  You'll  excuse  him,  I'm  sure.  If  he  has 
any  soul  at  all,  sir,  it  must  be  such  a  very  small  one  that  it 
don't  signify  what  he  does  or  doesn't  in  that  way.  Good- 
night, sir  ! " 

The  guest  rejoined  "  God  bless  you  !  "  with  a  fervor  that 
was  quite  affecting  ;  and  John,  beckoning  his  guards  to  go 
before,  bowed  himself  out  of  the  room,  and  left  him  to  his 
rest  in  the  Maypole's  ancient  bed. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

If  Joseph  Willet,  the  denounced  and  proscribed  of  'pren- 
tices, had  happened  to  be  at  home  when  his  father's  courtly 
guest  presented  himself  before  the  Maypole  door — that  is,  if 
it  had  not  perversely  chanced  to  be  one  of  the  half  dozen 
days  in  the  whole  year  on  which  he  was  at  liberty  to  absent 
himself  for  as  many  hours  without  question  or  reproach — 
he  would  have  contrived,  by  hook  or  crook,  to  dive  to  the 
very  bottom  of  Mr.  Chester's  mystery,  and  to  come  at  his 
purpose  with  as  much  certainty  as  though  he  had  been  his 
confidential  adviser.  In  that  fortunate  case  the  lovers 
would  have  had  quick  warning  of  the  ills  that  threatened 
them,  and  the  aid  of  various  timely  and  wise  suggestions  to 
boot  ;  for  all  Joe's  readiness  of  thought  and  action,  and  all 
his  sympathies  and  good  wishes,  were  enlisted  in  favor  of 
the  young  people,  and  were  staunch  in  devotion  to  their 
cause.     Whether  this  disposition  arose  out  of  his  old  pre- 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  loi 

possessions  in  favor  of  the  young  lady, 'vvho'se  history  hatd 
surrounded  her  in  his  mind,  almost  from  his  cradle,  with 
circumstances  of  unusual  interest ;  or  from  his  attachment 
toward  the  young  gentleman,  into  whose  confidence  he  had, 
through  his  shrewdness  and  alacrity,  and  the  rendering  of 
sundry  nnportant  services  as  a  spy  and  messenger,  almost 
imperceptibly  glided  ;  whether  they  had  their  origin  in 
either  of  these  sources,  or  in  the  habit  natural  to  youth,  or 
in  the  constant  badgering  and  worrying  of  his  venerable 
parent,  or  in  any  hidden  little  love  affair  of  his  own  which 
gave  him  something  of  a  fellow-feeling  in  the  matter,  it  is 
needless  to  inquire — especially  as  Joe  was  out  of  the  way, 
and  had  no  opportunity  on  that  particular  occasion  of  tes- 
tifying to  his  sentiments  either  on  one  side  or  the  other. 

It  was,  in  fact,  the  twenty-fifth  of  March,  which,  as  most 
people  know  to  their  cost,  is,  and  has  been  time  out  of 
mind,  one  of  those  unpleasant  epochs  termed  quarter-days. 
On  this  twenty-fifth  of  March,  it  was  John  Willet's  pride 
annually  to  settle,  in  hard  cash,  his  account  with  a  certain 
vintner  and  distiller  in  the  city  of  London  ;  to  give  into 
whose  hands  a  canvas  bag  containing  its  exact  amount,  and 
not  a  penny  more  or  less,  was  the  end  and  object  of  a 
journey  for  Joe,  so  surely  as  the  year  and  day  came  round. 

This  journey  was  performed  upon  an  old  gray  mare,  con- 
cerning whom  John  had  an  indistinct  set  of  ideas  hovering 
about  him,  to  the  effect  that  she  could  win  a  plate  or  cup  if 
she  tried.  She  never  had  tried,  and  probably  never  would 
now,  being  some  fourteen  or  fifteen  years  of  age,  short  in 
wind,  long  in  body,  and  rather  the  worst  for  wear  in  respect 
of  her  mane  and  tail.  Notwithstanding  these  slight  defects, 
John  perfectly  gloried  in  the  animal  ;  and  when  she  was 
brought  round  to  the  door  by  Hugh,  actually  retired  into 
the  bar,  and  there,  in  a  secret  grove  of  lemons,  laughed 
with  pride. 

"  There's  a  bit  of  horseflesh,  Hugh  !  "  said  John,  when  he 
had  recovered  enough  self-command  to  appear  at  the  door 
again.  "  There's  a  comely  creature  !  There's  high  mettle  ! 
There's  bone  !  " 

There  was  bone  enough  beyond  all  doubt ;  and  so  Hugh 
seemed  to  think,  as  he  sat  sideways  in  the  saddle,  lazily 
doubled  up  with  his  chin  nearly  touching  his  knees  ;  and 
heedless  of  the  dangling  stirrups  and  loose  bridle-rein, 
sauntered  up  and  down  on  the  little  green  before  the  door. 

**  Mind  you  take  good  care  of  her,  sir,"  said  John,  appeal- 


I02  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

iiig  fiom  this  insensible  person  to  his  son  and  heir,  who  now 
appeared,  fully  equipped  and  read3^  "  Don't  you  ride  hard." 

"  I  should  be  puzzled  to  do  that,  I  think,  father,"  Joe 
replied,  casting  a  disconsolate  look  at  the  animal. 

"  None  of  your  impudence,  sir,  if  you  please,"  retorted 
old  John.  *'  What  would  you  ride,  sir  ?  A  wild  ass  or  zebra 
would  be  too  tame  for  you,  wouldn't  he,  eh,  sir  ?  You'd  like 
to  ride  a  roaring  lion,  wouldn't  you,  sir,  eh,  sir  ?  Hold  your 
tongue,  sir."  When  Mr.  AVillet,  in  his  differences  with  his 
son,  had  exhausted  all  the  questions  that  occurred  to  him, 
and  Joe  had  said  nothing  at  all  in  answer,  he  generally 
wound  up  by  bidding  him  hold  his  tongue. 

"  And  what  does  the  boy  mean,"  added  Mr.  Willet,  after 
he  had  stared  at  him  for  a  little  time,  in  a  species  of  stupe- 
faction, "  by  cocking  his  hat,  to  such  an  extent  !  Are  you 
going  to  kill  the  wintner,  sir  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Joe,  tartly  ;  "  I'm  not.  Now  your  mind's  at 
ease,  father." 

"  With  a  military  air,  too!"  said  Mr.  Willet,  surveying 
him  from  top  to  toe  ;  *'  with  a  swaggering,  fire-eating, 
biling-water  drinking  sort  of  way  with  him  1  And  what  do 
you  mean  by  pulling  up  the  crocuses  and  snowdrops,  eh, 
sir  ? " 

"  It's  only  a  little  nosegay,"  said  Joe,  reddening.  ''  There's 
no  harm  in  that,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  You're  a  boy  of  business,  you  are,  sir  !  "  said  Mr.  Willet, 
disdainfully,  *'  to  go  supposing  that  wintners  care  for  nose- 
gays." 

"  I  don't  suppose  any  thing  of  the  kind,"  returned  Joe. 
"  Let  them  keep  their  red  roses  for  bottles  and  tankards. 
These  are  going  to  Mr.  Varden's  house." 

'*  And  do  you  suppose  he  minds  such  things  as  crocuses  .^ " 
demanded  John. 

"  I  don't  know,  and  to  say  the  truth,  I  don't  care,"  said 
Joe.  "  Come,  father,  give  me  the  money,  and  in  the  name 
of  patience  let  me  go." 

**  There  it  is,  sir,"  replied  John  ;  "  and  take  care  of  it  ; 
and  mind  you  don't  make  too  much  haste  back,  but  give 
the  mare  a  long  rest.     Do  you  mind  ?  " 

"  Ay,  I  mind,"  returned  Joe.  "  She'll  need  it,  heaven 
knows." 

"  And  don't  you  score  up  too  much  at  the  Black  Lion," 
said  John.     "  Mind  that  too." 

**  Then  why  don't  you   let  me   have  some  money  of  w.v 


BARNABV  RUDGE.  103 

own  ?  "  retorted  Joe,  sorrowfully  ;  "  why  don't  you,  father  ? 
What  do  you  send  me  into  London  for,  giving  me  only  the 
right  to  call  for  my  dinner  at  the  Black  Lion,  which  you're 
to  pay  for  next  time  you  go,  as  if  I  was  not  to  be  trusted 
with  a  few  shillings  ?  Why  do  you  use  me  like  this  ?  It's 
not  right  of  you.     You  can't  expect  me  to  be  quiet  under  it." 

"  Let  him  have  money  !  "  cried  John,  in  a  drowsy  reverie. 
"  What  does  he  call  money — guineas  ?  Hasn't  he  got 
money  ?  Over  and  above  the  tolls,  hasn't  he  one  and  six- 
pence ?" 

"One  and  sixpence  !  "  repeated  his  son,  contemptuously. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  returned  John,  "  one  and  sixpence. ^  When  I 
was  your  age,  I  had  never  seen  so  much  money,  in  a  heap. 
A  shilling  of  it  is  in  case  of  accidents — the  mare  casting  a 
shoe,  or  the  like  of  that.  The  other  sixpence  is  to  spend  in 
the  diversions  of  London  ;  and  the  diversion  I  recommend 
is  to  go  to  the  top  of  the  Monument,  and  sitting  there. 
There's  no  temptation  there,  sir — no  drink — no  young 
women — no  bad  characters  of  any  sort-  nothing  but  imag- 
ination. That's  the  way  I  enjoyed  myself  when  I  was  your 
age,  sir." 

To  this,  Toe  made  no  answer,  but  beckoning  Hugh, 
leaped  into  fhe  saddle  and  rode  away  ;  and  a  very  stalwart, . 
manly  horseman  he  looked,  deserving  a  better  charger  than 
it  was  his  fortune  to  bestride.  John  stood  staring  after  him, 
or  rather  after  the  gray  mare  (for  he  had  no  eyes  for  her 
rider),  until  man  and  beast  had  been  out  of  sight  some 
twenty  minutes,  when  he  began  to  think  they  were  gone, 
and  slowly  re-entering  the  house,  fell  into  a  gentle  doze. 

The  unfortunate  gray  mare,  who  was  the  agony  of  Joe's 
life,  floundered  along  at  her  own  will  and  pleasure  until 
the  Maypole  was  no  longer  visible,  and  then  contracting 
her  legs  into  what  in  a  puppet  would  have  been  looked  upon 
as  a  clumsy  and  awkward  imitation  of  a  canter,  mended 
her  pace  all  at  once,  and  did  it  of  her  own  accord.  The 
acquaintance  with  her  rider's  usual  mode  of  proceeding, 
which  suggested  this  improvement  in  hers,  impelled  her 
likewise  to  turn  up  a  by-way,  leading — not  to  London, 
but  through  lanes  running  parallel  with  the  road  they  had 
come,  and  passing  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  the  May- 
pole, which  led  finally  to  an  inclosure  surrounding  a  large, 
old,  red-brick  mansion — the  same  of  which  mention  was 
made  as  the  Warren  in  the  first  chapter  of  this  history.  Com- 
ing to  a  dead  stop  in  a  little  copse  thereabout,  she  suffered 


104  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

her  rider  to  dismount  with  right  good-will,  and  to  tie  her  tc 
the  trunk   of  a  tree. 

"  Stay  there,  old  girl,"  said  Joe,  "  and  let  us  see  whether 
there's  any  little  commission  for  me  to-day."  So  saying,  he 
left  her  to  browse  upon  such  stunted  grass  and  weeds  as 
happened  to  grow  within  the  length  of  her  tether,  and  pass- 
ing a  wicket  gate,  entered  the  grounds  on  foot. 

The  pathway,  after  a  very  few  minutes'  walking,  brought 
him  close  to  the  house,  toward  which,  and  especially  toward 
one  particular  window,  he  directed  many  covert  glances. 
It  was  a  dreary,  silent  building,  with  echoing  court-yards, 
desolated  turret  chambers,  and  whole  suites  of  rooms  shut 
up  and  moldering  to  ruin. 

The  terrace  garden,  dark  with  the  shade  of  overhanging 
trees,  had  an  air  of  melancholy  that  was  quite  oppressive. 
Great  iron  gates,  disused  for  many  years,  and  red  with  rust, 
drooping  on  their  hinges  and  overgrown  with  long  rank 
grass,  seemed  as  though  they  tried  to  sink  into  the  ground, 
and  hide  their  fallen  state  among  the  friendly  weeds.  The 
fantastic  monsters  on  the  walls,  green  with  age  and  damp, 
and  covered  here  and  there  with  moss,  looked  grim  and 
desolate.  There  was  a  somber  aspect  even  on  that  part  of 
the  mansion  which  was  inhabited  and  kept  in  good  repair 
that  struck  the  beholder  with  a  sense  of  sadness  ;  of  some- 
thing forlorn  and  failing,  whence  cheerfulness  was  banished. 
It  would  have  been  difficult  to  imagine  a  bright  fire  blazing 
in  the  dull  and  darkened  rooms,  or  to  picture  any  gayety  of 
heart  or  revelry  that  the  frowning  walls  shut  in.  It  seemed 
a  place  where  such  things  had  been,  but  could  be  no  more 
— the  very  ghost  of  a  house,  haunting  the  old  spot  in  its  old 
outward  form,  and  that  was  all. 

Much  of  this  decay  and  somber  look  was  attributable,  no 
doubt,  to  the  death  of  its  former  master,  and  the  temper  of 
its  present  occupant ;  but  remembering  the  tale  connected 
with  the  mansion,  it  seemed  the  very  place  for  such  a  deed, 
and  one  that  might  have  been  its  predestined  theater  years 
upon  years  ago.  Viewed  with  reference  to  this  legend,  the 
sheet  of  water  where  the  steward's  body  had  been  found  ap- 
peared to  wear  a  black  and  sullen  character,  such  as  no  other 
pool  might  own  ;  the  bell  upon  the  roof  that  had  told  the 
tale  of  murder  to  the  midnight  wind,  became  a  very  phan- 
tom whose  voice  would  raise  the  listener's  hair  on  end  ;  and 
every  leafless  bough  that  nodded  to  another,  had  its  stealthy 
whispering  of  crime. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  105 

Joe  j^aced  up  and  down  the  path,  sometimes  stopping  in  af- 
fected contemplation  of  the  building  or  the  prospect,  some- 
times leaning  against  a  tree  with  an  assumed  air  of  idleness 
and  indifference,  but  always  keeping  an  eye  upon  the  window 
he  had  singled  out  at  first.  After  some  quarter  of  an  hour's 
delay,  a  small  white  hand  was  waved  to  him  for  an  instant 
from  this  casement,  and  the  young  man,  with  a  respectful 
bow,  departed  ;  saying  under  his  breath  as  he  crossed  his 
horse  again,  "  No  errand  for  me  to-day  !  " 

But  the  air  of  smartness,  the  cock  of  the  hat  to  which  John 
Willet  had  objected,  and  the  spring  nosegay,  all  betokened 
some  little  errand  of  his  own,  having  a  more  interesting 
object  than  a  vintner  or  even  a  locksmith.  So,  indeed,  it 
turned  out  ;  for  when  he  had  settled  with  the  vintner — whose 
place  of  business  was  down  in  some  deep  cellars  hard  by 
Thames  Street,  and  who  was  as  purple- faced  an  old  gentle- 
man as  if  he  had  all  his  life  supported  their  arched  roof  or, 
his  head — when  he  had  settled  the  account,  and  taken  the 
receipt,  and  declined  tasting  more  than  three  glasses  of  old 
sherry,  to  the  unbounded  astonishment  of  the  purple-faced 
vintner,  who,  gimlet  in  hand,  had  projected  an  attack  upon 
at  least  a  score  of  dusty  casks,  and  who  stood  transfixed,  or 
morally  gimleted  as  it  were,  to  his  own  wall — when  he  had 
done  all  this,  and  disposed  besides  of  a  frugal  dinner  at  the 
Black  Lion  in  Whitechapel  ;  spurning  the  Monument  and 
John's  advice,  he  turned  his  steps  toward  the  locksmith's 
house,  attracted  by  the  eyes  of  blooming  Dolly  Varden. 

Joe  was  by  no  means  a  sheepish  fellow,  but,  for  all  that, 
when  he  got  to  the  corner  of  the  street  in  which  the  lock- 
smith lived,  he  could  by  no  means  make  up  his  mind  to 
walk  straight  to  the  house.  First,  he  resolved  to  stroll  up 
another  street  for  five  minutes,  then  up  another  street  for 
five  minutes  more,  and  so  on  until  he  had  lost  full  half  an 
hour,  when  he  made  a  bold  plunge  and  found  himself  with 
a  red  face  and  a  beating  heart  in  the  smoky  workshop. 

"  Joe  Willet,  or  his  ghost  ?  "  said  Varden,  rising  from  the 
desk  at  which  he  was  busy  with  his  books,  and  looking  at 
him  under  his  spectacles.  "  Which  is  it  ?  Joe  in  the  flesh, 
eh  ?     That's  hearty.     And  how  are  all  the  Chigwell  company, 

Joe?" 

"  Much  as  usual,  sir — they  and  I  agree  as  well  as  ever. 

"  Well,  well  !  "  said  the  locksmith.  "  We  must  be  patient, 
Joe,  and  bear  with  old  folks'  foibles.  How's  the  mare,  Joe  ? 
Does  she  do  the  four  miles  an  hour  as  easy  as  ever  ?     Ha, 


io6  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

ha,  ha  !  Does  she,  Joe  ?     Eh  ! — What  have  we  there,  Joe — 
a  nosegay  '  " 


A  very  poor  one,  sir — I  thought  Miss  Dolly- 


*^  No,  no,"  said  Gabriel,  dropping  his  voice,  and  shaking 
his  head,  "  not  Dolly.  Give  'em  to  her  mother,  Joe.  A  great 
deal  better  give  'em  to  her  mother.  Would  you  mind  giving 
'em  to  Mrs.  Varden,  Joe  ?" 

**  Oh,  no,  sir,"  Joe  replied,  and  endeavoring,  but  not  with 
the  greatest  possible  success,  to  hide  his  disappointment. 
'*I  shall  be  very  glad,  I'm  sure." 

"  That's  right,"  said  the  locksmith,  patting  him  on  the 
back.     "  It  don't  matter  who  has  'em,  Joe  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit,  sir." — Dear  heart,  how  the  words  stuck  in  his 
throat ! 

**  Come  in,"  said  Gabriel.  "  I  have  just  been  called  to 
tea.     She's  in  the  parlor." 

*' She,",thought  Joe.  "Which  of  'ern  I  wonder — Mrs.  or 
Miss  ? "  The  locksmith  settled  the  doubt  as  neatly  as  if  it 
had  been  expressed  aloud,  by  leading  him  to  the  door,  and 
saying,  ''Martha,  my  dear,  here's  young  Mr.  Willet." 

Now,  Mrs.  Varden,  regarding  the  Maypole  as  a  sort  of 
human  mantrap,  or  decoy  for  husbands  ;  viewing  its  pro- 
prietor, and  all  who  aided  and  abetted  him,  in  the  light  of 
so  many  poachers  among  Christian  men  ;  and  believing, 
moreover,  that  the  publicans  coupled  with  sinners  in  Holy 
Writ  were  veritable  licensed  victualers  ;  was  far  from  being 
favorably  disposed  toward  her  visitor.  Wherefore  she  was 
taken  faint  directly  ;  and  being  duly  presented  with  the 
crocuses  and  snowdrops,  divined  on  further  consideration 
that  they  were  the  occasion  of  the  languor  which  had  seized 
upon  her  spirits.  "  I'm  afraid  I  couldn't  bear  the  room 
another  minute,"  said  the  good  lady,  "  if  they  remain  here. 
Would  you  excuse  my  putting  them  out  of  window  ?  " 

Joe  begged  she  wouldn't  mention  it  on  any  account,  and 
smiled  feebly  as  he  saw  them  deposited  on  the  sill  outside. 
If  any  body  could  have  known  the  pains  he  had  taken  to 
make  up  that  despised  and  misused  bunch  of  flowers  I — 

"  I  feel  it  quite  a  relief  to  get  rid  of  them,  I  assure  you," 
said  Mrs.  Varden.  "I'm  better  already."  And  indeed  she 
did  appear  to  have  plucked  up  her  spirits. 

Joe  expressed  his  gratitude  to  Providence  for  this  favorable 
dispensation,  and  tried  to  look  as  if  he  didn't  wonder  where 
Dolly  was. 

"  You're  sad  people  at  Chigwell,  Mr.  Joseph,"  said  Mrs.  V 


^  BARNABY   RUDGE.  107 

"I  hope  noj;,  ma'am,"  returned  Joe. 

"  You're  the  crudest  and  most  inconsiderate  people  in  the 
world,"  said  Mrs.  Varden,  bridling.  "  I  wonder  old  Mr. 
Willet,  having  been  a  married  man  himself,  doesn't  know 
better  than  to  conduct  himself  as  he  does.  His  doing  it  for 
profit  is  no  excuse.  I  would  rather  pay  the  money  twenty 
times  over,  and  have  Varden  come  home  like  a  respectable 
and  sober  tradesman.  If  there  is  one  character,"  said  Mrs. 
Varden  with  great  emphasis,  ''  that  offends  and  disgusts  me 
more  than  another,  it  is  a  sot." 

"Come,  Martha,  my  dear."  said  the  locksmith  cheerily, 
"  let  us  have  tea,  and  don't  let  us  talk  about  sots.  There  are 
none  here,  and  Joe  don't  want  to  hear  about  them,  I  dare  say." 

At  this  crisis  Miggs  appeared  with  toast. 

**  I  dare  say  he  does  not,"  said  Mrs.  Varden  ;  ''and  I  dare 
say  you  do  not,  Varden.  It's  a  very  unpleasant  subject  I 
have  no  doubt,  though  I  won't  say  it's  personal  "—Miggs 
coughed — "whatever  I  may  be  forced  to  think,"  Miggs 
sneezed  expressively.  "  You  never  will  know,  Varden,  and 
nobody  at  young  Mr.  Willet's  age — you'll  excuse  me,  sir- 
can  be  expected  to  know  what  a  woman  suffers  when  she  is 
waiting  at  home  under  such  circumstances.  If  you^  don't 
believe  me,  as  I  know  you  don't,  here's  Miggs,  who  is  only 
too  often  a  witness  of  it — ask  her." 

"  Oh  !  she  were  very  bad  the  other  night,  sir,  indeed  she 
were,"  said  Miggs.  "  If  you  hadn't  the  sweetness  of  an  angel 
in  you,  mim,  I  don't  think  you  could  abear  it,  I  raly  don't." 

''  Miggs,"  said  Mrs.  Varden,  *' you're  profane." 

"  Begging  your  pardon,  mim,"  returned  Miggs,  with  shrill 
rapidity,  "  such  was  not  my  intentions,  and  such  I  hope  is  not 
my  character,  though  I  am  but  a  servant." 

"  Answering  me,  Miggs,  and  providing  yourself,"  retorted 
her  mistress,  looking  round  with  dignity,  "  is  one  and  the 
same  thing.  How  dare  you  speak  of  angels  in  connection 
with  your  sinful  fellow-beings — mere  " — said  Mrs.  Varden, 
glancing  at  herself  in  a  neighboring  mirror,  and  arranging 
the  ribbon  of  her  cap  in  a  more  becoming  fashion — "  mere 
worms  and  grovelers  as  we  are  !  " 

''  I  do  not  intend,  mim,  if  you  please,  to  give  offense,"  said 
Miggs,  confident  in  the  strength  of  her  compliment,  and  de- 
veloping strongly  in  the  throat  as  usual,  "  and  I  did  not  ex- 
pect it  would  be  took  as  such.  I  hope  I  know  my  own  un- 
worthiness,  and  that  I  hate  and  despise  myself  and  all  my 
fellow-creatures  as  every  practicable  Bhristian  should." 


io8  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"You'll  have  the  goodness,  if  you  please,"  said  Mrs.  Var- 
den,  loftily,  **  to  step  up-stairs  and  see  if  Dolly  has  finished 
dressing,  and  to  tell  her  that  the  chair  that  was  ordered 
for  her  will  be  here  in  a  minute,  and  that  if  she  keeps  it 
waiting,  I  shall  send  it  away  that  instant. — I'm  sorry  to  see 
that  you  don't  take  your  tea,  Varden,  and  that  you  don't 
take  yours,  Mr.  Joseph  ;  though  of  course  it  would  be  fool- 
ish of  me  to  expect  that  any  thing  that  can  be  had  at  home, 
and  in  the  company  of  females,  would  please  you." 

This  pronoun  was  understood  in  the  plural  sense,  and  in- 
cluded both  gentlemen,  upon  both  of  whom  it  was  rather 
hard  and  undeserved,  for  Gabriel  had  applied  himself  to  the 
meal  with  a  very  promising  appetite,  until  it  was  spoiled  by 
Mrs.  Varden  herself,  and  Joe  had  as  great  a  liking  for  the 
female  society  of  the  locksmith's  house — or  for  a  part  of  it 
at  all  events — as  man  could  well  entertain. 

But  he  had  no  opportunity  to  say  any  thing  in  his  own 
defense,  for  at  that  moment  Dolly  herself  appeared,  and 
struck  him  quite  dumb  with  her  beauty.  Never  had  Dolly 
looked  so  handsome  as  she  did  then,  in  all  the  glow  and 
grace  of  youth,  with  all  her  charms  increased  a  hundredfold 
by  a  most  becoming  dressj  by  a  thousand  little  coquettish 
ways  which  nobody  could  assume  with  a  better  grace,  and 
all  the  sparkling  expectation  of  that  accursed  party.  It  is 
impossible  to  tell  how  Joe  hated  that  party  wherever  it  was, 
and  all  the  other  people  who  were  going  to  it,  whoever  they 
were. 

And  she  hardly  looked  at  him — no,  hardly  looked  at  him. 
And  when  the  chair  was  seen  through  the  open  door  coming 
blundering  into  the  workshop,  she  actually  clapped  her  hands 
and  seemed  glad  to  go.  But  Joe  gave  her  his  arm — there 
was  some  comfort  in  that— and  handed  her  into  it.  To  see 
her  seat  herself  inside,  with  her  laughing  eyes  brighter  than 
diamonds,  and  her  hand — surely  she  had  the  prettiest  hand 
in  the  world — on  the  ledge  of  the  open  window,  and  her  lit- 
tle finger  provokingly  and  pertly  tilted  up,  as  if  it  wondered 
why,  Joe  didn't  squeeze  or  kiss  it  !  To  think  how  well 
one  or  two  of  the  modest  snowdrops  would  have  become 
that  delicate  bodice,  and  how  they  were  lying  neglected  out- 
side the  parlor  window  !  To  see  how  Miggs  looked  on  with 
a  face  expressive  of  knowing  how  all  this  loveliness  was  got 
up,  and  of  being  in  the  secret  of  every  string  and  pin  and 
hook  and  eye,  and  of  saying  it  an't  half  as  real  as  you  think, 
and  I  could  look  quite  as  well   myself  if  I  took  the  pains  ! 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  109 

To  hear  that  provoking  precious  little  scream  when  the  chair 
was  hoisted  on  its  poles,  and  to  catch  that  transient  but  not- 
to-be-forgotten  vision  of  the  happy  face  within — what  tor- 
ments and  aggravations,  and  yet  what  delights  were  these  ! 
The  very  chairmen  seemed  favored  rivals  as  they  bore  her 
down  the  street. 

There  never  was  such  an  alteration  in  a  small  room  in  a 
small  time  as  in  that  parlor  when  they  went  back  to  finish 
tea.  So  dark,  so  deserted,  so  perfectly  disenchanted.  It 
seemed  such  sheer  nonsense  to  be  sitting  tamely  there,  when 
she  was  at  a  dance  with  more  lovers  than  man  could  calcu- 
late fluttering  about  her — with  the  whole  party  doting  on  and 
adoring  her,  and  wanting  to  marry  her.  Miggs  was  hover- 
ing about  too  ;  and  the  fact  of  her  existence,  the  mere  cir- 
cumstance of  her  ever  having  been  born,  appeared,  after 
Dolly,  such  an  unaccountable  practical  joke.  It  was  impos- 
sible to  talk.  It  couldn't  be  done.  He  had  nothing  left 
for  it  but  to  stir  his  tea  round,  and  round,  and  round,  and 
ruminate  on  all  the  fascinations  of  the  locksmith's  lovely 
daughter. 

Gabriel  was  dull  too.  It  was  a  part  of  the  certain  uncer- 
tainty of  Mrs.  Varden's  temper,  that  when  they  were  in  this 
condition,  she  should  be  gay  and  sprightly. 

"  I  need  have  a  cheerful  disposition,  I  am  sure,"  said  the 
smiling  housewife,  "  to  preserve  any  spirits  at  all  ;  and  how 
I  do  it  I  can  scarcely  tell." 

*'  Ah,  mim,"  sighed  Miggs,  "  begging  your  pardon  for  the 
interruption,  there  an't  a  many  like  you." 

"Take  away,  Miggs,"  said  Mrs.  Varden,  rising,  *' take 
away,  pray.  I  know  I'm  a  restraint  here,  and  as  I  wish  every 
body  to  enjoy  themselves  as  they  best  can,  I  feel  I  had  bet- 
ter go." 

"  No,  no,  Martha,"  cried  the  locksmith.  "  Stop  here.  I'm 
sure  we  shall  be  very  sorry  to  lose  you,  eh,  Joe  !  "  Joe  started, 
and  said,  "  Certainly." 

"  Thank  you,  Varden,  my  dear,"  returned  his  wife  ;  *'  but  I 
know  your  wishes  better.  Tobacco  and  beer,  or  spirits,  have 
much  greater  attractions  than  any  /  can  boast  of,  and  there- 
fore I  shall  go  and  sit  up-stairs  and  look  out  of  window,  my 
love.  Good-night,  Mr.  Joseph,  I'm  very  glad  to  have  seen 
you,  and  I  only  wish  I  could  have  provided  something  more 
suitable  to  your  taste.  Remember  me  very  kindly  if  you 
please  to  old  Mr.  Willet,  and  tell  him  that  whenever  he  comes 
here  I  have  a  crow  to  pluck  with  him.     Good-night  .  " 


no  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

Having  uttered  these  words  with  great  sweetness  of  man- 
ner, the  good  lady  dropped  a  courtesy  remarkable  for  its  con- 
descension, and  serenely  withdrew. 

And  it  was  for  this  Joe  had  looked  forward  to  the  twenty- 
fifth  of  March  for  weeks  and  weeks,  and  had  gathered  the 
flowers  with  so  much  care,  and  had  cocked  his  hat,  and  made 
himself  so  smart  !  This  was  the  end  of  all  his  bold  determina- 
tion, resolved  upon  for  the  hundredth  time,  to  speak  out  to 
Dolly  and  tell  her  how  he  loved  her  !  To  see  her  for  a  min- 
ute— for  but  a  minute — to  find  her  going  out  to  a  party  and 
glad  to  go  ;  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  common  pipe-smoker, 
beer-bibber,  spirit-guzzler,  and  tosspot  !  He  bade  farewell 
to  his  friend  the  locksmith,  and  hastened  to  take  horse  at 
the  Black  Lyon,  thinking  as  he  turned  toward  home,  as  many 
another  Joe  has  thought  before  and  since,  fhat  here  was  an 
end  to  all  his  hopes — that  the  thing  was  imposs'ble  and  never 
could  be — that  she  didn't  care  for  him — that  he  was  wretched 
for  life — and  that  the  only  congenial  prospect  left  him,  was 
to  go  for  a  soldier  or  a  sailor,  and  get  some  obliging  enemy 
to  knock  his  brains  out  as  soon  as  possible. 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

Joe  Willet  rode  leisurely  along  in  his  desponding  mood, 
picturing  the  locksmith's  daughter  going  down  along  coun- 
try-dances, and  poussetting  dreadfully  with  bold  strangers — 
which  was  almost  too  much  to  bear — when  he  heard  the 
tramp  of  a  horse's  feet  behind  him,  and  looking  back,  saw  a 
well-mounted  gentleman  advancing  at  a  smart  canter.  As 
this  rider  passed,  he  checked  his  steed,  and  called  him  of 
the  Maypole  by  his  name.  Joe  set  spurs  to  the  gray  mare, 
and  was  at  his  side  directly. 

"  I  thought  it  was  you,  sir,"  he  said,  touching  his  hat.  **  A 
fair  evening,  sir.     Glad  to  see  you  out  of  doors  again." 

The  gentleman  smiled  and  nodded.  *'  What  gay  doings 
have  been  going  on  to-day,  Joe  ?  Is  she  as  pretty  as  ever  ? 
Nay,  don't  blush,  man." 

''  If  1  colored  at  all,  Mr.  Edward,"  said  Joe,  "  which  I 
didn't  know  I  did,  it  was  to  think  I  should  have  been  such 
a  fool  as  ever  to  have  any  hope  of  her.  She's  as  far  out  of 
my  reach  as — as  heaven  is." 

"  Well,  Joe,  I  hope  that's  not  altogether  beyond  it,"  said 
Edward  good-humoredly.     "  Eh  ?  " 

*  Ah  !  "  sighed  Joe.     **  It's  all  very  fine  talking,  sir.     Prov- 


BARNABY   RUDGE.  iii 

erbs  are  easily  made  in  cold  blood.    But  it  can't  be  helped. 
Are  you  bound  for  our  house,  sir  ? ' 

"  Yes.  As  I  am  not  quite  strong  yet,  I  shall  stay  there  to- 
night, and  ride  home  coolly  in  the  morning." 

If  you're  in  no  particular  hurry,"  said  Joe,  after  a  short 
silence,  ''and  will  bear  with  the  pace  of  this  poor  jade,  I 
shall  be  glad  to  ride  on  with  you  to  the  Warren,  sir,  and  hold 
your  horse  when  you  dismount.  It'll  save  you  having  to 
walk  from  the  Maypole,  there  and  back  again.  I  can  spare 
the  time  well,  sir,  for  I  am  too  soon." 

"And  so  am  I,"  returned  Edward,  "though  I  was  uncon- 
sciously riding  fast  just  now,  in  comxpliment  I  suppose  to  the 
pace  of  my  thoughts,  which  were  traveling  post.  We  will 
keep  together,  Joe,  willingly,  and  be  as  good  company  as 
may  be.  And  cheer  up,  cheer  up,  think  of  the  locksmith's 
daughter  with  a  stout  heart,  and  you  shall  win  her  yet." 

Joe  shook  his  head  ;  but  there  was  something  so  cheery 
'n  the  buoyant  hopeful  manner  of  this  speech,  that  his  spirits 
rose  under  its  influence,  and  communicated  as  it  would  seem 
some  new  impulse  even  to  the  gray  mare,  who,  breaking 
from  her  sober  amble  into  a  gentle  trot,  emulated  the  pace 
of  Edward  Chester's  horse,  and  appeared  to  flatter  herself 
that  he  was  doing  his  very  best. 

It  was  a  fine  dry  night,  and  the  light  of  a  young  moon, 
which  was  then  just  rising,  shed  around  that  peace  and  tran- 
quillity  which  gives  to  evening-time  its  most  delicious  charm. 
The  lengthened  shadows  of  the  trees,  softened  as  if  reflected 
in  still  water,  threw  their  carpet  on  the  path  the  travelers 
pursued,  and  the  light  wind  stirred  yet  more  softly  than  be- 
fore, as  though  it  were  soothing  Nature  in  her  sleep.  By 
little  and  little  they  ceased  talking,  and  rode  on  side  by  side 
in  a  pleasant  silence. 

"  The  Maypole  lights  are  brilliant  to-night,"  said  Edward, 
as  they  rode  along  the  lane  from  which,  while  the  interven- 
ing trees  were  bare  of  leaves,  that  hostelry  was  visible. 

"  Brilliant  indeed,  sir,"  returned  Joe,  rising  in  his  stirrups 
to  get  a  better  view.  "  Lights  in  the  large  room,  and  a  fire 
glimmering  in  the  best  bed-chamber  ?  Why  what  company 
can  this  be  for,  I  wonder  !  " 

"  Some  benighted  horseman  wending  toward  London,  and 
deterred  from  going  on  to-night  by  the  marvelous  tales  of 
ny  friend  the  highwayman,  I  suppose,"  said  Edward. 

''  He  must  be  a  horseman  of  good  quality  to  have  such  ac- 
commodations.    Your  bed  too,  sir !  " 


112  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  No  matter,  Joe.  Any  other  room  will  do  for  me.  But 
come — there's  nine  striking.     We  may  push  on." 

They  cantered  forward  at  as  brisk  a  pace  as  Joe's  charger 
could  attain,  and  presently  stopped  in  the  little  copse  where  he 
had  left  her  in  the  morning.  Edward  dismounted,  gave  his 
bridle  to  his  companion,  and  walked  with  a  light  step  toward 
the  house. 

A  female  servant  was  waiting  at  a  side  gate  in  the  gar- 
den-wall, and  admitted  him  without  delay.  He  hurried 
along  the  terrace-walk,  and  darted  up  a  flight  of  broad 
steps  leading  into  an  old  and  gloomy  hall,  whose  walls 
were  ornamented  with  rusty  suits  of  armor,  antlers,  wea- 
pons of  the  chase,  and  such  like  garniture.  Here  he 
paused,  but  not  long  :  for  as  he  looked  round,  as  if  expect- 
ing the  attendant  to  have  followed,  and  w^ondering  she 
had  not  done  so,  a  lovely  girl  appeared,  whose  dark  hair 
next  moment  rested  on  his  breast.  Almost  at  the  same 
instant  a  heavy  hand  was  laid  upon  her  arm,  Edward 
felt  himself  thrust  away,  and  Mr.  Haredale  stood  between 
them. 

He  regarded  the  young  man  sternly  without  removing 
his  hat  ;  with  one  hand  clasped  his  niece,  and  with  the 
other,  in  which  he  held  his  riding-whip,  motioned  him 
toward  the  door.  The  young  man  drew  himself  up,  and 
returned  his  gaze. 

"  This  is  well  done  of  you,  sir,  to  corrupt  my  servants,  and 
enter  my  house  unbidden  and  in  secret,  like  a  thief  !  "  said 
Mr.  Haredale.     "  Leave  it,  sir,  and  return  no  more." 

**  Miss  Haredale's  presence,"  returned  the  young  man, 
"  and  your  relationship  to  her,  give  you  a  license  which,  if 
you  are  a  brave  man,  you  will  not  abuse.  You  have  com- 
pelled me  to  this  course,  and  the  fault  is  yours — not  mine." 

"  It  is  neither  generous,  nor  honorable,  nor  the  act  of  a 
true  man,  sir,"  retorted  the  other,  "  to  tamper  with  the  affec- 
tions of  a  Aveak,  trusting  girl,  while  you  shrink,  in  your 
unworthiness,  from  her  guardian  and  protector,  and  dare 
not  meet  the  light  of  day.  More  than  this  I  will  not  say 
to  you,  save  that  I  forbid  you  this  house,  and  require  you  Vj 
be  gone." 

"  It  is  neither  generous,  nor  honorable,  nor  the  act  of  a 
true  man  to  play  the  spy,"  said  Edward.  *'  Your  words 
imply  dishonor,  and  I  reject  them  with  the  scorn  they 
merit." 

"You  will  find,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  calmly,  '*  your  trusty 


BARNAP3Y  RUDGE.  113 

go-between  in  waiting  at  the  gate  by  which  you  entered.  I 
have  played  no  spy's  part,  sir.  I  chanced  to  see  you  pass 
the  gate  and  followed.  You  might  have  heard  me  knocking 
for  admission,  had  you  been  less  swift  of  foot,  or  lingered  in 
the  garden.  Please  to  withdraw.  Your  presence  here  is 
offensive  to  me  and  distressful  to  my  niece."  As  he  said 
these  words,  he  passed  his  arm  about^the  waist  of  the  terri- 
fied and  weeping  girl,  and  drew  her  closer  to  him  ;  and 
though  the  habitual  severity  of  his  manner  was  scarcely 
changed,  there  was  yet  apparent  in  the  action  an  air  of  kind- 
ness and  sympathy  for  her  distress. 

"  Mr.  Haredale,"  said  Edward,  "  your  arm  encircles  her 
on  whom  I  have  set  my  every  hope  and  thought,  and  to  pur- 
chase one  minute's  happiness  for  whom  I  would  gladly  lay 
down  my  life  ;  this  house  is  the  casket  that  holds  the  pre- 
cious jewel  of  my  existence.  Your  niece  has  plighted  her 
faith  to  me,  and  I  have  plighted  mine  to  her.  What  have  I 
done  that  you  should  hold  me  in  this  light  esteem,  and  give 
me  these  discourteous  words  ?  " 

"  You  have  done  that,  sir,"  answered  Mr.  Haredale, 
''  which  must  be  undone.  You  have  tied  a  lover's-knot 
here  which  must  be  cut  asunder.  Take  good  heed  of 
what  I  say.  Must.  I  cancel  the  bond  between  ye.  I  re- 
ject you,  and  all  of  your  kith  and  kin — all  the  false,  hol- 
low, heartless  stock." 

"  High  words,  sir,"  said  Edward,  scornfully. 

"  Words  of  purpose  and  meaning,  as  you  will  find,"  re- 
plied the  other.     "  Lay  them  to  heart." 

"Lay  you  then,  these,"  said  Edward.  ''Your  cold  and 
s'ullen  temper,  which  chills  every  breast  about  you,  which 
turns  affection  into  fear,  and  changes  duty  into  dread, 
has  forced  us  on  this  secret  course,  repugnant  to  our  na- 
ture and  our  wish,  and  far  more  foreign,  sir,  to  us  than 
you.  I  am  not  a  false,  a  hollow,  or  a  heartless  man  ; 
the  character  is  yours,  who  poorly  venture  on  these  inju- 
rious terms,  against  the  truth,  and  under  the  shelter 
whereof  I  reminded  you  just  now.  You  shall  not  cancel 
the  bond  between  us,  I  will  not  abandon  this  pursuit. 
I  rely  upon  your  niece's  truth  and  honor,  and  set  your 
influence  at  naught.  I  leave  her  with  a  confidence  in  her 
pure  faith,  which  you  v  ill  never  weaken,  and  with  no 
concern  but  that  I  do  not  leave  her  in  some  gentler 
care." 

With  that,  he  pressed  her  cold  hand  to  his  lips,  and  once 


114  BARNABY  RUDGE, 

more  encountering  and  returning  Mr.  Haredale's  steady 
look,  withdrew. 

A  few  words  to  Joe  as  he  mounted  his  horse  sufficiently 
explained  what  had  passed,  and  renewed  all  that  young  gen- 
tleman's despondency  with  tenfold  aggravation.  They  rode 
back  to  the  Maypole  without  exchanging  a  syllable,  and  ar- 
rived at  the  door  with  heavy  hearts. 

Old  John,  who  had  peeped  from  behind  the  red  curtain 
as  they  rode  up  shouting  for  Hugh,  was  out  directly,  and 
said  with  great  importance  as  he  held  the  young  man's 
stirrup: 

'*  He's  comfortable  in  bed — the  best  bed.  A  thorough 
gentleman's  ;  the  smilingest,  affablest  gentleman  I  ever  had 
to  do  with." 

"  Who,  Willet '  "  said  Edward  carelessly,  as  he  dis- 
mounted. 

"  Your  worthy  father,  sir,"  replied  John.  "  Your  honor- 
able, venerable  father  !  " 

''  What  does  he  mean  ?  "  said  Edward,  looking  with  a  mix- 
mre  of  alarm  and  doubt  at  Joe. 

'*  What  £^0  you  mean  ? ''  said  Joe.  "  Don't  you  see  Mr. 
Edward  doesn't  understand,  father  ?  " 

"  Why,  didn't  you  know  of  it,  sir?"  said  John,  opening 
ills  eyes  wide.  "  How  very  singular  !  Bless  you,  he's  been 
fiere  ever  since  noon  to-day,  and  Mr,  Haredale  has  been 
having  a  long  talk  with  him,  and  hasn't  been  gone  an  hour." 

"  My  father,  Willet  ?  " 

*' Yes,  sir,*he  told  me  so — a  handsome,  slim,  upright  gen- 
;leman,  in  green-and-gold.  In  your  old  room  up  yonder,  sir. 
Mo  doubt  you  can  go  in,  sir,"  said  John,  walking  backward 
.nto  the  road  and  looking  up  at  the  window.  "  He  hasn't 
put  out  his  candles  yet,  I  see," 

Edward  glanced  at  the  window  also,  and  hastily  murmur- 
,ng  that  he  had  changed  his  mind — forgotten  something — 
md  must  return  to  London,  mounted  his  horse  again  and 
'•ode  away  ;  leaving  the  Willets,  father  and  son,  looking  at 
each  other  in  mute  astonishment. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

At  noon  next  d^y,  John  Willet's  guest  sat  lingering  over 
his  breakfast  in  his  own  home,  surrounded  by  a  variety  of 
comforts,  which  left  the  Maypole's  highest  flight  and  utmost 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  115 

stretch  of  accommodation  at  an  infinite  distance  behind,  and 
suggested  comparisons  very  much  to  the  disadvantage  and 
disfavor  of  that  venerable  tavern. 

In  the  broad  old-fashioned  window-seat — as  capacious  as 
many  modern  sofas,  and  cushioned  to  serve  the  purpose  of  a 
luxurious  settee — in  the  broad  old-fashioned  window-seat  of 
a  roomy  chamber,  Mr.  Chester  lounged,  very  much  at  his 
ease,  over  a  well-furnished  breakfast-table.  He  had  ex- 
changed his  riding-coat  for  a  handsome  morning-gown,  his 
boots  for  slippers  ;  had  been  at  great  pains  to  atone  for  the 
having  been  obliged  to  make  his  toilet  when  he  rose  without 
the  aid  of  dressing-case  and  tiring  equipage  ;  and  having 
gradually  forgotten  through  these  means  the  discomforts  of 
an  indifferent  night  and  an  early  ride,  was  in  a  state  of  perfect 
complacency,  indolence,  and  satisfaction. 

The  situation  in  which  he  found  himself,  indeed,  was  par- 
ticularly favorable  to  the  growth  of  these  feelings  ;  for,  not 
to  mention  the  lazy  influence  of  a  late  and  lonely  breakfast, 
with  the  additional  sedative  of  a  newspaper,  there  was  an 
air  of  repose  about  his  place  of  residence  peculiar  to  itself, 
and  which  hangs  about  it,  even  in  these  times,  when  it  is 
more  bustling  and  busy  than  it  was  in  days  of  yore. 

There  are,  still,  worse  places  than  the  Temple,  on  a  sultry 
day,  for  basking  in  the  sun,  or  resting  idly  in  the  shade. 
There  is  yet  a  drowsiness  in  its  courts,  and  a  dreamy  dull- 
ness in  its  trees  and  gardens  ;  those  who  pace  its  lanes  and 
squares  may  yet  hear  the  echoes  of  their  footsteps  on  the 
sounding  stones,  and  read  upon  its  gates,  in  passing  from  the 
tumult  of  the  Strand  or  Fleet  Street,  "  Who  enters  here 
leaves  noise  behind."  There  is  still  the  plash  of  falling  wa- 
ter in  fair  Fountain  Court,  and  there  are  yet  nooks  and  cor- 
ners where  dun-haunted  students  may  look  down  from  their 
dusty  garrets,  on  a  vagrant  ray  of  sunlight  patching  the 
shade  of  the  tall  houses,  and  seldom  troubled  to  reflect  a 
passing  stranger's  form.  There  is  yet,  in  the  Temple,  some- 
thing of  a  clerkly  monkish  atmosphere,  which  public  offices 
of  law  have  not  disturbed,  and  even  legal  firms  have  failed 
to  scare  away.  In  summer-time  its  pumps  suggest  to  thirsty 
idlers,  springs  cooler,  and  more  sparkling,  and  deeper  than 
other  wells  ;  and  as  they  trace  the  spillings  of  full  pitchers  on 
the  heated  ground,  they  snuff  the  freshness,  and,  sighing, 
cast  sad  looks  toward  the  Thames,  and  think  of  baths  and 
boats,  and  saunter  on,  despondent. 

It  was  in  a  room  in    Paper  Buildings— a   row   of  goodly 


ii6  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

tenements,  shaded  in  front  by  ancient  trees,  and  looking,  at 
the  back,  upon  the  Temple  Gardens  — that  this,  our  idler, 
lounged  ;  now  taking  up  again  the  paper  he  had  laid  down 
a  hundred  times  ;  now  trifling  with  the  fragments  of  his 
meal ;  now  pulling  forth  his  golden  toothpick,  and  glancing 
leisurely  about  the  room,  or  out  at  window  into  the  trim  gar- 
den walks,  where  a  few  early  loiterers  were  already  pacing 
to  and  fro.  Here  a  pair  of  lovers  met  to  quarrel  and 
make  up  ;  there  a  dark-eyed  nursery-maid  had  better  eyes 
for  Templars  than  her  charge  ;  on  this  hand  an  ancient 
spinster,  with  her  lapdog  in  a  string,  regarded  both  enormi- 
ties with  scornful  sidelong  looks  ;  on  that  a  weazen  old 
gentlemen,  ogling  the  nursery-maid,  looked  with  a  like  scorn 
upon  the  spinster,  and  wondered  she  didn't  know  she  was 
no  longer  young.  Apart  from  all  these,  on  the  river's  mar- 
gin two  or  three  couple  of  business-talkers  walked  slowly  up 
and  down  in  earnest  conversation  ;  and  one  young  man  sat 
thoughtfully  on  the  bench,  alone. 

"  Ned  is  amazingly  patient  !  "  said  Mr.  Chester,  glancing 
at  this  last-named  person  as  he  set  down  his  tea-cup  and 
plied  the  golden  toothpick,  "  immensely  patient  !  He  was 
sitting  yonder  when  I  began  to  dress,  and  has  scarcely 
changed  his  posture  since.     A  most  eccentric  dog  !  " 

As  he  spoke,  the  figure  rose,  and  cam.e  toward  him  with  a 
rapid  pace. 

"  Really,  as  if  he  had  heard  me,"  said  the  father,  resum- 
ing his  newspaper  with  a  yawn.     "  Dear  Ned  !  " 

Presently  the  room  door  opened,  and  the  young  man  en- 
tered ;  to  whom  his  father  gently  waved  his  hand,  and 
smiled. 

"  Are  you  at  leisure  for  a  little  conversation,  sir  ? "  said 
Edward. 

*'  Surely,  Ned.  I  am  always  at  leisure.  You  know  my 
constitution.     Have  you  breakfasted  ?  " 

''Three  hours  ago." 

''  What  a  very  early  dog  !  "  cried  his  father,  contemplating 
him  from  behind  the  toothpick,  with  a  languid  smile. 

''  The  truth  is,"  said  Edward,  bringing  a  chair  forward, 
and  seating  himself  near  the  table,  "  that  I  slept  but  ill  last 
night,  and  was  glad  to  rise.  The  cause  of  my  uneasiness  can 
not  but  be  known  to  you,  sir  ;  and  it  is  upon  that  I  wish  to 
speak." 

"  My  dear  boy,"  returned  his  father,  "confide  in  me,  I 
beg.  But  you  know  my  constitution — don't  be  prosy,  Ned  !  " 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  117 

*'  I  will  be  plain,  and  b«ief,"  said  Edward. 

"  Don't  say  you  will,  my  good  fellow,"  returned  the  father, 
crossing  his  legs,  "  or  you  certainly  will  not.  You  are  going 
to  tell  me — " 

"  Plainly  this,  then,"  said  the  son,  with  an  air  of  great 
concern,  ''  that  I  know  where  you  were  last  night — from  be- 
ing on  the  spot,  indeed — and  whom  you  saw  and  what  your 
purpose  was." 

"  You  don't  say  so  !  "  cried  his  father.  "  I  am  delighted 
to  hear  it.  It  saves  us  the  worry,  and  terrible  wear  and  tear 
of  a  long  explanation,  and  is  a  great  relief  for  both.  At  the 
very  house  !  Why  didn't  you  come  up  ?  I  should  have 
been  charmed  to  see  you." 

"  I  knew  that  what  I  had  to  say  would  be  better  said  after 
a  night's  reflection,  when  both  of  us  were  cool,"  returned  the 
son. 

"  'Fore  Gad,  Ned,"  rejoined  the  father,  "  I  was  cool 
enough  last  night.  That  detestable  Maypole  !  By  some 
infernal  contrivance  of  the  builder,  it  holds  the  wind,  and 
keeps  it  fresh.  You  remember  the  sharp  east  wind  tha 
blew^  so  hard  five  weeki.  ago  ?  I  give  you  my  honor  it  was 
rampant  in  that  old  house  last  night,  though  out  of  doors 
there  was  a  dead  calm.     But  you  were  saying — " 

"  I  was  about  to  say,  heaven  knows  how  seriously  and 
earnestly,  that  you  have  made  me  wretched,  sir.  Will  you 
hear  me  gravely  for  a  moment  ? " 

"  My  dear  Ned,"  said  his  father,  "  I  will  hear  you  with 
the  patience  of  an  anchorite.     Oblige  me  with  the  milk." 

*'  I  saw  Miss  Haredale  last  night,"  Edward  resumed, 
when  he  had  complied  with  this  request  ;  "  her  uncle,  in 
her  presence,  immediately  after  your  interview,  and  as  of 
course  I  know,  in  consequence  of  it,  forbade  me  the  house, 
and,  with  circumstances  of  indignity  which  are  of  your 
creation  I  am  sure,  commanded  me  to  leave  it  on  the  in- 
stant." 

"  For  his  manner  of  doing  so,  I  give  you  my  honor,  Ned, 
I  am  not  accountable,"  said  his  father.  *'  That  you  must 
excuse.  He  is  a  mere  boor,  a  log,  a  brute,  with  no  address 
in  life. — Positively  a  fly  in  the  jug.  The  first  I  have  seen 
this  year." 

Edward  rose,  and  paced  the  room.  His  imperturbable 
parent  sipped  his  tea. 

*'  Father,"  said  the  young  man,  stopping  at  length  before 
him,    "  we  must  not   trifle  in  this   matter.      We  must   not 


ii8  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

deceive  each  other,  or  ourselves.  *  Let  me  pursue  the  manly 
open  part  I  wish  to  take,  and  do  not  repel  me  by  this  unkind 
indifference." 

"  Whether  I  am  indifferent  or  no,"  returned  the  other, ''  I 
leave  you,  my  dear  boy,  to  judge.  A  ride  of  twenty-five  or 
thirty-miles  through  miry  roads — a  Maypole  dinner — a  tete- 
a-tete  with  Haredale,  which,  vanity  apart,  was  quite  a  Valen- 
tine and  Orson  business — a  Maypole  bed — a  Maypole  land- 
lord, and  a  Maypole  retinue  of  idiots  and  centaurs  ;  whether 
the  voluntary  endurance  of  these  things  look  like  indiffer- 
ence, dear  Ned,  or  like  the  excessive  anxiety,  and  devotion, 
and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  of  a  parent,  you  shall  determine 
for  yourself." 

"I  wish  you  to  consider,  sir,"  said  Edward,  "in  what  a 
cruel  situation  I  am  placed.  Loving  Miss  Haredale  as  I 
do— " 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  interrupted  his  father  with  a  compas- 
sionate smile,  "  you  do  nothing  of  the  kind.  You  don't 
know  any  thing  about  it.  There's  no  such  thing,  I  assure 
you.  Now,  do  take  my  word  for  it.  You  have  good  sense, 
Ned — great  good  sense.  I  wonder  you  should  be  guilty  of 
such  amazing  absurdities.     You  really  surprise  me." 

"  I  repeat,"  said  his  son,  firmly,  ''  that  I  lOve  her.  You 
have  interposed  to  part  us,  and  have,  to  the  extent  I  have 
just  now  told  you  of,  succeeded.  May  I  induce  you,  sir,  in 
time,  to  think  more  favorably  of  our  attachment,  or  is  it 
your  intention  and  your  fixed  design  to  hold  us  asunder  if 
you  can  ?  " 

**  My  dear  Ned,"  returned  his  father,  taking  a  pinch  of 
snuff  and  pushing  his  box  toward  him,  "  that  is  my  purpose 
most  undoubtedly." 

"  The  time  that  has  elapsed,"  rejoined  his  son,  "  since  I 
began  to  know  her  worth,  has  flown  in  such  a  dream,  that 
until  now  I  have  hardly  once  paused  to  reflect  upon  my  true 
position.  What  is  it  ?  From  my  childhood  1  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  luxury  and  idleness,  and  have  been  bred  as  though 
my  fortune  were  large,  and  my  expectations  almost  without 
a  limit.  The  idea  of  wealth  has  been  familiarized  to  me  from 
my  cradle.  I  have  been  taught  to  look  upon  those  means 
by  which  men  raise  themselves  to  riches  and  distinction,  as 
being  beyond  my  breeding,  and  beneath  my  care.  I  have 
been,  as  the  phrase  is,  liberally  educated,  and  am  fit  for 
nothing.  I  find  myself  at  last  wholly  dependent  upon  you, 
with  no   resource  but   in   your   favor.     In   this  momentous 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  119 

question  of  my  life,  we  do  not,  and  it  would  seem  we  never 
can  agree.  I  have  shrunk  instinctively  alike  from  those  to 
whom  you  have  urged  me  to  pay  court,  and  from  the  motives 
of  interest  and  gain  which  have  rendered  them  in  your  eyes 
visible  objects  for  my  suit.  If  there  never  has  been  such 
plain  speaking  between  us  before,  sir,  the  fault  has  not  been 
mine,  indeed.  If  I  seem  to  speak  too  plainly  now,  it  is, 
believe  me,  father,  in  the  hope  that  there  may  be  a  franker 
spirit,  a  worthier  reliance,  and  a  kinder  confidence  between 
us  in  time  to  come. 

"  My  good  fellow,"  said  his  smiling  father,  "  you  quite  af- 
fect me.  Go  on,  my  dear  Edward,  I  beg.  But  remember 
your  promise.  There  is  great  earnestness,  vast  candor,  a 
manifest  sincerity  in  all  you  say,  but  I  fear  I  observe  the 
faintest  indications  of  a  tendency  to  prose." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  sir." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  too,  Ned,  but  you  know  that  I  can  not 
fix  my  mind  for  any  long  period  upon  one  subject.  If  you'll 
come  to  the  point  at  once,  I'll  imagine  all  that  ought  to  go 
before  and -conclude  it  said.  Oblige  me  with  the  milk  again. 
Listening  invariably  makes  me  feverish." 

"  What  I  would  say  then,  tends  to  this,"  said  Edward. 
"  I  can  not  bear  this  absolute  dependence,  sir,  even  upon  you. 
Time  has  been  lost  and  opportunity  thrown  away,  but  I  am 
yet  a  young  man,  and  may  retrieve  it.  Will  you  give  me  the 
means  of  devoting  such  abilities  and  energies  as  I  possess, 
to  some  worthy  pursuit  ?  Will  you  let  me  try  to  make  for 
myself  an  honorable  path  in  life  ?  For  any  term  you  please 
to  name — say  for  five  years  if  you  will.  I  will  pledge  myself 
to  move  no  further  in  the  matter  of  our  difference  without 
your  full  concurrence.  During  that  period,  I  will  endeavor 
earnestly  and  patiently,  if  ever  man  did,  to  open  some  pros- 
pect for  myself,  and  free  you  from  the  burden  you  fear  I 
should  become  if  I  married  one  whose  worth  and  beauty  are 
her  chief  endowments.  Will  you  do  this,  sir  ?  At  the  ex- 
piration of  the  term  we  agree  upon,  let  us  discuss  this  sub- 
ject again.  Till  then,  unless  it  is  revived  by  you,  let  it  never 
be  renewed  between  us." 

*^  My  dear  Ned,"  returned  his  father,  laying  down  the 
newspaper  at  which  he  had  been  glancing  carelessly,  and 
throwing  himself  back  in  the  window-seat,  "  I  believe  you 
know  how  very  much  I  dislike  what  are  called  family  affairs, 
which  are  only  fit  for  plebeian  Christmas  days,  and  have  no 
manner  of  business  with  people  of  our  condition.     But  as 


I20  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

you  are  proceeding  upon  a  mistake,  Ned — altogether  upon  a 
mistake — I  will  conquer  my  repugnance  to  entering  on  such 
matters,  and  give  you  a  perfectly  plain  and  candid  answer, 
if  you  will  do  me  the  favor  to  shut  the  door." 

Edward  having  obeyed  him,  he  took  an  elegant  little 
knife  from  his  pocket,  and  paring  his  nails,  continued  : 

"  You  have  to  thank  me,  Ned,  for  being  of  good  family  ; 
for  your  mother,  charming  person  as  she  was,  and  almost 
broken-hearted,  and  so  forth,  as  she  left  me,  when  she  was 
prematurely  compelled  to  become  immortal — had  nothing  to 
boast  of  in  that  respect." 

"  Her  father  was  at  least  an  eminent  lawyer,  sir,"  said  Ed- 
ward. 

'*  Quite  right,  Ned  ;  perfectly  so.  He  stood  high  at  the 
bar,  had  a  great  name  and  great  wealth,  but  having  risen 
from  nothing — I  have  always  closed  my  eyes  to  the  circum- 
stance and  steadily  resisted  its  contemplation,  but  I  fear  his 
father  dealt  in  pork,  and  that  his  business  did  once  involve 
cow-heel  and  sausages — he  wished  to  marry  his  daughter  into 
a  good  family.  He  had  his  heart's  desire,  Ned.  I  was  a 
younger  son's  youngest  son,  and  I  married  her.  We  each 
had  our  object,  and  gained  it.  She  stepped  at  once  into  the 
politest  and  best  circles,  and  I  stepped  into  a  fortune  which 
I  assure  you  was  very  necessary  to  my  comfort — quite  indis- 
pensable. Now,  my  good  fellow,  that  fortune  is  among  the 
things  that  have  been.  It  is  gone,  Ned,  and  has  been  gone 
— how  old  are  you  ?     I  always  forget." 

"  Seven-and-twenty,  sir." 

*'  Are  you  indeed  ?  "  cried  his  father,  raising  his  eyelids  in 
a  languishing  surprise.  "  So  much  !  Then  I  should  say, 
Ned,  that  so  nearly  as  I  remember,  its  skirts  vanished  from 
human  knowledge,  about  eighteen  or  nineteen  years  ago. 
It  was  about  that  time  when  I  came  to  live  in  these  cham- 
bers (once  your  grandfather's  and  bequeathed  by  that 
extremely  respectable  person  to  me),  and  commenced  to 
live  upon  an  inconsiderable  annuity  and  my  past  reputa- 
tion." 

"  You  are  jesting  with  me,  sir,"  said  Edward. 

*'  Not  in  the  slightest  degree,  I  assure  you,"  returned  his 
father  with  great  composure.  "  These  family  topics  are  so 
extremely  dry,  that  I  am  sorry  to  say  they  don't  admit  of 
any  such  relief.  It  is  for  that  reason,  and  because  they  have 
an  appearance  of  business,  that  I  dislike  them  so  very  much. 
Well  !     You  know  the  rest,     A  son,  Ntd,  unless  he  is  old 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  121 

enough  to  be  a  companion— that  is  to  say,  unless  he  is  some 
two  or  three  and  twenty — is  not  the  kind  of  thing  to  have 
about  one.  He  is  a  restraint  upon  his  father,  his  father  is  a 
restraint  upon  him,  and  they  make  each  other  mutually 
uncomfortable.  Therefore,  until  within  the  last  four  years 
or  so — I  have  a  poor  memory  for  dates,  and  if  I  mistake, 
you  will  correct  me  in  your  own  mind — you  pursued  your 
studies  at  a  distance,  and  picked  up  a  great  variety  of 
accomplishments.  Occasionally  we  passed  a  week  or  two 
together  here,  and  disconcerted  each  other  as  only  such 
near  relations  can.  At  last  you  came  home.  I  candidly 
tell  you,  my  dear  boy,  that  if  you  had  been  awkward  and 
overgrown,  I  should  have  exported  you  to  some  distant  part 
of  the  world." 

"  I  wish  with  all  my  soul  you  had,  sir,"  said  Edward. 
"No,  you  don't,  Ned,"  said  his  father  coolly  ;  "  you  are 
mistaken,  I  assure  you.     I  found  you  a  handsome,  prepos- 
sessing, elegant  fellow,  and  1  threw  you  into  this   society   J 
can   still   com.mand.     Having  done   that,  my  dear  fellow,  I 
consider  that  I  have  provided  for  you  in  life,  and  rely  upon 
your  doing  something  to  provide  for  me  in  return." 
"  I  do  not  understand  your  meaning,  sir." 
"  My  meaning,  Ned,  is  obvious— I  observe  another  fly  in 
the  cream-jug,  but  have  the  goodness  not  to  take  it  out   as 
you  did  the  first,  for  their  walk  when  their  legs  are  milky,  is 
extremely  ungraceful  and  disagreeable— my  meaning  is,  that 
you  must  do  as  I  did  ;  that  you  must  marry  well  and  make 
the  most  of  yourself." 

"  A  mere  fortune-hunter  !  "  cried  the  son,  indignantly. 
"  What  in  the  devil's  name,  Ned,  would  you  be  !  "  returned 
the  father.  "  All  men  are  fortune-hunters,  are  they  not  ? 
The  law,  the  church,  the  court,  the  camp— see  how  they  are 
all  crowded  with  fortune-hunters,  jostling  each  other  in  the 
pursuit.  The  stock-exchange,  the  pulpit,  the  counting-house, 
the  royal  drawing-room,  the  senate, — what  but  fortune-hunt- 
ers are  they  filled  with  ?  A  fortune-hunter  !  Yes.  You 
are  one  ;  and  you  would  be  nothing  else,  my  dear  Ned,  if 
you  were  the  greatest  courtier,  lawyer,  legislator,  prelate,  or 
merchant,  in  existence.  If  you  are  squeamish  and  moral, 
Ned,  console  yourself  with  the  reflection  that  at  the  very 
worst  your  fortune-hunting  can  make  but  one  person  miser- 
able or  unhappy.  How  many  people  do  you  suppose  these 
other  kinds  of  huntsmen  crush  in  following  their  sport- 
hundreds  at  a  step  ?     Or  thousands  ?  " 


122  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

The  young  man  leaned  his  head  upon  his  hand,  and  made 
no  answer. 

"  I  am  quite  charmed,"  said  the  father  rising,  and  walking 
slowly  to  and  fro — stopping  now  and  then  to  glance  at  him- 
self in  the  mirror,  or  survey  a  picture  through  his  glass  with 
the  air  of  a  connoisseur,  "  that  we  have  had  this  conversa- 
tion, Ned,  unpromising  as  it  was.  It  establishes  a  confi- 
dence between  us  which  is  quite  delightful,  and  was  cer- 
tainly necessary,  though  how  you  can  ever  have  mistaken 
our  positions  and  designs,  I  confess  I  can  not  understand. 
I  conceived,  until  I  found  your  fancy  for  this  girl,  that  all 
these  points  were  tacitly  agreed  upon  between  us." 

''  I  knew  you  were  embarrassed,  sir,"  returned  the  son, 
raising  his  head  for  a  moment,  and  then  falling  into  his 
former  attitude,  "  but  I  had  no  idea  we  were  the  beggared 
wretches  you  describe.  How  could  I  suppose  it,  bred  as  I 
have  been  ;  witnessing  the  life  you  have  alv/ays  led  ;  and 
the  appearance  you  have  always  made  ?  " 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  the  father — *'  for  you  really  talk  so 
like  a  child  that  I  must  call  you  one — you  were  bred  upon 
a  careful  principle  ;  the  very  manner  of  your  education,  I 
assure  you,  maintained  my  credit  surprisingly.  As  to  the 
iife  I  lead,  I  must  lead  it,  Ned.  I  must  have  these  little 
refinements  about  me.  I  have  always  been  used  to  them, 
and  I  can  not  exist  without  them.  They  must  surround  me, 
you  observe,  and  therefore  they  are  here.  With  regard  to 
our  circumstances,  Ned,  you  may  set  your  mind  at  rest  upon 
that  score.  They  are  desperate.  Your  own  appearance  is 
by  no  means  despicable,  and  our  joint  pocket-money  alone 
devours  our  income.     That's  the  truth." 

*'  Why  have  I  never  known  this  before  ?  Why  have  you 
encouraged  me,  sir,  to  an  expenditure  and  mode  of  life  to 
which  we  have  no  right  or  title  ?  " 

"  My  good  fellow,"  returned  his  father  more  compassion- 
ately than  ever,  **  if  you  made  no  appearance,  how  could  you 
possibly  succeed  in  the  pursuit  for  which  I  destined  you  ? 
As  to  our  mode  of  life,  every  man  has  a  right  to  live  in  the 
best  way  he  can  ;  and  to  make  himself  as  comfortable  as  he 
can,  or  he  is  an  unnatural  scoundrel.  Our  debts,  I  grant, 
are  very  great,  and  therefore  it  the  more  behooves  you,  as  a 
young  man  of  principle  and  honor,  to  pay  them  off  as  speed- 
ily as  possible." 

"  The  villain's  part,"  muttered  Edward,  "  that  I  have 
unconsciously  played  !  I  to  win  the  heart  of  Emma  Hare- 
dale  !  I  would,  for  her  sake,  I  had  died  first  !  " 


BARNABY   RUDGE.  123 

'*  I  am  glad  you  see,  Ned,"  returned  his  father,  **  how 
perfectly  self-evident  it  is,  that  nothing  can  be  done  in  that 
quarter.  But  apart  from  this,  and  the  necessity  of  your 
speedily  bestowing  yourself  on  another  (as  you  know  you 
could  to-morrow,  if  you  chose),  I  wish  you'd  look  upon  it 
pleasantly.  In  a  religious  point  of  view  alone,  how  could 
you  ever  think  of  uniting  yourself  to  a  Catholic,  unless  she 
was  amazingly  rich  ?  You  ought  to  be  so  very  Protestant, 
coming  of  such  a  Protestant  family  as  you  do.  Let  us  be 
moral,  Ned,  or  we  are  nothing.  Even  if  one  could  set  that 
objection  aside,  which  is  impossible,  we  come  to  another 
which  is  quite  conclusive.  The  very  idea  of  marrying  a 
girl  whose  father  was  killed,  like  meat  !  Good  God,  Ned, 
how  disagreeable  !  Consider  the  impossibility  of  having  any 
respect  for  your  father-in-law  under  such  pleasant  circum- 
stances— think  of  his  having  been  Viewed  '  by  jurors,  and 
*  sat  upon  '  by  coroners,  and  of  his  very  doubtful  position  in 
the  family  ever  afterward.  It  seems  to  me  such  an  indeli- 
cate sort  of  thing  that  I  really  think  the  girl  ought  to  have 
been  put  to  death  by  the  state  to  prevent  its  happening. 
But  I  tease  you  perhaps.  You  would  rather  be  alone  ?  My 
dear  Ned,  most  willingly.  God  bless  you.  I  shall  be  going 
out  presently,  but  we  shall  meet  to-night,  or  if  not  to-night, 
certainly  to-morrow.  Take  care  of  yourself  in  the  mean- 
time, for  both  our  sakes.  You  are  a  person  of  great  conse- 
quence to  me,  Ned — of  vast  consequence  indeed.  God 
bless  you  !  " 

With  these  words,  the  father,  who  had  been  arranging  his 
cravat  in  the  glass,  while  he  uttered  them  in  a  disconnected 
careless  manner,  withdrew,  humming  a  tune  as  he  went. 
The  son,  who  had  appeared  so  lost  in  thought  as  not  to  hear 
or  understand  them,  remained  quite  still  and  silent.  After 
the  lapse  of  half  an  hour  or  so,  the  elder  Chester,  gayly 
dressed,  went  out.  The  younger  still  sat  with  his  head  rest- 
ing on  his  hands,   in  what  appeared  to  be  a  kind  of  stupor. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A  series  of  pictures  representing  the  streets  of  London  in 
the  night,  even  at  the  comparatively  recent  date  of  this  tale, 
would  present  to  the  eye  something  so  very  different  in 
character  from  the  reality  which  is  witnessed  in  these  times, 
that  it  would  be  difficult  ^or  the  beholder  to  recognize  his 


124 


BARNABY  RUDGE, 


most  familiar  walks  in  the  altered  aspect  of  little  more  than 
half  a  century  ago. 

Thev  were,  one  and  all,  from  the  broadest  and  best  to  the 
narrowest  and  least  frequented,  very  dark.  The  oil  and  cotton 
lamps,  though  regularly  trimmed  twice  or  thrice  in  the  long 
winter  nights,  burned  feebly  at  the  best ;  and  at  a  late  hour 
when  they  were  unassisted  by  the  lamps  and  candles  in  the 
shops,  cast  but  a  narrow  track  of  doubtful  light  upon  the 
footway,  leaving  the  projected  doors  and  house-fronts  in  the 
deepest  gloom.  Many  of  the  courts  and  lanes  were  left  in 
total  darkness  ;  those  of  the  meaner  sort,  where  one  glim- 
mering light  twinkled  for  a  score  of  houses,  being  favored 
in  no  slight  degree.  Even  in  these  places,  the  inhabitants 
had  often  good  reason  for  extinguishing  their  lamp  as  soon 
as  V  was  lighted  ;  and  the  watch  being  utterly  inefficient 
and  powerless  to  prevent  them,  they  did  so  at  their  pleasure. 
Thus,  in  the  lightest  thoroughfares,  there  was  at  every  turn 
some  obscure  and  dangerous  spot  whither  a  thief  might  fly 
for  shelter,  and  few  would  care  to  follow  ;  and  the  city  being 
belted  round  by  fields,  green  lanes,  waste  grounds,  and 
lonely  roads,  dividing  it  at  that  time  from  the  suburbs  that 
have  joined  since,  escape,  even  where  the  pursuit  was  hot, 
was  rendered  easy. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  with  these  favoring  circumstances  in 
full  and  constant  operation,  street  robberies,  often  accom- 
panied by  cruel  wounds,  and  not  unfrequently  by  loss  of 
life,  should  have  been  of  nightly  occurrence  in  the  very 
heart  of  London,  or  that  quiet  folks  should  have  had  great 
dread  of  traversing  its  streets  after  the  shops  were  closed. 
It  was  not  unusual  for  those  who  wended  home  alone  at 
midnight,  to  keep  the  middle  of  the  road,  the  better  to 
guard  against  surprise  from  lurking  footpads  ;  few  would 
venture  to  repair  at  a  late  hour  to  Kentish  Town  or  Hamp- 
stead,  or  even  to  Kensington  or  Chelsea,  unarmed  and  un- 
attended ;  while  he  who  had  been  loudest  and  most  valiant 
at  the  supper-table  or  the  tavern,  and  had  but  a  mile  or  so 
to  go,  was  glad  to  fee  a  link-boy  to  escort  him  home. 

There  were  many  other  characteristics — not  quite  so  dis- 
agreeable— about  tlie  thoroughfare^  of  London  then,  with 
which  they  had  been  long  familiar.  Some  of  the  shops, 
especially  those  to  the  eastward  of  Temple  Bar,  still  adhered 
to  the  old  practice  of  hanging  out  a  sign  ;  and  the  creaking 
and  swinging  of  these  boards  in  their  iron  frames  on  windy 
nights,  formed  a  strange  and  mournful  concert  for  the  ears 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  125 

of  those  who  lay  awake  in  bed  or  hurried  through  the 
streets.  Long  stands  of  hackney-chairs  and  groups  of 
chairmen,  compared  with  whom  the  coachmen  of  our  day 
are  gentle  and  polite,  obstructed  the  way  and  filled  the  air 
with  clamor  ;  night-(  cllars,  indicated  by  a  little  stream  of 
light  crossing  the  pavement,  and  stretching  out  half-way 
into  the  road,  and  by  the  stifled  roar  of  voices  from  below, 
yawned  for  the  reception  and  entertainment  of  the  most 
abandoned  of  both  sexes  ;  under  every  shed  and  bulk  small 
groups  of  link-boys  gamed  away  the  earnings  of  the  day,  or 
one  more  weary  than  the  rest  gave  way  to  sleep,  and  let  the 
fragment  of  his  torch  fall  hissing  on  the  puddled  ground. 

Then  there  was  the  watch  with  staff  and  lantern  crying 
the  hour,  and  the  kind  of  weather  ;  and  those  who  woke  up 
at  his  voice  and  turned  them  round  in  bed,  were  glad  to 
hear  it  rained,  or  snowed,  or  blew,  or  froze,  for  very  com- 
fort's sake.  The  solitary  passenger  was  startled  by  the 
chairmen's  cry  of  "  By  your  leave  there  !  "  as  two  came 
trotting  past  him  with  their  empty  vehicle — carried  back- 
ward to  show  its  being  disengaged — and  hurried  to  the 
nearest  stand.  Many  a  private  chair,  too,  inclosing  some 
fine  lady,  monstrously  hooped  and  furbelowed,  and  preceded 
by  running  footmen  bearing  flambeaux — for  which  extin- 
guishers are  yet  suspended  before  the  doors  of  a  few  houses 
of  the  better  sort — made  the  way  gay  and  light  as  it  danced 
along,  and  darker  and  more  dismal  when  it  had  passed.  It 
was  not  unusual  for  these  running  gentry,  who  carried  it 
with  a  very  high  hand,  to  quarrel  in  the  servants'  hall 
while  waiting  for  their  masters  and  mistresses  ;  and,  falling 
to  blows  either  there  or  in  the  street  without,  to  strew 
the  place  of  skirmish  with  hair-powder,  fragments  of  bag- 
wigs,  and  scattered  nosegays.  Gaming,  the  vice  which  ran 
so  high  among  all  classes  (the  fashion  being  of  course  set 
by  the  upper),  was  generally  the  cause  of  these  disputes  ; 
for  cards  and  dice  were  as  openly  used,  and  worked  as 
much  mischief,  and  yielded  as  much  excitement  below 
stairs  as  above.  While  incidents  like  these,  arising  out  of 
drums  and  masquerades  and  parties  at  quadrille,  were  pass- 
ing at  the  west  end  of  the  town,  heavy  stage-coaches  and 
scarce  heavier  wagons  were  lumbering  slowly  toward  the 
city,  the  coachman,  guard,  and  passengers  armed  to  the 
teeth,  and  the  coach — a  day  or  so  perhaps  behind  its  time, 
but  that  was  nothing — despoiled  by  highwaymen  ;  who 
made  no  scruple  to  attack,  alone  and  single-handed,  a  whole 


420  BARNABY  RUDGK. 

caravan  of  goods  and  men,  and  sometimes  shot  a  passenger 
or  two,  and  were  sometimes  shot  themselves,  as  the  case 
might  be.  On  the  morrow,  rumors  of  this  riew  act  of  dar- 
ing on  the  road  yielded  matter  for  a  few  hours'  conversa- 
tion through  the  town,  and  a  public  progress  of  some  fine 
gentleman  (half  drunk)  to  Tyburn,  dressed  in  the  newest 
fashion,  and  damning  the  ordinary  with  unspeakable  gal- 
lantry and  grace,  furnished  to  the  populace  at  once  a  pleas- 
ant excitement  and  a  wholesome  and  profound  example. 

Among  all  the  dangerous  characters  who,  in  such  a  state 
of  society,  prowled  and  skulked  in  the  metropolis  at  night, 
there  was  one  man  from  whom  many  as  uncouth  and  fierce 
as  he  shrunk  with  an  involuntary  dread.  Who  he  was,  or^ 
whence  he  came,  was  a  question  often  asked,  but  which  none 
could  answer.  His  name  was  unknown,  he  had  never  been 
seen  until  within  about  eight  days  or  thereabouts,  and  was 
equally  a  stranger  to  the  old  ruffians,  upon  whose  haunts 
he  ventured  fearlessly,  as  to  the  young.  He  could  be 
no  spy,  for  he  never  removed  his  slouched  hat  to  look 
about  him,  entered  into  conversation  with  no  man,  heeded 
nothing  that  passed,  listened  to  no  discourse,  regarded 
nobody  that  came  or  went.  But  so  surely  as  the  dead  of 
night  set  in,  so  surely  this  man  was  in  the  midst  of  the  loose 
concourse  in  the  night-cellar,  where  outcasts  of  every  grade 
resorted  ;  and  there  he  sat  till  morning. 

He  was  not  only  a  specter  at  their  licentious  feasts  ;  a  some- 
thing in  the  mid-st  of  their  revelry  and  riot  that  chilled  and 
haunted  them  ;  but  out  of  doors  he  was  the  same.  Directly 
it  was  dark,  he  was  abroad — never  in  company  with  any  one, 
but  always  alone  ;  never  lingering  or  loitering,  but  always 
walking  swiftly,  and  looking  (so  they  said  who  had  seen 
him)  over  his  shoulder  from  time  to  time,  and  as  he  did  so 
quickening  his  pace.  In  the  fields,  the  lanes,  the  roads,  in 
all  quarters  of  the  town — east,  west,  north,  and  south — that 
man  was  seen  glidmg  on  like  a  shadow.  He  was  always 
hurrying  away.  Those  who  encountered  him  saw  him  steal 
past,  caught  sight  oi  the  backward  glance,  and  so  lost  him 
in  the  darkness. 

This  constant  restlessness,  and  flitting  to  and  fro,  gave 
rise  to  strange  stories.  He  was  seen  in  such  distant  and 
remote  places,  at  times  so  nearly  tallying  with  each  other, 
that  some  doubted  whether  there  were  not  two  of  them,  or 
more — some,  whether  he  had  not  unearthly  means  of  travel- 
ing from  spot  to  spot.     The  footpad  hiding  in  a  ditch  had 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  127 

marked  him  passing  like  a  ghost  along  its  brink  ;  the  vagrant 
had  met  him  on  the  dark  highroad  ;  the  beggar  had  seen 
him  pause  upon  the  bridge  to  look  down  at  the  water,  and 
then  sweep  on  again  ;  they  who  dealt  in  bodies  with  the 
surgeons  could  swear  he  slept  in  church-yards,  and  that  they 
had"  beheld  him  glide  away  among  the  tombs  on  their  ap- 
proach. And  as  they  told  these  stories  to  each  other,  one 
who  had  looked  about  him  would  pull  his  neighbor  by  the 
sleeve,  and  there  he  would  be  among  them. 

At  last,  one  man — he  was  one  of  those  whose  commerce 
lay  among  the  graves— resolved  to  question  this  strange 
companion.  Next  night,  when  he  had  eat  his  poor  meal 
voraciously  (he  was  accustomed  to  do  that,  they  had  ob- 
served, as  though  he  had  no  other  in  the  day),  this  fellow 
sat  down  at  his  elbow. 

"  A  black  night,  master  !  " 

''  It  is  a  black  night." 

"  Blacker  than  last,  though  that  was  pitchy  too.  Didn't  i 
pass  you  near  the  turnpike  in  the  Oxford  Road  ?  " 

"  It's  like  you  may.     I  don't  know." 

"  Come,  come,  master,"  cried  the  fellow,  urged  on  by  the 
looks  of  his  comrades,  and  slapping  him  on  the  shoulder  ; 
"  be  more  companionable  and  communicative.  Be  more  the 
gentleman  in  this  good  company.  There  are  tales  among  us 
that  you  have  sold  yourself  to  the  devil,  and  I  know  not 
what." 

"  We  all  have,  have  we  not  ? "  returned  the  stranger,  look- 
ing up.  "  If  we  were  fewer  in  number,  perhaps  he  would 
give  better  wages." 

*'  It  goes  rather  hard  with  you,  indeed,"  said  the  fellow,  as 
the  stranger  disclosed  his  haggard  unwashed  face,  and  torn 
clothes.  ''  What  of  that  ?  Be  merry,  master.  A  stave  of  a 
roaring  song  now — " 

"  Sing  you,  if  you  desire  to  hear  one,"  replied  the  other, 
shaking  him  roughly  off  ;  "  and  don't  touch  me  if  you're  a 
prudent  man  ;  I  carry  arms  which  go  off  easily — they  have 
done  so  before  now— and  make  it  dangerous  for  strangers 
who  don't  know  the  trick  of  them,  to  lay  hands  upon  me." 

"  Do  you  threaten  ? "  said  the  fellow. 

"Yes,"  returned  the  other,  rising  and  turning  upon  him, 
and  looking  fiercely  round  as  if  m  apprehension  of  a  general 
attack. 

His  voice,  and  look,  and  bearing — all  expressive  of  the 
wildest   recklessness  and  desperation — daunted  while  they 


128  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

repelled  the  bystanders.  Although  in  a  very  different 
sphere  of  action  now,  they  were  not  without  much  of  the 
effect  they  had  wrought  at  the  Maypole  Inn. 

"  I  am  what  you  all  are,  and  live  as  you  all  do,"  said  the 
man  sternly,  after  a  short  silence.  "  I  am  in  hiding  here 
like  the  rest,  and  if  we  were  surprised  would  perhaps  do  my 
part  with  the  best  of  ye.  If  it's  my  humor  to  be  left  to  my- 
self, let  me  have  it.  Otherwise," — and  here  he  swore  a 
tremendous  oath — ''  there'll  be  mischief  done  in  this  place, 
though  there  are  odds  of  a  score  against  me." 

A  low  murmur,  having  its  origin  perhaps  in  a  dread  of  the 
man  and  the  mystery  that  surrounded  him,  or  perhaps  in  a 
sincere  opinion  on  the  part  of  some  of  those  present,  that  it 
would  be  an  inconvenient  precedent  to  meddle  too  curiously 
with  a  gentleman's  private  affairs  if  he  saw  reason  to  conceal 
them,  warned  the  fellow  who  had  occasioned  this  discussion 
that  he  had  best  pursue  it  no  further.  After  a  short  time 
the  strange  man  lay  down  upon  a  bench  to  sleep,  and  when 
they  thought  of  him  again,  they  found  he  was  gone. 

Next  night,  as  soon  as  it  was  dark,  he  was  abroad  again 
and  traversing  the  streets  ;  he  was  before  the  locksmith's 
house  more  than  once,  but  the  family  were  out,  and  it  was 
close  shut.  This  night  he  crossed  London  Bridge  and  passed 
into  Southwark.  As  he  glided  down  a  by-street,  a  woman 
with  a  little  basket  on  her  arm,  turned  into  it  at  the  other 
end.  Directly  he  observed  her,  he  sought  the  shelter  of  an 
archway,  and  stood  aside  until  she  had  passed.  Then  he 
emerged  cautiously  from  his  hiding-place,  and  followed. 

She  went  into  several  shops  to  purchase  various  kinds  of 
household  necessaries,  and  round  every  place  at  which  she 
stopped  he  hovered  like  her  evil  spirit ;  following  her  when  she 
reappeared.  It  was  nigh  eleven  o'clock,  and  the  passengers 
in  the  streets  were  thinning  fast,  when  she  turned,  doubtless 
to  go  home.     The  phantom  still  followed  her. 

She  turned  into  the  same  by-street  in  which  he  had  seen 
her  first,  which,  being  free  from  shops,  and  narrow,  was  ex- 
tremely dark.  She  quickened  her  pace  there,  as  though  dis- 
trustful of  being  stopped,  and  robbed  of  such  trifling  prop- 
erty as  she  carried  with  her.  He  crept  along  on  the  other 
side  of  the  road.  Had  she  been  gifted  with  the  speed  of 
wind,  it  seemed  as  if  this  terrible  shadow  would  have  tracked 
her  down. 

At  length  the  widow — for  she  it  was — reached  her  own 
door,  and,  panting  for  breath,  paused  to  take  the  key  from 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  129 

her  basket.  In  a  flush  and  glow,  with  the  haste  she  had 
made,  and  the  pleasure  of  being  safe  at  home,  she  stooped 
to  draw  it  out,  when,  raising  her  head,  she  saw  him  standing 
silently  beside  her  :  the  apparition  of  a  dream. 

His  hand  was  on  her  mouth,  but  that  was  needless,  for 
her  tongue  clove  to  its  roof,  and  her  power  of  utterance  was 
gone.  "  I  have  been  looking  for  you  many  nights.  Is  the 
house  empty  ?     Answer  me,  is  any  one  inside  ?  " 

She  could  only  answer  by  a  rattle  in  her  throat. 

"  Make  me  a  sign." 

She  seemed  to  indicate  that  there  was  no  one  there.  He 
took  the  key,  unlocked  the  door,  carried  her  in,  and  secured 
it  carefully  behind  them. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

It  was  a  chilly  night,  and  the  fire  in  the  widow's  parlor  had 
burned  low.  Her  strapge  companion  placed  her  in  a  chair, 
and  stooping  down  before  the  half-extinguished  ashes,  raked 
them  together  and  fanned  them  with  his  hat.  From  time  to 
time  he  glanced  at  her  over  his  shoulder,  as  though  to  assure 
himself  of  her  remaining  quiet  and  making  no  effort  to  de- 
part ;  and  that  done,  busied  himself  about  the  fire  again. 

It  was  not  without  reason  that  he  took  these  pains,  for  his 
dress  was  dank  and  drenched  with  wet,  his  jaws  rattled  with 
cold,  and  he  shivered  from  head  to  foot.  It  had  rained  hard 
during  the  previous  night  and  for  some  hours  in  the  morning, 
but  since  noon  it  had  been  fine.  Wheresoever  he  had  passed 
the  hours  of  darkness,  his  condition  sufficiently  betokened 
that  many  of  them  had  been  spent  beneath  the  open  sky. 
Besmeared  with  mire  ;  his  saturated  clothes  clinging  with  a 
damp  embrace  about  his  limbs  ;  his  beard  unshaven,  his  face 
unwashed,  his  meager  cheeks  worn  into  deep  hollows — a 
more  miserable  wretch  could  hardly  be,  than  this  man  who 
now  cowered  down  upon  the  widow's  hearth,  and  watched 
the  struggling  flame  with  bloodshot  eyes. 

She  had  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  fearing,  as  it 
seemed,  to  look  toward  him.  So  they  remained  for  some 
short  time  in  silence.  Glancing  around  again,  he  asked  at 
length  : 

"  Is  this  your  house  ?  " 

"  It  is.     Why,  in  the  name  of  heaven,  do  you  darken  it  ?  *' 

"  Give  me  meat  and  drink,"  he  answered  sullenly,  "  or  I 


130  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

dare  do  more  than  that.  The  very  marrow  in  my  bones  is 
cold,  with  wet  and  hunger.  I  must  have  warmth  and  food, 
and  I  will  have  them  here." 

"  You  were  the  robber  on  the  Chigwell  road." 

"  I  was." 

**  And  nearly  a  murderer  then." 

"  The  will  was  not  wanting.  There  was  one  came  upon 
me  and  raised  the  hue-and-cry,  that  it  would  have  gone  Jiard 
with,  but  for  his  nimbleness.     I  made  a  thrust  at  him." 

*'  You  thrust  your  sword  at  Aim  /  "  cried  the  widow,  look- 
ing upward.    "  You  hear  this  man  !  you  hear  and  saw  !  " 

He  looked  at  her,  as,  with  her  head  thrown  back  and  her 
hands  tight  clenched  together,  she  uttered  these  words  in  an 
agony  of  appeal.  Then  starting  to  his  feet  as  she  had  done, 
he  advanced  toward  her. 

*'  Beware  "  she  cried,  in  a  suppressed  voice,  whose  firm- 
ness stopped  him  midway.  "  Do  not  so  much  as  touch  me 
with  a  finger,  or  you  are  lost ;  body  and  soul  you  are  lost." 

"  Hear  me,"  he  replied,  menacing- her  with  his  hand.  I, 
that  the  form  of  a  man  live  the  life  of  a  haunted  beast  !  that 
in  the  body  am  a  spirit,  a  ghost  upon  the  earth,  a  thing  from 
which  all  creatures  shrink,  save  those  cursed  beings  of  an- 
other world,  who  will  not  leave  me  ; — I  am  in  my  despera- 
tion of  this  night,  past  all  fear  but  that  of  the  hell  in  which  I 
exist  from  day  to  day.  Give  the  alarm,  cry  out,  refuse  to 
shelter  me.  I  will  not  hurt  you.  But  I  will  not  be  taken 
alive  ;  and  so  surely  as  you  threaten  me  above  your  breath, 
I  fall  a  dead  man  on  this  floor.  The  blood  with  which  I 
sprinkle  it,  be  on  you  and  yours,  in  the  name  of  the  Evil 
Spirit  that  tempts  men  to  their  ruin." 

As  he  spoke  he  took  a  pistol  from  his  breast  and  firmly 
clutched  it  in  his  hand. 

"  Remove  this  man  from  me,  good  heaven  !  "  cried  the 
widow.  "  In  thy  grace  and  mercy  give  him  one  minute's 
penitence,  and  strike  him  dead  !  " 

"It  has  no  such  purpose,"  he  said,  confronting  her.  "  It 
is  deaf.  Give  me  to  eat  and  drink,  lest  I  do  that  it  can  not 
help  my  doing,  and  will  not  do  for  you." 

"  Will  you  leave  me  if  I  do  thus  much  ?  Will  you  leave 
me  and  return  no  more  ?  " 

"  I  will  promise  nothing,"  he  rejoined,  seating  himself  at 
the  table,  "nothing  but  this — I  will  execute  my  threat  if 
you  betray  me." 

She  rose  at  length,  and  going  to  the  closet  or  pantry  in 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  131 

the  room  brought  out  some  fragments  of  cold  meat  and 
bread,  and  put  them  on  the  table.  He  asked  for  brandy 
and  for  water.  These  she  produced  likewise,  and  he  ate 
and  drank  with  the  voracity  of  a  famished  hound.  All  the 
time  he  was  so  engaged  she  kept  at  the  uttermost  distance 
of  the  chamber,  and  sat  there  shuddering,  but  with  her  face 
toward  him.  She  never  turned  her  back  upon  him  once  ; 
and  although  when  she  passed  him  (as  she  was  obliged  to 
in  going  to  and  fro  from  the  cupboard)  she  gathered  the 
skirts  of  her  garment  about  her  as  if  even  its  touching  his 
by  chance  were  horrible  to  think  of,  still,  in  the  midst  of 
all  this  dread  and  terror,  she  kept  her  face  toward  his  own 
and  watched  his  every  movement. 

His  repast  ended — if  that  can  be  called  one,  which  was  a 
mere  ravenous  satisfying  of  the  calls  of  hunger — he  moved 
his  chair  toward  the  fire  again,  and  warming  himself  before 
the  blaze  which  had  now  sprung  brightly  up,  accosted  her 
once  more. 

*'  I  am  an  outcast,  to  whom  a  roof  above  his  head  is  often 
an  uncommon  luxury,  and  the  food  a  beggar  would  reject 
is  delicate  fare.  You  live  here  at  your  ease.  Do  you  live 
alone  ?  " 

"  I  do  not,"  she  made  answer  with  an  effort. 

"  Who  dwells  here  besides  ?  " 

"  One — it  is  no  matter  who.  You  had  best  begone  or  he 
may  find  you  here.     Why  do  you  linger  ? " 

"  For  warmth,"  he  replied,  spreading  out  his  hands  be- 
fore the  fire.     For  warmth.     You  are  rich,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Very,"  she  said  faintly.  "  Very  rich.  No  doubt,  I  am 
very  rich." 

*'  At  least  you  are  not  penniless.  You  have  some  money. 
You  were  making  purchases  to-night." 

*'  I  have  a  little  left.     It  is  but  a  few  shillings." 

*'  Give  me  your  purse.  You  had  it  in  your  hand  at  the 
door.     Give  it  to  me." 

She  stepped  to  the  table  and  laid  it  down.  He  reached 
across,  took  it  up,  and  told  the  contents  in  his  hand.  As 
he  was  counting  them  she  listened  for  a  moment  and  sprung 
toward  him. 

"  Take  what  there  is  ;  take  all ;  take  more  if  more  were 
there  ;  but  go  before  it  is  too  late.  I  have  heard  a  way- 
ward step  without,  I  know  full  well.  It  will  return  directly. 
Begone." 

*'  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 


132  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  Do  not  stop  to  ask.  I  will  not  answer.  Much  as  i 
dread  to  touch  you,  I  would  drag  you  to  the  door  if  I  pos- 
sessed the  strength,  rather  than  you  should  lose  an  instant. 
Miserable  wretch  !  fly  from  this  place." 

"  If  there  are  spies  without,  I  am  safer  here,"  replied  the 
man,  standing  aghast,  "  I  will  remain  here  and  will  not  fly 
till  the  danger  is  past." 

"  It  is  too  late,"  cried  the  widow,  who  had  listened  for  the 
step  and  not  to  him.  **  Hark  to  that  foot  upon  the  ground. 
Do  you  tremble  to  hear  it^     It  is  my  son — my  idiot  son  !  " 

As  she  said  this  wildly,  there  came  a  heavy  knocking  at 
the  door.     He  looked  at  her  and  she  at  him. 

"  Let  him  come  in,"  said  the  man,  hoarsely.  "  I  fear  him 
less  than  the  dark,  houseless  night.  He  knocks  again.  Let 
him  come  in  !  " 

"  The  dread  of  this  hour,"  returned  the  widow,  "  has 
been  upon  me  all  my  life,  and  I  will  not.  Evil  will  fall 
upon  him  if  you  stand  eye  to  eye.  My  blighted  boy  !  Oh  ! 
all  good  angels  who  know  the  truth,  hear  a  poor  mother's 
prayer,  and  spare  my  boy  from  knowledge  of  this  man  !  " 

"  He  rattles  at  the  shutters  !  "  cried  the  man.  "  He  calls 
you.  That  voice  and  cry  !  It  was  he  who  grappled  with 
me  in  the  road.     Was  it  he  ?" 

She  had  sunk  on  her  knees  and  so  kneeled  down,  moving 
her  lips,  but  uttering  no  sound.  As  he  gazed  upon  her,  un- 
certain what  to  do  or  where  to  turn,  the  shutters  flew  open. 
He  had  barely  time  to  catch  a  knife  from  the  table,  sheathe 
it  in  the  loose  sleeve  of  his  coat,  hide  in  the  closet,  and  do 
all  in  the  lightning's  speed,  when  Barnaby  tapped  at  the 
bare  glass  and  raised  the  sash  exultingly. 

*'  Why,  who  can  keep  out  Grip  and  me  !  "  he  cried,  thrust-. 
ing  in  his  head  and  staring  round  the  room.  *'  Are  you 
there,  mother  ?  How  long  you  keep  us  from  the  fire  and 
light." 

She  stammered  some  excuse,  and  tendered  him  her  hand. 
But  Barnaby  sprung  lightly  in  without  assistance,  and  put- 
ting his  arms  about  her  neck,  kissed  her  a  hundred  times. 

*'  We  have  been  a-field,  mother — leaping  ditches,  scram- 
bling through  hedges,  running  down  steep  banks,  up  and 
away,  and  hurrying  on.  The  wind  has  been  blowing,  and 
the  rushes  and  young  plants  bowing  and  bending  to  it,  lest  it 
should  do  them  harm,  the  cowards — and  Grip — ^ha  !  ha  !  ha  ! 
— brave  Grip,  who  cares  for  nothing,  and  when  the  wind  rolls 
him  over  in  the  dust,  turns  manfully  to  bite  it — Grip,  bold 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  133 

Grip,  has  quarreled  with  every  little  bowing  twig — thinking, 
he  told  me,  that  it  mocked  him — and  has  worried  it  like  a 
bull-dog.     Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  " 

The  raven,  in  his  little  basket  at  his  master's  back,  hear- 
ing this  frequent  mention  of  his  name  in  a  tone  of  exultation, 
expressed  his  sympathy  by  crowing  like  a  cock,  and  after- 
ward running  over  his  various  phrases  of  speech  with  such 
rapidity,  and  in  so  many  varieties  of  hoarseness,  that  they 
sounded  like  the  murmurs  of  a  crowd  of  people. 

"  He  takes  such  care  of  me  besides  !  "  said  Barnaby. 
"  Such  care,  mother  !  He  watches  all  the  time  I  sleep,  and 
when  I  shut  my  eyes  and  make  believe  to  slumber,  he  prac- 
tices new  learning  softly  ;  but  he  keeps  his  eye  on  me  the 
while,  and  if  he  sees  me  laugh,  though  never  so  little,  stops 
directly.     He  won't  surprise  me  till  he's  perfect." 

The  raven  crowed  again  in  a  rapturous  manner,  which 
plainly  said, "  Those  are  certainly  some  of  my  characteris- 
tics, and  I  glory  in  them."  In  the  meantime,  Barnaby 
closed  the  window  and  secured  it,  and  coming  to  the  fire- 
place, prepared  to  sit  down  with  his  face  to  the  closet.  But 
his  mother  prevented  this,  by  hastily  taking  that  side  her- 
self, and  motioning  him  toward  the  other. 

"  How  pale  you  are  to-night  !  "  said  Barnaby,  leaning  on  his 
stick.  "  We  have  been  cruel.  Grip,  and  made  her  anxious  !  " 

Anxious  in  good  truth,  and  sick  at  heart !  The  listener 
held  the  door  of  his  hiding-place  open  with  his  hand,  and 
closely  watched  her  son.  Grip — alive  to  every  thing  his 
master  was  unconscious  of — had  his  head  out  of  the  basket, 
and  in  return  was  watching  him  intently  with  his  glistening 
eye. 

"  He  flaps  his  wings,"  said  Barnaby,  turning  almost  quickly 
enough  to  catch  the  retreating  form  and  closing  door,  "  as  if 
there  were  strangers  here,  but  Grip  is  wiser  than  to  fancy 
that.     Jump  then  !  " 

Accepting  this  invitation  with  a  dignity  peculiar  to  him- 
self, the  bird  hopped  up  on  his  master's  shoulder,  from  that 
to  his  extended  hand,  and  so  to  the  ground.  Barnaby,  un- 
strapping the  basket  and  putting  it  down  in  a  corner  with  the 
lid  open,  Grip's  first  care  was  to  shut  it  down  with  all  pos- 
sible dispatch,  and  then  to  stand  upon  it.  Believing,  no 
doubt,  that  he  had  now  rendered  it  utterly  impossible,  and 
beyond  the  power  of  mortal  man,  to  shut  him  up  in  it  any 
more,  he  drew  a  great  many  corks  in  triumph,  and  uttered  a 
corresponding  number  of  hurrahs. 


134  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

**  Mother !  "  said  Barnaby,  laying  aside  his  hat  and  stick, 
and  returning  to  the  chair  from  which  he  had  risen,  **  I'll  tell 
you  where  we  have  been  to-day,  and  what  we  have  been 
doing— shall  I?" 

She  took  his  hand  in  hers,  and  holding  it,  nodded  the  word 
she  could  not  speak. 

"You  mustn't  tell,"  said  Barnaby,  holding  up  his  finger, 
"  for  it's  a  secret,  mind,  and  only  known  to  me,  and  Grip, 
and  Hugh.  We  had  the  dog  with  us,  but  he's  not  like  Grip, 
clever  as  he  is,  and  doesn't  guess  it  yet,  I'll  wager.  Why  do 
you  look  behind  me  so  ?  " 

"  Did  I  ?  "  she  answered,  faintly.  **  I  didn't  know  I  did. 
Come  nearer  me." 

**  You  are  frightened  ! "  said  Barnaby,  changing  color. 
**  Mother — you  don't  see " 

*'  See  what  ? " 

"  There's — there's  none  of  this  about,  is  there  ?  "  he  an- 
swered, in  a  whisper,  drawing  closer  to  her  and  clasping  the 
mark  upon  his  wrist.  "  I  am  afraid  there  is,  somewhere. 
You  make  my  hair  stand  on  end,  and  my  flesh  creep.  Why 
do  you  look  like  that  ?  Is  it  in  the  room  as  I  have  seen  it  in 
my  dreams,  dashing  the  ceiling  and  the  walls  with  red  ?  Tell 
me.     Is  it?" 

He  fell  into  a  shivering  fit  as  he  put  the  question,  and  shut- 
ting out  the  light  with  his  hands,  sat  shaking  in  every  limb 
until  it  had  passed  away.  After  a  time,  he  raised  his  head 
and  looked  about  him. 

"  Is  it  gone  ?" 

"  There  has  been  nothing  here,"  rejoined  his  mother, 
soothing  hmi.  "  Nothing  indeed,  dear  Barnaby.  Look  ! 
You  see  there  are  but  you  and  me." 

He  gazed  at  her  vacantly,  and,  becoming  reassured  by 
degrees,  burst  into  a  wild  laugh. 

"  But  let  us  see,"  he  said,  thoughtfully.  "  We  were  talk- 
ing.    Was  it  you  and  me  ?     Where  have  we  been  ?  " 

*'  Nowhere  but  here." 

*'  Ay,  but  Hugh  and  I,"  said  Barnaby— "  that's  it.  May- 
pole Hugh,  and  I,  you  know,  and  Grip — we  have  been  lying 
in  the  forest,  and  among  the  trees  by  the  road  side,  with  a 
dark  lantern  after  night  came  on,  and  the  dog  in  a  noose 
ready  to  slip  him  when  the  man  came  by." 
"  What  man  ?  " 

"  The  robber  ;  him  that  the  stars  winked  at.  We  have 
waited  for  him  after  dark  these  many  nights,  and  we  shall 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  135 

have  him.  I'd  know  him  in  a  thousand.  Mother,  see  here  ! 
This  is  the  man.     Look  !  " 

He  twisted  his  handkerchief  round  his  head,  pulled  his 
hat  upon  his  brow,  wrapped  his  coat  about  him,  and  stood 
up  before  her  :  so  like  the  original  he  counterfeited,  that  the 
dark  figure  peering  out  behind  him  might  have  passed  for 
his  own  shadow. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  ¥/e  shall  have  him,"  he  cried,  ridding  him- 
self of  the  semblance  as  hastily  as  he  had  assumed  it.  "  You 
shall  see  him,  mother,  bound  hand  and  foot,  and  brought  to 
London  at  a  saddle-girth  ;  and  you  shall  hear  of  him  at  Ty- 
burn Tree  if  we  have  luck.  So  Hugh  says.  You're  pale 
again,  and  trembling.  And  why  do  you  look  behind  me 
so  ? " 

"  It  is  nothing,"  she  answered.  "  I  am  not  quite  well.  Go 
you  to  bed,  dear,  and  leave  me  here." 

"  To  bed  !  "  he  answered.  "  I  don't  like  bed.  I  like  to 
lie  before  the  fire,  watching  the  prospects  in  the  burning 
coals — the  rivers,  hills,  and  dells,  in  the  deep,  red  sunset, 
and  the  wild  faces.  I  am  hungry  too,  and  Grip  has  eaten 
nothing  since  broad  noon.  Let  us  to  supper.  Grip  !  To 
supper,  lad  !  " 

The  raven  flapped  his  wings,  and,  croaking  his  satisfac- 
tion, hopped  to  the  feet  of  his  master,  and  there  held  his 
bill  open,  ready  for  snapping  up  such  lumps  of  meat  as  he 
should  throw  him.  Of  these  he  received  about  a  score  in 
rapid  succession,  without  the  smallest  discomposure. 

'*  That's  all,"  said  Barnaby. 

"  More  !  "  cried  Grip.     "  More  !  " 

But  it  appearing  for  a  certainty  that  no  more  was  to  be 
had,  he  retreated  with  his  store  ;  and  disgorging  the  mor- 
sels one  by  one  from  his  pouch,  hid  them  in  various  corners 
— taking  particular  care,  however,  to  avoid  the  closet,  as 
being  doubtful  of  the  hidden  man's  propensities  and  power 
of  resisting  temptation.  When  he  had  concluded  these  ar- 
rangements, he  took  a  turn  or  two  across  the  room  with  an 
elaborate  assumption  of  having  nothing  on  his  mind  (but 
with  one  eye  hard  upon  his  treasure  all  the  time),  and  then, 
and  not  till  then,  began  to  drag  it  out,  piece  by  piece,  and 
eat  it  with  the  utmost  relish. 

Barnaby,  for  his  part,  having  pressed  his  mother  to  eat,  in 
vain,  made  a  hearty  supper  too.  Once  during  the  progress 
of  his  meal,  he  wanted  more  bread  from  the  closet  and  rose 
to  get  it.     She  hurriedly  interposed  to  prevent  him,  and 


136  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

summoning  her  utmost  fortitude,  passed  into  the  recess,  and 
brought  it  out  herself. 

''  Mother,"  said  Barnaby,  looking  at  her  steadfastly  as  she 
sat  down  beside  him  after  doing  so  ;  "  is  to-day  my  birth- 
day ?" 

''To-day!"  she  answered.  ''Don't  you  recollect  it  was 
but  a  week  or  so  ago,  and  that  summer,  autumn,  and  winter 
has  to  pass  before  it  comes  again  ? " 

"  I  remember  that  it  has  been  so  till  now,"  said  Barnaby. 
"  But  I  think  to-day  must  be  my  birthday  too,  for  all 
that." 

She  asked  him  why?  "  I'll  tell  you  why,"  he  said.  "I 
have  always  seen  you — I  didn't  let  you  know  it,  but  I  have 
— on  the  evening  of  that  day  grow  very  sad.  I  have  seen 
you  cry  when  Grip  and  I  were  most  glad  ;  and  look  fright- 
ened with  no  reason  ;  and  I  have  touched  your  hand,  and 
felt  that  it  was  cold — as  it  is  now.  Once,  mother  (on  a  birth- 
day that  was,  also).  Grip  and  I  thought  of  this  after  we  went 
up-stairs  to  bed,  and  when  it  was  midnight,  striking  one 
o'clock,  we  came  down  to  your  door  to  see  if  you  were  well. 
You  were  on  your  knees.  I  forget  what  it  was  you  said. 
Grip,  what  was  it  we  heard  her  say  that  night.?" 

"I'm  a  devil !  "  rejoined  the  raven  promptly. 

"No,  no,"  said  Barnaby.  "But  you  said  something  i.i  a 
prayer  ;  and  when  you  rose  and  walked  about,  you  looked 
(as  you  have  done  ever  since,  mother,  toward  nigh,  on  my 
birthday)  just  as  you  do  now.  I  have  found  tLat  out  you 
see,  though  I  am  silly.  So  I  say  you're  wrong ;  and  this 
must  be  my  birthday — my  birthday,  G:!^  : '' 

The  bird  received  this  information  with  a  crow  of  such 
duration  as  a  cock,  gifted  with  intelligence  beyond  all  others 
of  his  kind,  might  usher  in  the  longest  day  with.  Then,  as 
if  he  had  well  considered  the  sentiment,  and  regarded  it  as 
opposite  to  birthdays,  he  cried,  "  Never  say  die  !  "  a  great 
many  times,  and  flapped  his  wings  for  emphasis. 

The  widow  tried  to  make  light  of  Barnaby's  remark,  and 
endeavored  to  divert  his  attention  to  some  new  subject ;  too 
easy  a  task  at  all  times,  as  she  knew.  His  supper  done, 
Barnaby,  regardless  of  her  entreaties,  stretched  himself  on 
the  mat  before  the  Are  ;  Grip  perched  upon  his  leg,  and 
divided  his  time  between  dozing  in  the  grateful  warmth,  and 
endeavoring  (as  it  presently  appeared)  to  recall  a  new  ac- 
complishment he  had  been  studying  all  day. 

A  long  and  profound  silence  ensued,  broken  only  by  some 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  137 

change  of  position  on  the  part  of  Barnaby,  whose  eyes  were 
still  wide  open  and  intently  fixed  upon  the  fire  ;  or  by  an 
effort  of  recollection  on  the  part  of  Grip,  who  would  cry  in 
a  low  voice  from  time  to  time,  "  Polly  put  the  ket — "  and 
there  stop  short,  forgetting  the  remainder,  and  go  off  in  a 
doze  again. 

After  a  long  interval,  Barnaby's  breathing  grew  more  deep 
and  regular,  and  his  eyes  were  closed.  But  even  then  the 
imcjuiet  spirit  of  the  raven  interposed,  "  Polly  put  the  ket — " 
cried  Grip,  and  his  master  was  broad  awake  again. 

At  length  Barnaby  slept  soundly,  and  the  bird  with  his  bill 
sunk  upon  his  breast,  his  breast  itself  puffed  out  into  a  com- 
fortable alderman-like  form,  and  his  bright  eye  growing 
smaller  and  sm.aller,  really  seemed  to  be  subsiding  into  a 
state  of  repose.  Now  and  then  he  muttered  in  a  sepulchral 
voice,  "  Polly  put  the  ket — "  but  very  drowsily,  and  more 
like  a  drunken  man  than  a  reflecting  raven. 

The  widow,  scarcely  venturing  to  breathe,  rose  from  her 
seat.  The  man  glided  from  the  closet,  and  extinguished  the 
candle. 

" — tie  on,"  cried  Grip,  suddenly  struck  with  an  idea  and 
very  much  excited.  " — tie  on.  Hurrah!  Polly  put  the 
ket-tle  on,  we'll  all  have  tea  ;  Polly  put  the  ket-tle  on,  we'll 
all  have  tea.  Hurrah,  hurrah,  hurrah  !  I'm  a  devil,  I'm  a 
devil,  I'm  a  ket-tle  on,  keep  up  your  spirits,  never  say  die, 
bow,  wow,  wow,  I'm  a  devil,  I'm  a  ket-tle,  I'm  a — Polly  put 
the  ket-tle  on,  we'll  all  have  tea." 

They  stood  rooted  to  the  ground,  as  though  it  had  been  a 
voice  from  the  grave. 

But  even  this  failed  to  awaken  the  sleeper.  He  turned 
over  toward  the  fire,  his  arm  fell  to  the  ground,  and  his 
head  drooped  heavily  upon  it.  The  widow  and  her  unwel- 
come visitor  gazed  at  him  and  at  e'ach  other  for  a  moment, 
and  then  she  motioned  him  toward  the  door. 

"  Stay,"  he  whispered.     ''  You  teach  your  son  well." 

"  I  have  taught  him  nothing  that  you  heard  to-night.  De- 
part instantly,  or  I  will  rouse  him." 

"  You  are  free  to  do  so.     Shall  /  rouse  him  ?  " 

"  You  dare  not  do  that." 

"  I  dare  do  any  thing,  I  have  told  you.  He  knows  me  well, 
it  seems.     At  least  I  will  know  him." 

"  Would  you  kill  him  in  his  sleep  ?  "  cried  the  widow, 
throwing  herself  between  them. 

"Woman/'  he  returned  between  his  teeth,  as  he  motioned 


138  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

her  aside,  "  I  would  see  him  nearer,  and  I  will.    If  you  want 
one  of  us  to  kill  the  other,  wake  him." 

With  that  he  advanced,  and  bending  down  over  the  pros- 
trate form,  softly  turned  back  the  head  and  looked  into  the 
face.  The  light  of  the  fire  was  upon  it,  and  its  every  linea- 
ment was  revealed  distinctly.  He  contemplated  it  for  a 
brief  space,  and  hastily  uprose. 

*'  Observe,"  he  whispered  in  the  widow's  ear  :  "  In  him, 
of  whose  existence  I  was  ignorant  until  to-night,  I  have  you 
in  my  power.  Be  careful  how  you  use  me.  Be  careful  how 
you  use  me.  I  am  destitute  and  starving,  and  a  wanderer 
upon  the  earth.     I  may  take  a  sure  and  slow  revenge." 

"  There  is  some  dreadful  meaning  in  your  words.  I  do 
not  fathom  it." 

**  There  is  a  meaning  in  them,  and  I  see  you  fathom  it  to 
its  very  depth.  You  have  anticipated  it  for  years  ;  you  have 
told  me  as  much.  I  leave  you  to  digest  it.  Do  not  forget 
my  warning." 

He  pointed,  as  he  left  her,  to  the  slumbering  form,  and 
stealthily  withdrawing,  made  his  way  into  the  street.  She  fell 
on  her  knees  beside  the  sleeper,  and  remained  like  one 
stricken  into  stone,  until  the  tears  which  fear  had  frozen  so 
long,  came  tenderly  to  her  relief. 

"  Oh  Thou,"  she  cried,  "  who  hast  taught  me  such  deep 
love  for  this  one  remnant  of  the  promise  of  a  happy  life,  out 
of  whose  affliction,  even  perhaps  the  comfort  springs  that  he 
is  ever  a  relying,  loving  child  to  me — never  growing  old  or 
cold  at  heart,  but  needing  my  care  and  duty  in  his  manly 
strength  as  in  his  cradle-time— help  him,  in  his  darkened 
walk  through  this  sad  world,  or  he  is  doomed,  and  my  poor 
heart  is  broken  !  " 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

Gliding  along  the  silent  streets,  and  holding  his  course 
where  they  were  darkest  and  most  gloomy,  the  man  who  had 
left  the  widow's  house  crossed  London  Bridge,  and  arriving 
in  the  city,  plunged  into  the  backways,  lanes,  and  courts,  be- 
tween Cornhill  and  Smithfield  ;  with  no  more  fixedness  of 
purpose  than  to  lose  himself  among  their  windings,  and 
baffle  pursuit,  if  any  one  were  dogging  his  steps. 

It  was  the  dead  time  of  the  night,  and  all  was  quiet.  Now 
and  then  a  drowsy  watchman's  footsteps  sounded  on  the  pave- 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  139 

ment,  or  the  lamp-lighter  •on  his  rounds  went  flashing  past, 
leaving  behind  a  little  track  of  smoke  mingled  with  glowing 
morsels  of  his  hot  red  link.  He  hid  himself  even  from  these 
partakers  of  his  lonely  walk,  and  shrinking  in  some  arch  or 
doorway  while  they  passed,  issued  forth  again  when  they 
were  gone  and  so  pursued  his  solitary  way. 

To  be  shelterless  and  alone  in  the  open  country,  hearing 
the  wind  moan  and  watching  for  day  through  the  whole  long 
weary  night ;  to  listen  to  the  falling  rain,  and  crouch  for 
warmth  beneath  the  lee  of  some  old  barn  or  rick,  or  in  the 
hollow  of  a  tree  ;  are  dismal  things — but  not  so  dismal  as 
the  wandering  up  and  down  where  shelter  is,  and  beds  and 
sleepers  are  by  thousands  ;  a  houseless,  rejected  creature. 
To  pace  the  echoing  stones  from  hour  to  hour,  counting  the 
dull  chimes  of  the  clocks  ;  to  watch  the  lights  twinkling  in 
chamber  windows,  to  think  what  happy  forgetfulness  each 
house  shuts  in  ;  that  here  are  children  coiled  together  in 
their  beds,  here  youth,  here  age,  here  poverty,  here  wealth, 
all  equal  in  their  sleep,  and  all  at  rest  ;  to  have  nothing  in 
common  with  the  slumbering  world  around,  not  even  sleep, 
heaven's  gift  to  all  its  creatures,  and  be  akin  to  nothing  but 
despair  ;  to  feel,  by  the  wretched  contrast  with  every  thing 
on  every  hand,  more  utterly  alone  and  cast  away  than  in  a 
trackless  desert ;  this  is  a  kind  of  suffering,  on  which  the 
rivers  of  great  cities  close  full  many  a  time,  and  which  the 
solitude  in  crowds  alone  awakens. 

The  miserable  man  paced  up  and  down  the  streets — so 
long  and  wearisome,  so  like  each  other — and  often  cast  a 
wistful  look  toward  the  east,  hoping  to  see  the  first  faint 
streaks  of  day.  But  obdurate  night  had  yet  possession 
of  the  sky,  and  his  disturbed  and  restless  walk  found  no 
relief. 

One  house  in  a  back  street  was  bright  with  the  cheerful 
glare  of  lights  ;  there  was  the  sound  of  music  in  it  too,  and 
the  tread  of  dancers,  and  there  were  cheerful  voices,  and 
many  a  burst  of  laughter.  To  this  place — to  be  near  some- 
thing that  was  awake  and  glad^-he  returned  again  and  again  ; 
and  more  than  one  of  those  who  left  it  when  the  merri- 
ment was  at  its  height,  felt  it  a  check  upon  their  mirthful 
mood  to  see  him  flitting  to  and  fro  like  an  uneasy  ghost. 
At  last  the  guest?  departed,  one  and  all  ;  and  then  the 
house  was  close  shut  up,  and  became  as  dull  and  silent  as  the 
rest. 

His  wanderings  brought  him  at  one  time  to  the  ^ity  jail. 


I40  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

Instead  of  hastening  from  it  as  a  j^lace  of  ill  omen,  and  one 
he  had  cause  to  shun,  he  sat  down  on  some  steps  hard  by, 
and  resting  his  chin  upon  his  hand,  gazed  upon  its  rough 
and  frowning  walls  as  though  even  they  became  a  refuge  in 
his  jaded  eyes.  He  paced  it  round  and  round,  came  back  to 
the  same  spot,  and  sat  down  again.  He  did  this  often,  and 
once,  with  a  hasty  movement,  crossed  it  where  some  men 
were  watching  in  the  prison  lodge,  and  had  his  foot  upon 
the  steps  as  though  determined  to  accost  them.  But  look- 
ing round  he  saw  that  the  day  began  to  break,  and  failing  in 
his  purpose,  turned  and  fled. 

He  was  soon  in  the  quarter  he  had  lately  traversed,  and 
pacing  to  and  fro  again  as  he  had  done  before.  He  was 
passing  down  a  mean  street,  when  from  an  alley  close  at 
hand  some  shouts  of  revelry  arose,  and  there  came  straggling 
forth  a  dozen  madcaps,  whooping  and  calling  to  each  other, 
who,  parting  noisily,  took  different  ways  and  dispersed  in 
smaller  groups. 

Hoping  that  some  low  place  of  entertainment  which  would 
afford  him  a  safe  refuge  might  be  near  at  hand,  he  turned 
into  this  court  when  they  were  all  gone,  and  looked  about 
for  a  half-opened  door,  or  lighted  window,  or  other  indica- 
tion of  the  place  whence  they  had  come.  It  was  so  pro- 
foundly dark,  however,  and  so  ill-favored,  that  he  con- 
cluded they  had  but  turned  up  there,  missing  their  way,  and 
were  pouring  out  again  when  he  observed  them.  With 
this  impression,  and  finding  there  was  no  outlet  but  that  by 
which  he  had  entered,  he  was  about  to  turn,  when  from 
a  grating  near  his  feet  a  sudden  stream  of  light  appeared, 
and  the  sound  of  talking  came.  He  retreated  into  a  door- 
way to  see  who  these  talkers  were,  and  to  listen  to  them. 

The  light  came  to  the  level  of  the  pavement  as  he  did  this, 
and  a  man  ascended,  bearing  in  his  hand  a  torch.  This  figure 
unlocked  and  held  open  the  grating  as  for  the  passage  of 
another,  who  presently  appeared,  in  the  form  of  a  young  man 
of  small  stature  and  uncommon  self-importance,  dressed  in 
an  obsolete  and  very  gaudy  fashion. 

"  Good-night,  noble  captain,"  said  he  with  the  torch. 
**  Farewell,  commander.     Good  luck,  illustrious  general !  " 

In  return  to  these  compliments  the  other  bade  him  hold 
his  tongue,  and  keep  his  noise  to  himself  ;  and  laid  upon  him 
many  similar  injunctions,  with  great  fluency  of  speech  and 
Sternness  of  manner. 

■*  Commend  me,  captain,  to  the  stricken  Miggs,"  returned 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  141 

the  torch-bearer  in  a  lower  voice.  "My  captain  flies  at 
higher  game  than  Miggses.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  My  captain  is  an 
eagle,  both  as  respects  his  eye  and  soaring  wings.  My 
captain  breaketh  hearts  as  other  bachelors  break  eggs  at 
breakfast." 

"  What  a  fool  you  are,  Stagg  !  "  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  step- 
ping on  the  pavement  of  the  court,  and  brushing  from  his 
legs  the  dust  he  had  contracted  in  his  passage  upward. 

"  His  precious  limbs  !  "  cried  Stagg,  clasping  one  of  his 
ankles.  "  Shall  a  Miggs  aspire  to  these  proportions  !  No,  no, 
my  captain.  We  will  inveigle  ladies  fair,  and  wed  them  in 
our  secret  cavern.  We  will  unite  ourselves  with  blooming 
beauties,  captain." 

"I'll  tell  you  what,  my  buck,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  releas- 
ing his  leg  ;  "  I'll  trouble  you  not  to  take  liberties,  and  not 
to  broach  certain  questions  unless  certain  questions  are 
broached  to  you.  Speak  when  you're  spoken  to  on  partic- 
ular subjects,  and  not  otherways.  Hold  the  torch  up  till  I've 
got  to  the  end  of  the  court,  and  then  kennel  yourself,  do  you 
hear?" 

*'  I  hear  you,  noble  captain." 

"  Obey  then,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit  haughtily.  "  Gentlemen, 
lead  on  !  "  With  which  word  of  command  (addressed  to  an 
imaginary  staff  or  retinue)  he  folded  his  arms,  and  walked 
with  surpassing  dignity  down  the  court. 

His  obsequious  follower  stood  holding  the  torch  above  his 
head,  and  then  the  observer  saw  for  the  first  time,  from  his 
place  of  concealment,  that  he  was  blind.  Some  involuntary 
motion  on  his  part  caught  the  quick  ear  of  the  blind  man, 
before  he  was  conscious  of  having  moved  an  inch  toward 
him,  for  he  turned  suddenly  and  cried,  **  Who's  there  ?  " 

"  A  man,"  said  the  other,  advancing.     "A  friend." 

"  A  stranger  !  "  rejoined  the  blind  man.  "  Strangers  are 
not  my  friends.     What  do  you  do  there  ?  " 

"  I  saw  your  company  come  out,  and  waited  here  till  they 
were  gone.     I  want  a  lodging." 

"  A  lodging  at  this  time  !  "  returned  Stagg,  pointing  toward 
the  dawn  as  though  he  saw  it.  "  Do  you  know  the  day  is 
breaking  ?  " 

"  I  know  it,"  rejoined  the  other,  "  to  my  cost.  I  have 
been  traversing  this  iron-hearted  town  all  night." 

"  You  had  better  traverse  it  again,"  said  the  blind  man, 
preparing  to  descend,  "  till  you  find  some  lodgings  suitable  to 
your  taste.     I  don't  let  any." 


142  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

**  Stay  !  "  cried  the  other,  holding  him  by  the  arm. 
**  I'll  beat  this  light   about   that  hangdog  face    of  yours 
(for  hangdog  it  is,  if  it  answers  to  your  voice),  and  rouse  the 
neighborhood  besides,  if  you  detain  me,"  said  the  blind  man. 
"  Let  me  go.     Do  you  hear  ?  " 

"  Do  you  hear  !  "  returned  the  other,  chinking  a  few  shil- 
lings together,  and  hurriedly  pressing  them  into  his  hand. 
"  I  beg  nothing  of  you.  I  will  pay  for  the  shelter  you  give 
me.  Death.  Is  it  much  to  ask  of  such  as  you  ?  I  have 
come  from  the  country,  and  desire  to  rest  where  there  are 
none  to  question  me.  I  am  faint,  exhausted,  worn  out,  al- 
most dead.  Let  me  lie  down,  like  a  dog,  before  your  fire.  I 
ask  no  more  than  that.  If  you  would  be  rid  of  me,  I  will 
depart  to-morrow." 

"  If  a  gentleman  has  been  unfortunate  on  the  road,"  mut- 
tered Stagg,  yielding  to  the  other,  who  pressing  on  him,  had 
already  gained  a  footing  on  the  steps — "  and  can  pay  for  his 
accommodation — " 

"  I  will  pay  you  with  all  I  have.     I  am  just  now  past  the 
want  of  food,  God  knows,  and  wish  but  to  purchase  shelter. 
What  companion  have  you  below  ?  " 
"  None." 

"  Then  fasten  your  grate  there,  and  show  me  the  way. 
Quick  !  " 

The  blind  man  complied  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  and 
they  descended  together.  The  dialogue  had  passed  as  hur- 
riedly as  the  words  could  be  spoken,  and  they  stood  in  his 
wretched  room  before  he  had  had  time  to  recover  from  his 
first  surprise. 

*'  May  I  see  where  that  door  leads  to,  and  what  is  be- 
yond I  "  said  thf  man,  glancing  keenly  round.  **  You  will 
not  mind  that  ? '' 

"  I  will  show  you  myself.  Follow  me,  or  go  before.  Take 
your  choice." 

He  bade  him  lead  the  way,  and,  by  the  light  of  the  torch 
which  his  conductor  held  up  for  the  purpose,  inspected  all 
three  cellars  narrowly.  Assured  that  the  blind  man  had 
spoken  truth,  and  that  he  lived  there  alone,  the  visitor  re- 
turned with  him  to  the  first,  in  which  a  fire  was  burning, 
and  flung  himself  with  a  deep  groan  upon  the  ground  be- 
fore it. 

His  host  pursued  his  usual  occupation  without  seeming 
to  heed  him  any  further.  But  directly  he  fell  asleep — and 
he  noted  his  falling  into  a  slumber,  as  readily  as  the  keen- 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  143 

est-sighted  man  could  have  done — he  kneeled  down  beside 
him,  and  passed  his  hand  lightly  but  carefully  over  his  face 
and  person. 

His  sleep  was  checkered  with  starts  and  moans,  and 
sometimes  with  a  muttered  word  or  two.  His  hands  were 
clinched,  his  brow  bent,  and  his  mouth  firmly  set.  All  this, 
the  blind  man  accurately  marked  ;  and  as  if  his  curiosity 
were  strongly  awakened,  and  he  had  already  some  inkling 
of  his  mystery,  he  sat  watching  him,  if  the  expression  maybe 
used,  and  listening  until  it  was  broad  day. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Dolly  Varden's  pretty  little  head  was  yet  bewildered  by 
various  recollections  of  the  party,  and  her  bright  eyes  were 
yet  dazzled  by  a  crowd  of  images,  dancing  before  them  like 
motes  in  the  sunbeams,  among  which  the  effigy  of  one  partner 
in  particular  did  especially  figure,  the  same  being  a  young 
coach-maker  (a  master  of  his  own  right)  who  had  given  her 
to  understand,  when  he  handed  her  into  the  chair  at  parting, 
that  it  was  his  fixed  resolve  to  neglect  his  business  from  that 
time,  and  die  slowly  for  the  love  of  her — Dolly's  head,  and 
eyes,  and  thoughts,  and  seven  senses,  were  all  in  a  state  of 
flutter  and  confusion  for  which  the  party  was  accountable, 
although  it  was  now  three  days  old,  when,  as  she  was  sitting 
listlessly  at  breakfast,  reading  all  manner  of  fortunes  (that 
is  to  say,  of  married  and  flourishing  fortunes)  in  the  grounds 
of  her  tea-pot,  a  step  was  heard  in  the  workshop,  and  Mr. 
Edward  Chester  was  descried  through  the  glass  door,  stand- 
ing among  the  rusty  locks  and  keys,  like  love  among  the 
roses — for  which  apt  comparison  the  historian  may  by  no 
means  take  any  credit  to  himself,  the  same  being  the  inven- 
tion, in  a  sentimental  mood,  of  the  chaste  and  modest  Miggs, 
who,  beholding  him  from  the  door-steps  she  was  then  clean- 
ing, did,  in  her  maiden  meditation,  give  utterance  to  the 
simile. 

The  locksmith,  who  happened  at  the  moment  to  have  his 
eyes  thrown  upward  and  his  head  backward,  in  an  intense 
communing  with  Toby,  did  not  see  his  visitor,  until  Mrs. 
Varden,  more  watchful  than  the  rest,  had  desired  Sim  Tap- 
pertit  to  open  the  glass  door  and  give  him  admission — from 
which  untoward  circumstance  the  good  lady  argueS  (for  she 
could  deduce  a  precious  moral  from  the  most  trifling  event) 


144  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

that  to  take  a  draught  of  small  ale  in  the  morning  was  to 
observe  a  pernicious,  irreligious,  and  Pagan  custom,  the 
relish  whereof  should  be  left  to  swine,  and  Satan,  or  at  least 
to  Popish  persons,  and  should  be  shunned  by  the  righteous 
as  a  work  of  sin  and  evil.  She  would  no  doubt  have  pursued 
her  admonition  much  further,  and  would  have  founded  on  it 
a  long  list  of  precious  precepts  of  inestimable  value,  but  tha*-. 
the  young  gentleman  standing  by  in  a  somewhat  uncomfo  - 
table  and  discomfited  manner  while  she  read  her  spouse  tl  is 
lecture,  occasioned  her  to  bring  it  to  a  premature  conclusi  m. 

"  I'm  sure  you'll  excuse  me,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Varden,  ri'  ing 
and  courtesying.  **  Varden  is  so  very  thoughtless,  and  n  ;eds 
so  much  reminding — Sim,  bring  a  chair  here.'' 

Mr.  Tappertit  obeyed,  with  a  flourish  implying  that  h  i  did 
so,  under  protest. 

*'  And  you  can  go,  Sim,"  said  the  locksmith. 

Mr.  Tappertit  obeyed  again,  still  under  protest  ;  and 
betaking  himself  to  the  workshop,  began  seriously  tc  fear 
that  he  might  find  it  necessary  to  poison  his  master,  1  efore 
his  time  was  out. 

In  the  meantime,  Edward  returned  suitable  replies  t  >  Mrs. 
Varden's  courtesies,  and  that  lady  brightened  up  very  much  ; 
so  that  when  he  accepted  a  dish  of  tea  from  the  fair  hands 
of  Dolly,  she  was  perfectly  agreeable. 

"  I  am  sure  if  there's  any  thing  we  can  do— Varde  i,  or  I, 
or  Dolly  either — to  serve  you,  sir,  at  any  time,  yoi  have 
only  to  say  it,  and  it  shall  be  done,"  said  Mrs.  V. 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  I  am  sure,"  returned  Edward. 
"  Yau  encourage  me  to  say  that  1  have  come  here  ?  tOw,  to 
beg  your  good  offices." 

Mrs.  Varden  was  delighted  beyond  measure. 

*'  It  occurred  to  me  that  probably  your  fair  daught«  r  might 
be  going  to  the  Warren,  either  to-day  or  to-morro  v,"  said 
Edward,  glancing  at  Dolly  ;  "  and  if  so,  and  you  w  11  allow 
her  to  take  charge  of  this  letter,  ma'am,  you  will  ob'ige  me 
more  than  I  can  tell  you.  The  truth  is,  that  while  I ;  m  very 
anxious  it  should  reach  its  destination,  I  have  p?  rticular 
reasons  for  not  trusting  it  to  any  other  conveyance ;  so  that 
without  your  help,  I  am  wholly  at  a  loss." 

**  She  was  not  going  that  way,  sir,  either  to-d?y,  or  to- 
morrow, nor  indeed  all  next  week,"  the  lady  grac  ously  re- 
joined, *',but  we  shall  be  very  glad  to  put  ourselv.s  out  of 
the  way  on  your  account,  and  if  you  wish  it,  you  may  de- 
pend upon  its  going  to-day.     You  might  suppose,"  said  Mrs. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  145 

Varden,  frowning  at  her  husband,  "  from  Vardsn's  sitting 
there  so  glum  and  silent,  that  he  objected  to  this  arrange- 
m^ent  ;  but  you  must  not  mind  that,  sir,  if  you  please.  It's 
his  way  at  home.  Out  of  doors,  he  can  be  cheerful  and 
talkative  enough." 

Now,  the  fact  was,  that  the  unfortunate  locksmith,  bless- 
ing his  stars  to  find  his  helpmate  in  such  good-humor,  had 
been  sitting  with  a  beaming  face,  hearing  this  discourse  with 
a  joy  past  all  expression.  Wherefore  this  sudden  attack 
quite  took  him  by  surprise. 

"  My  dear  Martha — "  he  said. 

"  Oh  yes,  I  dare  say,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Varden,  with  a 
smile  of  mingled  scorn  and  pleasantry.  *'  Very  dear  !  We 
all  know  that." 

'*No,  but  my  good  soul,"  said  Gabriel,  '*  you  are  quite 
mistaken.  You  are  indeed.  I  was  delighted  to  find  you  so 
kind  and  ready.  I  waited,  my  dear,  anxiously,  I  assure 
you,  to  hear  what  you  would  say." 

"You  waited  anxiously,"  repeated  Mrs.  V.  "Yes! 
Thank  you,  Varden.  You  waited,  as  you  always  do,  that  I 
might  bear  the  blame,  if  any  came  of  it.  But  I  am  used  to 
it,"  said  the  lady  with  a  kind  of  solemn  titter,  "  and  that's 
my  comfort  !  " 

"  I  give  you  my  word,  Martha — "  said  Gabriel. 

"  Let  me  give  you  my  word,  my  dear,"  interposed  his  wife 
with  a  Christian  smile,  ''  that  such  discussions  as  these  be- 
tween married  people,  are  much  better  left  alone.  There- 
fore, if  you  please,  Varden,  we'll  drop  the  subject.  I  have 
no  wish  to  pursue  it.  I  could.  I  might  say  a  great  deal. 
But  I  would  rather  not.     Pray  don't  say  any  more." 

"  I  don't  want  to  say  any  more,"  rejoined  the  goaded 
locksmith. 

"  Well  then,  don't,"  said  Mrs.  Varden. 

"  Nor  did  I  begin  it,  Martha,"  added  the  locksmith,  good- 
humoredly,  *^  I  must  say  that." 

"  You  did  not  begin  it,  Varden  !  "  exclaimed  his  wife, 
opening  her  eyes  wide  and  looking  round  upon  the  company, 
as  though  she  would  say.  You  hear  this  man  !  "  You  did 
not  begin  it,  Varden  !  But  you  shall  not  say  I  was  out  of 
temper.  No,  you  did  not  begin  it,  oh  dear  no,  not  you,  my 
dear  !  " 

"Well,  well,"  said  the  locksmith.     "  That's  settled  then." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  rejoined  his  wife,  "quite.     If  you  like  to  say 

Polly  began  it,  my  dear,  I  shall  not  contradict  you.     I  know 


146  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

my  duty.  I  need  know  it,  I  am  sure.  I  am  often  obliged 
to  bear  it  in  mind,  when  my  inclination  perhaps  would  be 
for  the  moment  to  forget  it.  Thank  you,  Varden."  And 
so,  with  a  mighty  show  of  humility  and  forgiveness,  she 
folded  her  hands,  and  looked  round  again,  with  a  smile 
which  plainly  said  *'  If  you  desire  to  see  the  first  and  fore- 
most among  female  martyrs,  here  she  is,  on  view  !  " 

This  little  incident,  illustrative  though  it  was  of  Mrs. 
Varden's  extraordinary  sweetness  and  amiability,  had  so 
strong  a  tendency  to  check  the  conversation  and  to  discon- 
cert all  parties  but  that  excellent  lady,  that  only  a  few 
monosyllables  were  uttered  until  Edward  withdrew  ;  which 
he  presently  did,  thanking  the  lady  of  the  house  a  great 
many  times  for  her  condescension,  and  whispering  in  Dolly's 
ear  that  he  would  call  on  the  morrow,  in  case  there  should 
hapf)en  to  be  an  answer  to  the  note — which,  indeed,  she 
knew  without  his  telling,  as  Barnaby  and  his  friend  Grip 
had  dropped  in  on  the  previous  night  to  prepare  her  for  the 
visit  which  was  then  terminating. 

Gabriel,  who  had  attended  Edward  to  the  door,  came  back 
with  his  hands  in  his  pocket  ;  and,  after  fidgeting  about  the 
room  in  a  very  uneasy  manner,  and  casting  a  great  many 
sidelong  looks  at  Mrs.  Varden  (who  with  the  calmest 
countenance  in  the  world  was  five  fathoms  deep  in  the  Prot- 
estant Manual),  inquired  of  Dolly  how  she  meant  to  go. 
Dolly  supposed  by  the  stage-coach,  and  looked,  at  her  lady 
mother,  who  finding  herself  silently  appealed  to,  dived  down 
at  least  another  fathom  into  the  Manual,  and  became  uncon- 
scious of  all  earthly  things. 

**  Martha — "  said  the  locksmith. 

"  I  hear  you,  Varden,"  said  his  wife,  without  rising  to  the 
surface. 

"  I  am  sorry,  my  dear,  you  have  such  an  objection  to 
the  Maypole  and  old  John,  for  otherways  as  it's  a  very  fine 
morning,  and  Saturday's  not  a  busy  day  with  us,  we  might 
have  all  three  gone  to  Chigwell  in  the  chaise,  and  had  quite 
a  happy  day  of  it." 

Mrs.  Varden  immediately  closed  the  Manual,  and  burst- 
ing into  tears,  requested  to  be  led  up-stairs. 

"  What  is  the  matter  now,  Martha?"  inquired  the  lock- 
smith. 

To  which  Martha  rejoined,  "Oh!  don't  speak  to  mc," 
and  protested  in  agony  that  if  any  body  had  told  her  sOj 
she  wouldn't  have  believed  it. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  147 

"  But,  Martha,"  said  Gabriel,  putting  himself  in  the  way 
as  she  was  moving  off  with  the  aid  of  Dolly's  shoulder, 
"  wouldn't  have  believed  what  ?  Tell  me  what's  wrong  now. 
Do  tell  me.  Upon  my  soul  I  don't  know.  T>o  you  know, 
child  ?  Damme  !  "  cried  the  locksmith,  plucking  at  his  wig 
in  a  kind  of  frenzy,  "nobody  does  know,  I  verily  believe, 
but  Miggs  !  " 

"  Miggs,"  said  Mrs.  Varden  faintly,  and  with  symptoms 
of  approaching  incoherence,  "  is  attached  to  me,  and  that 
is  sufficient  to  draw  down  hatred  upon  her  in  this  house. 
She  is  a  comfort  to  me,  whatever  she  may  be  to  others." 

"She's  no  comfort  to  me,"  cried  Gabriel,  made  bold  by 
despair.  "  She's  the  misery  of  my  life.  She's  all  the 
plagues  of  Egypt  in  one." 

"  She's  considered  so,  I  have  no  doubt,"  said  Mrs.  Varden. 
"  I  was  prepared  for  that  ;  it's  natural  ;  it's  of  a  piece  with  the 
rest.  When  you  taunt  me  as  you  do  to  my  face,  how  can  I 
wonder  that  you  taunt  her  behind  her  back  !  "  And  here 
the  incoherence  coming  on  very  strong,  Mrs.  Varden  wept, 
and  laughed,  and  sobbed,  and  shivered,  and  hiccoughed,  and 
choked  ;  and  said  she  knew  it  was  very  foolish  but  she 
couldn't  help  it  ;  and  that  when  she  was  dead  and  gone,  per- 
haps they  would  be  sorry  for  it — which  really  under  the  cir- 
cumstances did  not  appear  quite  so  probable  as  she  seemed 
to  think — with  a  great  deal  more  to  the  same  effect.  In  a 
word,  she  passed  with  great  decency  through  all  the  cere- 
monies incidental  to  such  occasions  ;  and  being  supported 
up-stairs,  was  deposited  in  a  highly  spasmodic  state  on  her 
own  bed,  where  Miss  Miggs  shortly  afterward  flung  herself 
upon  the  body. 

The  philosophy  of  all  this  was,  that  Mrs.  Varden  wanted 
to  go  to  Chigwell  ;  that  she  did  not  want  to  make  any  con- 
cession or  explanation  ;  that  she  would  only  go  on  being 
implored  and  entreated  so  to  do  ;  and  that  she  would  accept 
no  other  terms.  Accordingly,  after  a  vast  amount  of  moan- 
ing and  crying  up-stairs,  and  much  damping  of  foreheads, 
and  vinegaring  of  temples,  and  hartshorning  of  noses,  and 
so  forth  ;  and  after  most  pathetic  adjurations  from  Miggs, 
assisted  by  warm  brandy-and-water  not  over-weak,  and 
divers  other  cordials,  also  of  a  stimulating  quality,  adminis- 
tered at  first  in  teaspoonfuls  and  afterward  in  increasing 
doses  and  of  which  Miss  Miggs  herself  partook  as  a  prevent- 
ive measure  (for  fainting  is  infectious)  ;  after  all  these  rem- 
edies, and  many  more  too  numerous  to  mention,  but  not  to 


148  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

take,  had  been  applied  ;  and  many  verbal  consolations,  moral, 
religious,  and  miscellaneous,  had  been  superadded  thereto  ; 
the  locksmith  humbled  himself,  and  the  end  was  gained. 

"  If  it's  only  for  the  sake  of  peace  and  quietness,  father," 
said  Dolly,  urging  him  to  go  up-stairs. 

"  Oh,  Doll,  Doll,"  said  her  good-natured  father,  "  If  you 
ever  have  a  husband  of  your  own — " 

Dolly  glanced  at  the  glass. 

" — Well,  w/ie/i  you  have,"  said  the  locksmith,  "  never  faint, 
my  darling.  More  domestic  unhappiness  has  come  of  easy 
fainting,  Doll,  than  from  all  the  greater  passions  put  together. 
Remember  that,  my  dear,  if  you  would  be  really  happy, 
which  you  never  can  be,  if  your  husband  isn't.  And  a  word 
in  your  ear,  my  precious.  Never  have  a  Miggs  about 
you  !  " 

With  this  advice  he  kissed  his  blooming  daughter  on  the 
cheek,  and  slowly  repaired  to  Mrs.  Varden's  room  ;  where 
that  lady,  lying  all  pale  and  languid  on  her  couch,  was 
refreshing  herself  with  a  sight  of  her  last  new  bonnet,  which 
Miggs,  as  a  means  of  calming  her  scattered  spirits,  displayed 
to  the  best  advantage  at  her  bedside. 

"  Here's  master,  mim,"  said  Miggs.  "  Oh,  what  a  happi- 
ness it  is  when  man  and  wife  come  round  again  !  Oh  gra- 
cious, to  think  that  him  and  her  should  ever  have  a  word 
together  !  "  In  the  energy  of  these  sentiments,  which  were 
uttered  as  an  apostrophe  to  the  heavens  in  general.  Miss 
Miggs  perched  the  bonnet  on  the  top  of  her  own  head,  and 
folding  her  hands,  turned  on  her  tears. 

"  I  can't  help  it,"  cried  Miggs.  "  I  couldn't,  if  I  was  to  be 
drownded  in  'em.  She  has  such  a  forgiving  spirit !  She'll 
forget  all  that  has  passed,  and  go  along  with  you,  sir — Oh,  if 
it  was  to  the  world's  end,  she'd  go  along  with  you." 

Mrs.  Varden  with  a  faint  smile  gently  reproved  her  attend- 
ant for  this  enthusiasm,  and  reminded  her  at  the  same  time 
that  she  was  far  too  unwell  to  venture  out  that  day. 

"  Oh  no,  you're  not,  mim,  indeed  you're  not,"  said  Miggs  • 
"  I  repeal  to  master  ;  master  knows  you're  not,  mim.  The 
hair,  and  motion  of  the  shay,  vn^IU  do  you  good,  mim,  and 
you  must  not  give  way,  you  must  not  raly.  She  must  keep 
up,  mustn't  she,  sir,  for  all  our  sakes  ?  I  was  a-telling  her 
that,  just  now.  She  must  remember  us,  even  if  she  forgets 
herself.  Master  will  persuade  you,  mim,  I'm  sure.  There's 
Miss  Dolly's  a-going  you  know,  and  master,  and  you,  and  all 
so  happy  and  so  comfortable.    Oh  !  "  cried  Miggs,  turning  on 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  149 

the  tears  again  previous  to  quitting  the  room  in  great  emo- 
tion, '*  I  never  see  ^uch  a  blessed  one  as  she  is  for  the  for- 
giveness of  her  spirit,  I  never,  never,  never,  did.  Nor  more 
did  master  neither  ;  no,  nor  no  one — never  !  " 

For  five  minutes  or  thereabouts,  Mrs.  Varden  remained 
mildly  opposed  to  all  her  husband's  prayers  that  she  would 
oblige  him  by  taking  a  day's  pleasure,  but  relenting  at  length, 
she  suffered  herself  to  be  persuaded,  and  granting  him  her 
free  forgiveness  (the  merit  whereof,  she  meekly  said,  rested 
with  the  Manual  and  not  with  her),  desired  that  Miggs  might 
come  and  help  her  dress.  The  handmaid  attended  promptly, 
and  it  is  but  justice  to  their  joint  exertions  to  record  that, 
when  the  good  lady  came  down  stairs  in  course  of  time, 
completely  decked  out  for  the  journey,  she  really  looked  as 
if  nothing  had  happened,  and  appeared  in  the  very  best 
health  imaginable. 

As  to  Dolly,  there  she  was  again,  the  very  pink  and  pattern 
of  good  looks,  in  a  smart  little  cherry-colored  mantle,  with  a 
hood  of  the  same  drawn  over  her  head,  and  upon  the  top  of 
that  hood,  a  little  straw  hat  trimmed  with  cherry-colored  rib- 
bons, and  worn  the  merest  trifle  on  one  side — just  enough 
in  short  to  make  it  the  wickedest  and  most  provoking  head- 
dress 'that  ever  malicious  milliner  devised.  And  not  to 
speak  of  the  manner  in  which  these  cherry-colored  decora- 
tions brightened  her  eyes,  or  vied  with  her  lips,  or  shed  a 
new  bloom  on  her  face,  she  wore  such  a  cruel  little  muff, 
and  such  a  heart-rending  pair  of  shoes,  and  was  so  sur- 
rounded and  hemmed  in,  as  it  were,  by  aggravations  of  all 
kinds,  that  when  Mr.  Tappertit,  holding  the  horse's  head, 
saw  her  come  out  of  the  house  alone,  such  impulses  came 
over  him  to  decoy  her  into  the  chaise  and  drive  off  like  mad, 
that  he  would  unquestionably  have  done  it,  but  for  certain 
uneasy  doubts  besetting  him  as  to  the  shortest  way  to  Gretna 
Green  ;  whether  it  was  up  the  street  or  down,  or  up  the  right- 
hand  turning  or  the  left  ;  and  whether,  supposing  all  the 
turnpikes  to  be  carried  by  storm,  the  blacksmith  in  the  end 
would  marry  them  on  credit  ;  which  by  reason  of  his  cleri- 
cal office  appeared,  even  to  his  excited  imagination,  so  un- 
likely, that  he  hesitated.  And  while  he  stood  hesitating, 
and  looking  post-chaises-and-six  at  Dolly,  out  came  his  mas- 
ter and  his  mistress,  and  the  constant  Miggs,  and  the  oppor- 
tunity was  gone  forever.  For  now  the  chaise  creaked  upon 
its  springs,  and  Mrs.  Varden  was  inside  ;  and  now  it  creaked 
again,  and  more  than   ever,  and  the  locksmith  was  inside  ; 


150  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

and  now  it  bounded  once,  as  if  its  heart  beat  lightly,  and 
Dolly  was  inside  ;  and  now  it  was  gone  and  its  place  was 
empty,  and  he  and  that  dreary  Miggs  were  standing  in  the 
street  together. 

The  hearty  locksmith  was  in  as  good  a  humor  as  if  noth- 
ing had  occurred  for  the  last  twelve  months  to  put  him  out  of 
his  way,  Dolly  was  all  smiles  and  graces,  and  Mrs.  Varden 
was  agreeable  beyond  all  precedent.  As  they  jogged  through 
the  streets  talking  of  this  thing  and  that,  who  should  be  de- 
scried upon  the  pavement  but  that  very  coach-maker,  look- 
ing so  genteel  that  nobody  would  have  believed  he  had  any 
thing  to  do  with  a  coach  but  riding  in  it,  and  bowing  like 
any  nobleman.  To  be  sure  Dolly  was  confused  when  she 
bowed  again,  and  to  be  sure  the  cherry-colored  ribbons  trem- 
bled a  little  when  she  met  his  mournful  eye,  which  seemed  to 
say,  "  I  have  kept  my  word,  I  have  begun,  the  business  is 
going  to  the  devil,  and  you're  the  cause  of  it."  There  he 
stood,  rooted  to  the  ground  ;  as  Dolly  said,  like  a  statue  ; 
and  as  Mrs.  Varden  said,  like  a  pump  ;  till  they  turned  the 
corner :  and  when  the  father  thought  it  was  like  his  impu- 
dence, and  her  mother  wondered  what  he  meant  by  it,  Dolly 
blushed  again  till  her  very  hood  was  pale. 

But  on  they  went,  not  the  less  merrily  for  this,  and  there 
was  the  locksmith  in  the  incautious  fullness  of  his  heart 
''  pulling  up"  at  all  manner  of  places,  and  evincing  a  most 
intimate  acquaintance  with  all  the  taverns  on  the  road,  and 
all  the  landlords  and  all  the  landladies,  with  whom,  indeed, 
the  little  horse  was  on  equally  friendly  terms,  for  he  kept 
on  stopping  of  his  own  accord.  Never  were  people  so  glad 
to  see  other  people  as  these  landlords  and  landladies  were 
to  behold  Mr.  Varden  and  Mrs.  Varden  and  Miss  Varden  , 
and  wouldn't  they  get  out,  said  one  ,  and  they  really  must 
walk  up-stairs,  said  another  ;  and  she  would  take  it  ill  and 
be  quite  certain  they  were  proud  if  they  wouidn  t  have  a 
little  taste  of  something,  said  a  third  and  so  on,  that 
it  was  really  quite  a  progress  rather  than  a  ride,  and 
one  continued  scene  of  hospitality  from  beginning  to  end. 
It  vv^as  pleasant  enough  to  be  held  in  such  esteem,  not  to 
mention  the  refreshments  ;  so  Mrs.  Varden  said  nothing  at 
the  time,  and  was  all  affability  and  delight — but  such  a  body 
of  evidence  as  she  collected  against  the  unfortunate  lock- 
smith that  day,  to  be  used  thereafter  as  occasion  might 
require,  never  was  got  together  for  macrimonial  pur- 
poses. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  151 

In  course  of  time,  and  in  the  course  of  a  pretty  long  time 
too,  for  these  agreeable  interruptions  delayed  them  not  a  lit- 
tle— they  arrived  upon  the  skirts  of  the  forest,  and  riding 
pleasantly  on  among  the  trees,  came  at  last  to  the  Maypole, 
where  the  locksmith's  cheerful  "  Yoho  !  "  speedily  brought 
to  the  porch  old  John,  and  after  him  young  Joe,  both  of 
whom  were  so  transfixed  at  sight  of  the  ladies,  that  for  a 
moment  they  were  perfectly  unable  to  give  them  any  wel- 
come, and  could  do  nothing  but  stare. 

It  was  only  for  a  moment,  however,  that  Joe  forgot  him- 
self, for,  speedily  reviving,  he  thrust  his  drowsy  father  aside 
— to  Mr.  Willet's  mighty  and  inexpressible  indignation — and 
darting  out,  stood  ready  to  help  them  to  alight.  It  was  nec- 
essary for  Dolly  to  get  out  first.  Joe  had  her  in  his  arms  ; 
— yes,  though  for  a  space  of  time  no  longer  than  you  could 
count  one  in,  Joe  had  her  in  his  arms.  Here  was  a  glimpse 
of  happiness  ! 

It  would  be  difficult  to  describe  what  a  flat  and  common- 
place affair  the  helping  Mrs.  Varden  out  afterward  was,  but 
Joe  did  it,  and  did  it  too  with  the  best  grace  in  the  world. 
Then  old  John,  who,  entertaining  a  dull  and  foggy  sort  of 
idea  that  Mrs.  Varden  wasn't  fond  of  him,  had  been  in  some 
doubt  whether  she  might  not  have  come  for  purposes  of  as- 
sault and  battery,  took  courage,  hoped  she  was  well,  and 
offered  to  conduct  her  into  the  house.  This  tender  be- 
ing amicably  received,  they  marched  in  together  ;  Joe  and 
Dolly  followed,  arm-in-arm,  (happiness  again  !)  and  Varden 
brought  up  the  rear. 

Old  John  would  have  it  that  they  must  sit  in  the  bar,  and 
nobody  objecting,  into  the  bar  they  went.  All  bars  are 
snug  places,  but  the  Maypole's  was  the  very  snuggest,  coziest, 
and  completest  bar,  that  ever  the  wit  of  man  devised.  Such 
amazing  bottles  in  old  oaken  pigeon-holes  ;  such  gleaming 
tankards  dangling  from  pegs  at  about  the  same  inclination 
as  thirsty  men  would  hold  them  to  their  lips  ;  such  sturdy 
little  Dutch  kegs  ranged  in  rows  on  shelves  ;  so  many  lemons 
hanging  in  separate  nets,  and  forming  the  fragrant  grove 
already  mentioned  in  this  chronicle,  suggestive,  with  goodly 
loaves  of  snowy  sugar  stowed  away  hard  by,  of  punch,  ideal- 
ized beyond  all  mortal  knowledge  ;  such  closets,  such  presses, 
such  drawers  full  of  pipes,  such  places  for  putting  things 
away  in  hollow  window-seats,  all  crammed  to  the  throat  with 
eatables,  drinkables,  or  savory  condiments  ;  lastly,  and  to 
crown  all,  as  typical  of  the  immense  resources  of  the  estab- 


152  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

lishment,  and  its  defiances  to  all  visitors  to  cut  and  come 
again,  such  a  stupendous  cheese  ! 

It  is  a  poor  heart  that  never  rejoices — it  must  have  been 
the  poorest,  weakest,  and  most  watery  heart  that  ever  beat, 
which  would  not  have  warmed  toward  the  Maypole  bar. 
Mrs.  Varden's  did  directly.  She  could  no  more  have  re- 
proached John  Willet  among  those  household  gods,  the  kegs 
and  bottles,  lemons,  pipes,  and  cheese,  than  she  could  have 
stabbed  him  with  his  own  bright  carving-knife.  The  order 
for  dinner  too — it  might  have  soothed  a  savage.  "  A  bit  of 
fish,"  said  John  to  the  cook,  "  and  some  lamb  chops 
(breaded,  with  plenty  of  ketchup),  and  a  good  salad,  and 
a  roast  spring  chicken,  with  a  dish  of  sausages  and  mashed 
potatoes,  or  something  of  that  sort."  Something  of  that 
sort !  The  resources  of  these  inns  !  To  talk  carelessly 
about  dishes,  which  in  themselves  were  a  first-rate  holiday 
kind  of  dinner,  suitable  to  one's  wedding-day,  as  something 
of  that  sort  :  meaning,  if  you  can't  get  a  spring  chicken, 
any  other  trifle  in  the  way  of  poultry  will  do — such  as  a 
peacock,  perhaps  !  The  kitchen  too,  with  its  great  broad 
cavernous  chimney  ;  the  kitchen,  where  nothing  in  the  way 
of  cookery  seemed  impossible  ;  where  you  could  believe  in 
any  thing  to  eat,  they  chose  to  tell  you  of.  Mrs.  Varden 
returned  from  the  contemplation  of  these  wonders  to  the  bar 
again,  with  a  head  quite  dizzy  and  bewildered.  Her  house- 
keeping capacity  was  not  large  enough  to  comprehend  them. 
She  was  obliged  to  go  to  sleep.  Waking  was  pain,  in  the 
midst  of  such  immensity. 

Dolly,  in  the  meanwhile,  Avhose  gay  heart  and  head  ran 
upon  other  matters,  passed  out  at  the  garden  door,  and 
glancing  back  now  and  then  (but  of  course  not  wondering 
whether  Joe  saw  her),  tripped  away  by  a  path  across  the 
fields  with  which  she  was  well  acquainted,  to  discharge  her 
mission  at  the  Warren  ;  and  this  deponent  hath  been  in- 
formed and  verily  believes,  that  you  might  have  seen  many 
less  pleasant  objects  than  the  cherry-colored  mantle  and 
ribbons  as  they  went  fluttering  along  the  green  meadows  in 
the  bright  light  of  the  day,  like  giddy  things  as  they  were. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

The  proud  consciousness  of  her  trust,  and  the  great  im- 
portance she  derived  from  it,  might  have  advertised  it  to  all 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  153 

the  house  if  she  had  had  to  run  the  gauntlet  of  its  inhabi- 
tants ;  but  as  Dolly  had  played  in  every  dull  room  and  pas- 
sage many  and  many  a  time,  when  a  child,  and  had  ever 
since  been  the  humble  friend  of  Miss  Haredale,  whose  foster- 
sister  she  was,  she  was  as  free  of  the  building  as  the  young 
lady  herself.  So,  using  no  greater  precaution  than  holding 
her  breath  and  walking  on  tip-toe  as  she  passed  the 
library  door,  she  went  straight  to  Emma's  room  as  a  priv- 
ileged visitor. 

It  was  the  liveliest  room  in  the  building.  The  chamber 
was  somber  like  the  rest  for  the  matter  of  that,  but  the  pres- 
ence of  youth  and  beauty  would  make  a  prison  cheerful 
(saving  alas  !  that  confinement  withers  them),  and  lend 
some  charms  of  their  own  to  the  gloomiest  scene.  Birds, 
flowers,  books,  drawing,  music,  and  a  hundred  such  graceful 
tokens  of  feminine  loves  and  cares,  filled  it  with  more  of  life 
and  human  sympathy  than  the  whole  house  besides  seemed 
made  to  hold.  There  was  heart  in  the  room  ;  and  who 
that  has  a  heart,  ever  fails  to  recognize  the  silent  presence 
of  another  ! 

Dolly  had  one  undoubtedly,  and  it  was  not  a  tough  one 
either,  though  there  was  a  little  mist  of  coquettishness  about 
it,  such  as  sometimes  surrounds  that  sun  of  life  in  its  morn- 
ing, and  slightly  dims  its  luster.  Thus,  when  Emma  rose  to 
greet  her,  and  kissing  her  affectionately  on  the  cheek,  told 
her,  in  her  quiet  way,  that  she  had  been  very  unhappy,  the 
tears  stood  in  Dolly's  eyes,  and  she  felt  more  sorry  than  she 
could  tell  ;  but  next  moment  she  happened  to  raise  them  to 
the  glass,  and  really  there  was  something  there  so  exceed- 
ingly agreeable,  that  as  she  sighed,  she  smiled,  and  felt  sur- 
prisingly consoled. 

"  I  have  heard  about  it,  miss,"  said  Dolly,  "  and  it's  very 
sad  indeed,  but  when  things  are  at  the  worst  they  are  sure 
to  mend." 

"  But  are  you  sure  they  are  at  the  worst  ?  "  asked  Emma 
with  a  smile. 

"  Why,  I  donl  see  how  they  can  very  well  be  more  un- 
promising than  they  are  ;  I  really  don't,"  said  Dolly.  ''  And 
I  bring  something  to  begin  with." 

"  Not  from   Edward  ?  " 

Dolly  nodded  and  smiled,  and  feeling  in  her  pockets 
(there  were  pockets  in  those  days)  with  an  affectation  of  not 
being  able  to  find  what  she  wanted,  which  greatly  enhanced 
her  importance,  at  length   produced  the  letter.     As  Emma 


154  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

hastily  broke  the  seal,  and  became  absorbed  in  its  contents, 
Dolly's  eyes,  by  one  of  those  strange  accidents  for  which 
there  is  no  accounting,  wandered  to  the  glass  again.  She 
could  not  help  wondering  whether  the  coach-maker  suffered 
very  much,  and  quite  pitied  the  poor  man. 

It  was  a  long  letter — a  very  long  letter,  written  close  on 
all  four  sides  of  the  sheet  of  paper,  and  crossed  afterward  ; 
but  it  was  not  a  consolatory  letter,  for  as  Emma  read  it  she 
stopped  from  time  to  time  to  put  her  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes.  To  be  sure  Dolly  marveled  greatly  to  see  her  in  so 
much  distress,  for  to  her  thinking  a  love  affair  ought  to  be 
one  of  the  best  jokes,  and  the  slyest,  merriest  kind  of  thing 
in  life.  But  she  set  it  down  in  her  own  mind  that  all  this 
came  from  Miss  Hardale's  being  so  constant,  and  that  if 
she  would  only  take  on  with  some  other  young  gentleman 
— just  in  the  most  innocent  way  possible,  to  keep  her  first 
lover  up  to  the  mark — she  would  find  herself  inexpressibly 
comforted. 

*'  I  am  sure  that's  what  I  should  do  if  it  was  me,"  thought 
Dolly.  *'  To  make  one's  sweetheart  miserable  is  well  enough 
and  quite  right,  but  to  be  made  miserable  one's  self  is  a  little 
too  much  !  " 

However  it  wouldn't  do  to  say  so,  and  therefore  she  sat 
looking  on  in  silence.  She  needed  a  pretty  considerable 
stretch  of  patience,  for  when  the  long  letter  had  been  read 
once  all  through  it  was  read  again,  and  when  it  had  been 
read  twice  all  through  it  was  read  again.  During  this 
tedious  process,  Dolly  beguiled  the  time  in  the  most  improv- 
ing manner  that  occurred  to  her,  by  curling  her  hair  on  her 
fingers,  with  the  aid  of  the  looking-glass  before  mentioned, 
and  giving  it  some  killing  twists. 

Every  thing  has  an  end.  Even  young  ladies  in  love  can 
not  read  their  letters  forever.  In  course  of  time  the  packet 
was  folded  up,  and  it  only  remained  to  write  the  answer. 

But  as  this  promised  to  be  a  work  of  time  likewise,  Emma 
said  she  would  put  it  off  until  after  dinner,  and  that  Dolly 
must  dine  with  her.  As  Dolly  had  made  up  her  mind  to  do  so 
beforehand,  she  required  very  little  pressing  ;  and  when  they 
had  settled  this  point,  they  went  to  walk  in  the  garden. 

They  strolled  up  and  down  the  terrace  walks,  talking  in- 
cessantly— at  least  Dolly  never  left  off  once — and  making 
that  quarter  of  the  sad  and  mournful  house  quite  gay.  Not 
that  they  talked  loudly  or  laughed  much,  but  they  were  both 
so  very  handsome,  and  it  was  such  a  breezy  day,  and  the  light 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  155 

dresses  and  dark  curls  appeared  so  free  and  joyous  in  theii 
abandonment,  and  Emma  was  so  fair,  and  Dolly  so  rosy, 
and  Emma  so  delicately  shaped,  and  Dolly  so  plump,  and 
— in  short,  there  are  no  flowers  for  any  garden  like  such 
flowers,  let  horticulturists  say  what  they  may,  and  both 
house  and  garden  seemed  to  know  it,  and  to  brighten  up 
sensibly. 

After  this,  came  the  dinner  and  the  letter  writing,  and 
some  more  talking,  in  the  course  of  which  Miss  Haredale 
took  occasion  to  charge  upon  Dolly  certain  flirtish  and  in- 
constant propensities,  which  accusations  Dolly  seemed  to 
think  very  complimentary  indeed,  and  to  be  mightily  amused 
with.  Finding  her  quite  incorrigible  in  this  respect,  Emma 
suffered  her  to  depart  ;  but  not  before  she  had  confided  to 
her  that  important  and  never-sufficiently-to-be-taken-care-of 
answer,  and  endowed  her  moreover  with  a  pretly  little  brace- 
let as  a  keepsake.  Having  clasped  it  on  her  arm,  and  again 
advised  her  half  in  jest  and  half  in  earnest  to  amend  her 
roguish  ways,  for  she  knew  she  was  fond  of  Joe  at  heart 
(which  Dolly  stoutly  denied,  with  a  great  many  haughty  prot- 
estations that  she  hoped  she  could  do  better  than  that  in- 
deed !  and  so  forth),  she  bade  her  farewell  ;  and  after  call- 
ing her  back  to  give  her  more  supplementary  messages  for 
Edward,  than  any  body  with  tenfold  the  gravity  of  Dolly 
Varden  could  be  reasonably  expected  to  remember,  at 
length  dismissed  her. 

Dolly  bade  her  good-by,  and  tripping  lightly  down  the 
stairs  arrived  at  the  dreaded  library  door,  and  was  about  to 
pass  it  again  on  tiptoe,  when  it  opened,  and  behold  !  there 
stood  Mr.  Haredale.  Now,  Dolly  had  from  her  childhood 
associated  with  this  gentleman  the  idea  of  something  grim 
and  ghostly,  and  being  at  the  moment  conscience-stricken 
besides,  the  sight  of  him  threw  her  into  such  a  flurry  that 
she  could  neither  acknowledge  his  presence  nor  run  away^ 
so  she  gave  a  great  start,  and  then  with  downcast  eyes  stood 
still  and  trembled. 

**  Come  here,  girl,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  taking  her  by  the 
hand.     "  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  I  am  in  a  hurry,"  faltered  Dolly,  "  and 
— you  have  frightened  me  by  coming  so  suddenly  upon  me, 
sir — I  would  rather  go,  sir,  if  you'll  be  so  good  as  to  let  me." 

"  Immediately,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  who  had  by  this  time 
led  her  into  the  room  and  closed  the  door.  "  You  shall  go 
directly.     You  have  just  lett  Emma  r  " 


156  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  Yes,  sir,  just  this  minute.  Father's  waiting  for  me,  sir, 
if  you'll  please  to  have  the  goodness " 

"  I  know.  I  know,"  said  Mr.  Haredale.  "  Answer  me  a 
question.     What  did  you  bring  here  to-day  ?  " 

"  Bring  here,  sir  ?  "  faltered  Dolly. 

'*  You  will  tell  me  the  truth,  I  am  sure.     Yes." 

Dolly  hesitated  for  a  little  while,  and  somewhat  embold- 
ened by  his  manner,  said  at  last,  "  Well,  then,  sir.  It  was  a 
letter." 

"  From  Mr.  Edward  Chester,  of  course.  And  you  are  the 
bearer  of  the  answer  ? " 

Dolly  hesitated  again,  and  not  being  able  to  decide  upon 
any  other  course  of  action,  burst  into  tears. 

"  You  alarm  yourself  without  cause,"  said  Mr.  Haredale. 
**  Why  are  you  so  foolish  ?  Surely  you  can  answer  me.  You 
know  that  I  have  but  to  put  the  question  to  Emma  and 
learn  the  truth  directly.     Have  you  the  answer  with  you  ?" 

Dolly  had  what  is  popularly  called  a  spirit  of  her  own,  and 
being  now  fairly  at  bay,  made  the  best  of  it. 

*' Yes,  sir,"  she  rejoined,  trembling  and  frightened  as  she 
was.  "  Yes,  sir,  I  have.  You  may  kill  me  if  you  please,  sir, 
but  I  won't  give  it  up.  I'm  very  sorry — but  I  won't.  There, 
sir." 

*'  I  commend  your  firmness  and  your  plain-speaking,"  said 
Mr.  Haredale.  '*  Rest  assured  that  I  have  as  little  desire  to 
take  your  letter  as  your  life.  You  are  a  very  discreet  mes- 
senger and  a  good  girl." 

Not  feeling  quite  certain,  as  she  afterward  said,  whether 
he  might  not  be  "  coming  over  her  "  with  these  compliments, 
Dolly  kept  as  far  from  him  as  she  could,  cried  again,  and  re- 
solved to  defend  her  pocket  (for  the  letter  was  there)  to  the 
last  extremity. 

**  I  have  some  design,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  after  a  short 
silence,  during  which  a  smile,  as  he  regarded  her,  had  strug- 
gled through  the  gloom  and  melancholy  that  was  natural  to 
his  face,  "  of  providing  a  companion  for  my  niece  ;  for  her 
life  is  a  very  lonely  one.  Would  you  like  the  office?  You 
are  the  oldest  friend  she  has,  and  the  best  entitled  to  it." 

"I  don't  know,  sir,"  answered  Dolly,  not  sure  but  he  was 
bantering  her  ;  "  I  can't  say.  I  don't  know  what  they 
might  wish  at  home.     I  couldn't  give  an  opinion,  sir." 

*'  If  your  friends  had  no  objection,  would  you  have  any  ?  " 
said  Mr.  Haredale.  '*  Come.  There's  a  plain  question  ;  and 
easy  to  answer." 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  157 

"  None  at  all  that  I  know  of,  sir,"  replied  Dolly.  "  I  should 
be  very  glad  to  be  near  Miss  Emma,  of  course,  and  always 
am." 

"  That's  well,"  said  Mr.  Haredale.  "  That  is  all  I  had  to 
say.     You  are  anxious  to  go.     Don't  let  me  detain  you." 

Dolly  didn't  let  him,  nor  did  she  wait  for  him  to  try,  for 
the  words  had  no  sooner  passed  his  lips  than  she  was  out  of 
the  room,  out  of  the  house,  and  in  the  fields  again. 

The  first  thing  to  be  done,  of  course,  when  she  came  to 
herself,  and  considered  what  a  flurry  she  had  been  in,  was 
to  cry  afresh  ;  and  the  next  thing,  when  she  reflected  how 
well  she  had  got  over  it,  was  to  laugh  heartily.  The  tears 
once  banished  gave  place  to  the  smiles,  and  at  last  Dolly 
laughed  so  much  that  she  was  fain  to  lean  against  a  tree,  and 
give  vent  to  her  exultation.  When  she  could  laugh  no 
longer,  and  was  quite  tired,  she  put  her  head-dress  to  rights, 
dried  her  eyes,  looked  back  very  merrily  and  triumphantly 
at  the  Warren  chimneys,  which  were  just  visible,  and  re- 
sumed her  walk. 

The  twilight  had  come  on,  and  it  was  quickly  growing 
dusk,  but  the  path  was  so  familiar  to  her  from  frequent 
traversing  that  she  hardly  thought  of  this,  and  certainly  felt 
no  uneasiness  at  being  left  alone.  Moreover,  there  was  the 
bracelet  to  admire  ;  and  when  she  had  given  it  a  good  rub, 
and  held  it  out  at  arm's-length,  it  sparkled  and  glittered  so 
beautifully  on  her  wrist,  that  to  look  at  it  in  every  point  of 
view  and  with  every  possible  turn  of  the  arm,  was  quite  an 
absorbing  business.  There  was  the  letter  too,  and  it  looked 
so  mysterious  and  knowing,  when  she  took  it  out  of  her 
pocket,  and  it  held,  as  she  knew,  so  much  inside,  that  to  turn 
it  over  and  over,  and  think  about  it,  and  wonder  how  it  be- 
gan, and  how  it  ended,  and  what  it  said  all  through,  was  an- 
other matter  of  constant  occupation.  Between  the  bracelet 
and  the  letter,  there  was  quite  enough  to  do  without  think- 
ing of  any  thing  else  ;  and  admiring  each  by  turns,  Dolly 
went  on  gayly. 

As  she  passed  through  a  wicket-gate  to  where  the  path 
was  narrov/,  and  lay  between  two  hedges  garnished  here  and 
there  with  trees,  she  heard  a  rustling  close  at  hand,  which 
brought  her  to  a  sudden  stop.  She  listened.  All  was  very 
quiet,  and  she  went  on  again — not  absolutely  frightened,  but 
a  little  quicker  than  before  perhaps,  and  possibly  not  quite 
so  much  at  her  ease,  for  a  check  of  that  kind  is  startling. 
She  had   no   sooner  mcved  on  again,   than  she  was  con- 


158  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

scious  of  the  same  sound,  which  was  like  that  of  a  person 
tramping  stealthily  among  bushes  and  brushwood.  Looking 
toward  the  spot  whence  it  appeared  to  come,  she  almost 
fancied  she  could  make  out  a  crouching  figare.  She  stopped 
again.  All  was  quiet  as  before.  On  she  went  once  more — 
decidedly  faster  now — and  tried  to  sing  softly  to  herself. 
It  must  be  the  wind. 

But  how  came  the  wind  to  blow  only  when  she  walked, 
and  cease  when  she  stood  still  ?  She  stopped  involuntarily 
as  she  made  the  reflection,  and  the  rustling  noise  stopped 
likev/ise.  She  was  really  frightened  now,  and  was  yet 
hesitating  what  to  do,  when  the  bushes  crackled  and 
snapped,  and  a  man  came  plunging  through  them,  close 
before  her. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

It  was  for  the  moment  an  inexpressible  relief  to  Dolly  to 
recognize  in  the  person  who  forced  himself  into  the  path  so 
abruptly,  and  now  stood  directly  in  her  way,  Hugh  of  the 
Maypole,  whose  name  she  uttered  in  a  tone  of  delighted 
surprise  that  came  from  her  heart. 

"  Was  it  you  ? "  she  said,  "  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  !  and 
how  could  you  terrify  me  so  !  " 

In  answer  to  which,  he  said  nothing  at  all,  but  stood  quite 
still,  looking  at  her. 

"  Did  you  come  to  meet  me?"  asked  Doily. 

Hugh  nodded,  and  muttered  something  to  the  effect  that 
he  had  been  waiting  for  her,  and  had  expected  her  sooner. 

"  I  thought  it  likely  they  would  send,"  said  Dolly,  greatly 
re-assured  by  this. 

"  Nobody  sent  me,"  was  his  sullen  answer.  ''  I  came  of 
my  own  accord." 

The  rough  bearing  of  this  fellow,  and  his  wild,  uncouth 
appearance,  had  often  filled  the  girl  with  a  vague  apprehen- 
sion even  when  other  people  were  by,  and  had  occasioned 
her  to  shrink  from  him  involuntarily.  The  having  him  for 
an  unbidden  companion  in  so  solitary  a  place,  with  the  dark- 
ness fast  gathering  about  them,  renewed  and  even  increased 
the  alarm  she  had  felt  at  first. 

If  his  manner  had  been  merely  dogged  and  passively 
fierce,  as  usual,  she  would  have  had  no  greater  dislike  to  his 
company  than  she  always  felt — perhaps,  indeed,  would  have 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  159 

been  rather  glad  to  have  had  him  at  hand.  But  there  was 
something  of  coarse  bold  admiration  in  his  look,  which  ter- 
rified her  very  much.  She  glanced  timidly  toward  him,  un- 
certain whether  to  go  forward  or  retreat,  and  he  stood  gazing 
at  her  like  a  handsome  satyr  ;  and  so  they  remained  for 
some  short  time  without  stirring  or  breaking  silence.  At 
length  Dolly  took  courage,  shot  past  him,  and  hurried  on 

'  Why  do  you  spend  so  much  breath  in  avoiding  me  ?  " 
said  Hugh,  accommodating  his  pace  to  hers,  and  keeping 
close  at  her  side. 

"  I  wish  to  get  back  as  quickly  as  I  can,  and  you  walk  too 
near  me,"  answered  Dolly. 

"  Too  near  !  "  said  Hugh,  stooping  over  her  so  that  she 
could  feel  his  breath  upon  her  forehead.  "Why  too  near? 
You're  always  proud  to  7}ie,  mistress." 

"  I  am  proud  to  no  one.  You  mistake  me,"  answered 
Dolly.     "  Fall  back,  if  you  please,  or  go  on." 

''  Nay,  mistress,"  he  rejoined,  endeavoring  to  draw  her 
arm  through  his,  "  I'll  walk  with  you." 

She  released- herself,  and  clenching  her  little  hand,  struck 
him  with  right  good  will.  At  this,  Maypole  Hugh  burst  into 
a  roar  of  laughter,  and  passing  his  arm  about  her  waist,  held 
her  in  his  strong  grasp  as  easily  as  if  she  had  been  a  bird. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Well  done,  mistress  !  Strike  again.  You 
shall  beat  my  face,  and  tear  my  hair,  and  pluck  my  beard  up 
by  the  roots,  and  welcome,  for  the  sake  of  your  bright  eyes. 
Strike  again,  mistress.     Do.     Ha,  ha,  ha  !     I  like  it." 

"  Let  me  go,"  she  cried,  endeavoring  v/ith  both  her  hands 
to  push  him  off.     "  Let  me  go  this  moment." 

"  You  had  as  good  be  kinder  to  me,  Sweetlips,"  said 
Hugh.  "  You  had,  indeed.  Come.  Tell  me  now.  Why 
are  you  always  so  proud  ?  I  don't  quarrel  with  you  for  it. 
I  love  you  when  you're  proud.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  You  can't  hide 
your  beauty  from  a  poor  fellow  ;  that's  a  comfort !  " 

She  gave  him  no  answer,  but  as  he  had  not  yet  checked 
her  progress,  continued  to  press  forward  as  rapidly  as  she 
could.  At  length,  between  the  hurry  she  had  made,  her  ter- 
ror, and  the  tightness  of  his  embrace,  her  strength  failed 
her,  and  she  could  go  no  further. 

"  Hugh,"  cried  the  panting  girl,  "good  Hugh  ;  if  you  will 
leave  me  I  will  give  you  any  thing — every  thing  I  have — and 
never  tell  one  word  of  this  to  any  living  creature." 

"  You  had  best  not,"  he  answered.  "  Harkye,  little  dove, 
ye  had  best  not.     All  about  here  know  me,  and  what  I  dare 


i6c  BARNABV  RUDGE 

do  it  1  nave  a  mind  It  ever  you  are  going  to  tell,  stop  wtiec 
the  words  are  on  your  lips,  and  think  of  the  mischief  you  1 
bring,  if  you  do,  upon  some  innocent  heads  that  you  wouldn  : 
wish  to  hurt  a  hair  of.  Bring  trouble  on  me.  and  I'll  bring 
trouble  and  something  more  on  them  in  return.  [  care  no 
more  for  them  than  for  so  many  dogs  not  so  much — why 
should  I  :  I'd  sooner  kill  a  man  than  a  dog  any  day.  I've 
never  been  sorrv  ^or  ?  man's  death  in  all  my  life,  and  I  have 
for  a  dog's 

There  was  sometning  so  thoroughly  savage  in  the  manner 
ot  these  expressions,  and  the  looks  and  gestures  by  which 
they  were  accompanied,  that  her  great  fear  of  him  gave  her 
new  strength,  and  enabled  her  by  a  sudden  effort  to  extri- 
cate herself  and  run  fleetly  from  him.  But  Hugh  was  as 
nimble,  strong,  and  swift  of  foot,  as  any  man  in  broad  En- 
gland, and  it  was  but  a  fruitless  expenditure  of  energy,  for  he 
had  her  in  his  encircling  arms  again  before  she  had  gone  a 
hundred  yards. 

"  Softly,  darling — gently — would  you  fly  from  rough  Hugh, 
that  loves  you  as  well  as  any  drawing-room  .gallant  ? " 

"  I  would,"  she  answered,  struggling  to  free  herself  again, 
•'  I  will.     Help." 

"  A  fine  for  crying  out,"  said  Hugh.  "  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  A  fine, 
pretty  one,  from  your  lips.     I  pay  myself  I     Ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

'*  Help  !  help  !  help  !  "  As  she  shrieked  with  the  utmost 
violence  she  could  exert,  a  shout  was  heard  in  answer,  and 
another,  and  another. 

"  Thank  heaven  !  "  cried  the  girl  in  an  ecstasy.  "  Joe,  dear 
Joe,  this  way.     Help  !  " 

Her  assailant  paused,  and  stood  irresolute  for  a  moment, 
but  the  shouts  drawing  nearer  and  coming  quick  upon  them, 
forced  him  to  a  speedy  decision.  He  released  her,  whispered 
with  a  menacing  look.  "  Tell  /lim  :  and  see  what  follows  '  " 
and  leaping  the  hedge,  was  gone  in  an  instant.  Dolly  darted 
off,  and  fairly  ran  into  Joe  Willet's  open  arms. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  are  you  hurt  ?  what  was  it  ?  who 
was  it  ?  where  is  he  ?  what  was  he  like  ?  "  with  a  great  many 
encouraging  expressions  and  assurances  of  safety,  were  the 
first  words  Joe  poured  forth.  But  poor  little  Dolly  was  so 
breathless  and  terrified  that  for  some  time  she  was  quite  un- 
able to  answer  him,  and  hung  upon  his  shoulder,  sobbing 
and  crying  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

Joe  had  not  the  smallest  objection  to  have  her  hanging  on 
his  shoulder  ;  no,  not  the  least,  though  it  crushed  the  cherry- 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  r6i 

colored  ribbons  sadly,  and  pat  the  smart  little  hat  out  of  all 
shape.  But  he  couldn't  bear  to  see  her  cry  ;  it  went  to  his 
very  heart.  He  tried  to  console  her,  bent  over  her,  whis- 
pered to  her — some  say  kissed  her,  but  that's  a  fable.  At  any 
rate  he  said  all  the  kind  and  tender  things  he  could  think  of, 
and  Dolly  let  him  go  on  and  didn't  interrupt  him  once,  and 
it  was  a  good  ten  minutes  before  she  was  able  to  raise  her 
head  and  thank  him. 

"  What  was  it  that  frightened  you  ?  "  said  Joe. 

A  man  whose  person  was  unknown  to  her  had  followed 
her,  she  answered  ;  he  began  by  begging,  and  went  on  to 
threats  of  robbery,  which  he  was  on  the  point  of  carrying 
into  execution,  and  would  have  executed,  but  for  Joe's 
timely  aid.  The  hesitation  and  confusion  with  which  she 
said  this,  Joe  attributed  to  the  fright  she  had  sustained,  and 
no  suspicion  of  the  truth  occurred  to  him  for  a  moment. 

"  Stop  when  the  words  are  on  your  lips."  A  hundred 
times  that  night,  and  very  often  afterward,  when  the  dis- 
closure was  rising  to  her  tongue,  Dolly  thought  of  that,  and 
repressed  it.  A  deep  rooted  dread  of  the  man  ;  the  convic- 
tion that  his  ferocious  nature,  once  roused,  would  stop  at 
nothing  ;  and  the  strong  assurance  that  if  she  impeached  him, 
the  full  measure  of  his  wrath  and  vengeance  would  be 
wreaked  on  Joe,  who  had  preserved  her  ;  these  were  con- 
siderations she  had  not  the  courage  to  overcome,  and  in- 
ducements to  secrecy  too  powerful  for  her  to  surmount. 

Joe,  for  his  part,  was  a  great  deal  too  happy  to  inquire 
very  curiously  into  the  matter  ;  and  Dolly  being  yet  too 
tremulous  to  walk  without  assistance,  they  went  forward  very 
slowly,  and  in  his  mind  very  pleasantly,  until  the  Maypole 
lights  were  near  at  hand,  twinkling  their  cheerful  welcome, 
when  Dolly  stopped  suddenly  and  with  a  half  scream  ex- 
claimed : 

"The  letter!" 

"  What  letter  ?  "  cried  Joe. 

"  That  I  was  carrying — I  had  it  in  my  hand.  My  bracelet 
too,"  she  said,  clasping  her  wrist.     "  I  have  lost  them  both." 

*'  Do  you  mean  just  now  ?  "  said  Joe. 

"  Either  I  dropped  them  then,  or  they  were  taken  from 
me,"  answered  Dolly,  vainly  searching  her  pocket  and  rust- 
ling her  dress.  *'  They  are  gone,  both  gone.  What  an  un- 
happy girl  I  am  !  "  With  these  words  poor  Dolly,  who  to 
do  her  justice  was  quite  as  sorry  for  the  loss  of  the  letter  as 


i62  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

for  her  bracelet,  fell  a  crying  again,  and  bemoaned  her  fate 
most  movingly. 

Joe  tried  to  comfort  her  with  the  assurance  that  directly 
he  had  housed  her  in  the  Maypole,  he  would  return  to  the 
spot  with  a  lantern  (for  it  was  now  quite  dark)  and  make 
strict  search  for  the  mi3sing  articles,  which  there  was  great 
probability  of  his  finding,  as  it  was  not  likely  that  any  body 
had  passed  that  way  since,  and  she  was  not  conscious  that 
they  had  been  forcibly  taken  from  her.  Dolly  thanked  him 
very  heartily  for  this  offer,  though  with  no  great  hope  of  his 
quest  being  successful  ;  and  so  with  many  lamentations  on 
her  side,  and  many  hopeful  words  on  his,  and  much  weak- 
ness on  the  part  of  Dolly  and  much  tender  supporting  on  the 
part  of  Joe,  they  reached  the  Maypole  bar  at  last,  where 
the  locksmith  and  his  wife  and  old  John  were  yet  keeping 
high  festival. 

Mr.  Willet  received  the  intelligence  of  Dolly's  trouble  with 
that  surprising  presence  of  mind  and  readiness  of  speech  for 
which  he  was  so  eminently  distinguished  above  all  other 
men.  Mrs.  Varden  expressed  her  sympathy  for  her 
daughter's  distress  by  scolding  her  roundly  for  being 
so  late  ;  and  the  honest  locksmith  divided  himself  between 
condoling  with  and  kissing  Dolly,  and  shaking  hands  heartily 
with  Joe,  whom  he  could  not  sufficiently  praise  or  thank. 

In  reference  to  this  latter  point,  old  John  was  far  from 
agreeing  with  his  friend  ;  for  besides  that  he  by  no  means 
approved  of  an  adventurous  spirit  in  the  abstract,  it  occurred 
to  him  that  if  his  son  and  heir  had  been  seriously  damaged 
in  a  scuffle,  the  consequences  would  assuredly  have  been 
expensive  and  inconvenient,  and  might  perhaps  !iave  proved 
detrimental  to  the  Maypole  business.  Wherefore,  and 
because  he  looked  with  no  favorable  eye  upon  young  girls, 
but  rather  considered  that  they  and  the  whole  female  sex 
were  a  kind  of  nonsensical  mistake  on  the  part  of  Nature, 
he  took  occasion  to  retire  and  shake  his  head  in  private  at 
the  boiler  ;  inspired  by  which  silent  oracle,  he  was  moved 
to  give  Joe  various  stealthy  nudges  with  his  elbow,  as  a 
parental  reproof  and  gentle  admonition  to  mind  his  own 
business  and  not  make  a  fool  of  himself. 

Joe,  however,  took  down  the  lantern  and  lighted  it ;  and 
arming  himself  with  a  stout  stick,  asked  whether  Hugh  was 
in  the  stable. 

"  He's  lying  asleep  before  the  kitchen  fire,  sir,"  said  Mr. 
Willet.     "  What  do  you  want  him  for  ?  " 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  163 

"  I  want  him  to  come  with  me  to  look  after  this  bracelet 
and  letter,"  answered  Joe.     "  Halloo  there  !     Hugh  !  " 

Dolly  turned  pale  as  death,  and  felt  as  if  she  must  faint 
forthwith.  After  a  few  moments,  Hugh  came  staggering  in, 
stretching  himself  and  yawning  according  to  custom,  and 
presenting  every  appearance  of  having  been  roused  from  a 
sound  nap. 

"  Here,  sleepy-head,"  said  Joe,  giving  him  the  lantern. 
"  Carry  this,  and  bring  the  dog,  and  that  small  cudgel 
of  yours.  And  woe  betide  the  fello  7  if  we  come  upon 
him." 

"What  fellow?"  growled  Hugh,  rubbing  his  eyes,  and 
shaking  himself. 

"What  fellow  ?  "  returned  Joe,  who  was  in  a  state  of  great 
valor  and  bustle  ;  "  a  fellow  you  ought  to  know  of,  and  be 
more  alive  about.  It's  well  for  the  like  of  you,  lazy  giant 
that  you  are,  to  be  snoring  your  time  away  in  the  chimney- 
corners,  when  honest  men's  daughters  can't  cross  even  our 
quiet  meadows  at  nightfall  without  being  set  upon  by  foot- 
pads, and  frightened  out  of  their  precious  lives." 

*'  They  never  rob  me,"  cried  Hugh  with  a  laugh.  "  I  have 
got  nothing  to  lose.  But  I'd  as  lief  knock  them  at  head  as 
any  other  men.     How  many  are  there  ? " 

"Only  one,"  said  Dolly  faintly,  for  every  body  looked  at 
her. 

"  And  what  was  he  like,  mistress  ?  "  said  Hugh,  with  a 
glance  at  young  Willet,  so  slight  and  momentary  that  the 
scowl  it  conveyed  was  lost  on  all  but  her.  "  About  my 
height  ?  " 

"  Not — not  so  tall,"  Dolly  replied,  scarce  knowing  what 
she  said. 

"  His  dress,"  said  Hugh,  looking  at  her  keenly,  "  like- 
like  any  of  ours  now  ?  I  know  all  the  people  hereabouts, 
and  may  be  could  give  a  guess  at  the  man,  if  I  had  any 
thing  to  guide  me." 

Dolly  faltered  and  turned  paler  yet  ;  then  answered  that 
he  was  wrapped  in  a  loose  coat  and  had  his  face  hidden  by 
a  handkerchief,  and  that  she  could  give  no  other  description 
of  him. 

"  You  wouldn't  know  him  if  you  saw  him  then,  belike?" 
said  Hugh,  v/ith  a  malicious  grin. 

"  I  should  not,"  answered  Dolly,  bursting  into  tears  again 
■'  I  don't  wish  to  see  him.  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  him. 
I  can't  talk  about  him  any  more.     Don't  go  to  look  for  these 


1 64  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

things,  Mr.  Joe,  pray  don't.  I  entreat  you  not  to  go  with 
that  man." 

"  Not  to  go  with  me  !  "  cried  Hugh.  "  I'm  too  rough  for 
them  all.  They're  all  afraid  of  me.  Why,  bless  you,  mis- 
tress, I've  the  tenderest  heart  alive.  I  love  all  the  ladies, 
ma'am,"  said  Hugh,  turning  to  the  locksmith's  wife. 

Mrs.  Varden  opined  that  if  he  did,  he  ought  to  be  ashamed 
of  himself ;  such  sentiments  being  more  consistent  (so  she 
argued)  with  a  benighted  Mussulman  or  wild  Islander  than 
with  such  a  staunch  Protestant.  Arguing  from  this  imper- 
fect state  of  his  morals,  Mrs.  Varden  further  opined  that  he 
had  never  studied  the  Manual.  Hugh  admitting  that  he 
never  had,  and  moreover,  that  he  couldn't  read,  Mrs.  Varden 
declared  with  much  severity,  that  he  ought  to  be  even  more 
ashamed  of  himself  than  before,  and  strongly  recommended 
him  to  save  up  his  pocket-money  for  the  purchase  of  one. 
and  further  to  teach  himself  the  contents  with  all  convenient 
diligence.  She  was  still  pursuing  this  train  of  discourse, 
when  Hugh,  somewhat  unceremoniously  and  irreverently, 
followed  his  young  master  out,  and  left  her  to  edify  the  rest 
of  the  company.  This  she  proceeded  to  do,  and  finding  that 
Mr.  Willet's  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her  with  an  appearance  of 
deep  attention,  gradually  addressed  the  whole  of  her  dis- 
course to  him,  whom  she  entertained  with  a  moral  and  theo- 
logical lecture  of  considerable  length,  in  the  conviction  that 
great  workings  were  taking  place  in  his  spirit.  The  simple 
truth  was,  however,  that  Mr.  Willet,  although  his  eyes  were 
wide  open  and  he  saw  a  woman  before  him  whose  head  by 
long  and  steady  looking  at  seemed  to  grow  bigger  and  bigger 
until  it  filled  the  whole  bar,  was  to  all  other  intents  and  pur- 
poses fast  asleep  ;  and  so  sat  leaning  back  in  his  chair  with 
his  hands  in  his  pockets  until  his  son's  return  caused  him  to 
wake  up  with  a  deep  sigh,  and  a  faint  impression  that  he  had 
been  dreaming  about  pickled  pork  and  greens — a  vision  of 
his  slumbers  which  was  no  doubt  referable  to  the  circum- 
'vtance  of  Mrs.  Varden 's  having  frequently  pronounced  the 
vord  ''  Grace"  with  much  emphasis  ;  wliich  word,  entering 
\he  portals  of  Mr.  Willet's  brain  as  they  stood  ajar,  and 
coupling  itself  with  the  words  "  before  meat,"  which  were 
then  ranging  about,  did  in  time  suggest  a  particular  kind  of 
meat,  together  with  that  description  of  vegetable  which  is 
usually  its  companion. 

The  search  was  wholly  unsuccessful.  Joe  had  groped 
along  the  path  a  dozen  times,  and  among    the    grass,  and 


BARNABY  RUDGE  165 

in  the  dry  ditch,  and  in  the  hedge,  but  all  in  vain.  Dolly 
who  was  quite  inconsolable  for  her  loss,  wrote  a  note  to  Miss 
Haredale  giving  her  the  same  account  of  it  that  she  had 
given  at  the  Maypole,  which  Joe  undertook  to  deliver  as  soon 
as  the  family  were  stirring  next  day.  That  done,  they  sat 
down  to  tea  in  the  bar,  where  there  was  an  uncommon  dis- 
play of  buttered  toast,  and — in  order  that  they  might  not 
grow  faint  for  want  of  sustenance,  and  might  have  a  decent 
halting-place  or  half-way  house  between  dinner  and  supper 
— a  few  savory  trifles  in  the  shape  of  great  rashers  of  broiled 
ham,  which  being  well  cured,  done  to  a  turn,  and  smoking 
hot,  sent  forth  a  tempting  and  delicious  fragrance. 

Mrs.  Varden  was  seldom  very  Protestant  at  meals,  unless 
it  happened  that  they  were  under-done,  or  over-done,  or  in- 
deed that  any  thing  occurred  to  put  her  out  of  humor.  Her 
spirits  rose  considerably  on  beholding  these  goodly  prepara- 
tions, and  from  the  nothingness  of  good  works^  she  passed  to 
the  somethingness  of  ham  and  toast  with  great  cheerfulness. 
Nay,  under  the  influence  of  these  wholesome  stimulants,  she 
sharply  reproved  her  daughter  for  being  low  and  despondent 
(which  she  considered  an  unacceptable  frame  of  mind),  and 
remarked,  as  she  held  her  own  plate  for  a  fresh  supply,  that 
it  would  be  well  for  Dolly,  who  pined  over  the  loss  of  a  toy 
and  a  sheet  of  paper,  if  she  would  reflect  upon  the  voluntary 
sacrifices  of  the  missionaries  in  foreign  parts  who  lived  chiefly 
on  salads. 

The  proceedings  of  such  a  day  occasion  various  flunctua- 
tions  in  the  human  thermometer,  and  especially  in  instru- 
ments so  sensitively  and  delicately  constructed  as  Mrs, 
Varden.  Thus,  at  dinner  Mrs.  V.  stood  at  summer  heat  , 
genial,  smiling,  and  delightful.  After  dinner,  in  the  sunshine 
of  the  wine,  she  went  up  at  least  a  half-a-dozen  degrees,  and 
was  perfectly  enchanting.  As  its  effect  subsided,  she  fell 
rapidly,  went  to  sleep  for  an  hour  or  so  at  temperate,  and 
woke  at  something  below  freezing.  Now  she  was  at  summer 
heat  again,  in  the  shade  ;  and  when  tea  was  over,  and  old 
John  producing  a  bottle  of  cordial  from  one  of  the  oaken 
cases,  insisted  on  her  sipping  two  glasses  thereof  in  slow 
succession,  she  stood  steadily  at  ninety  for  one  hour  and  a 
quarter.  Profiting  by  experience,  the  locksmith  took  advan  ■ 
tage  of  this  genial  weather  to  smoke  his  pipe  in  the  porch, 
and  in  consequence  of  his  prudent  management,  he  was  fully 
prepared,  when  the  glass  went  down  again,  to  start  homeward 
directly. 


!66  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

The  horse  was  accordingly  put  in,  and  the  chaise  brought 
round  to  the  door.  Joe,  who  would  on  no  account  be  dis- 
suaded from  escorting  them  until  they  had  passed  the  most 
dreary  and  solitary  part  of  the  road,  let  out  the  gray  mare 
at  the  same  time  ;  and  having  helped  Dolly  into  her  seat 
(more  happiness  !)  sprung  gayly  into  the  saddle.  Then,  after 
so  many  good-nights,  and  admonitions  to  wrap  up,  and 
glancing  of  lights,  and  handing  in  of  cloaks  and  shawls,  the 
chaise  rolled  away,  and  Joe  trotted  beside  it — on  Dolly's 
side,  no  doubt,  and  pretty  close  to  the  wheel  too. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

It  was  a  fine  bright  night,  and  for  all  her  lowness  of  spirits 
Dolly  kept  looking  up  at  the  stars  in  a  manner  so  bewitch- 
ing (and  she  knew  it  !  )  that  Joe  was  clean  out  of  his  senses, 
and  plainly  showed  that  if  ever  a  man  were — not  to  say  over 
head  and  ears,  but  over  the  Monument  and  the  top  of  Saint 
Paul's  in  love,  that  man  was  himself.  The  road  was  a  very 
good  one  ;  not  at  all  a  jolting  road  or  an  uneven  one  ;  and 
yet  Dolly  held  the  side  of  the  chaise  with  one  little  hand,  all 
the  way.  If  there  had  been  an  executioner  behind  him  with 
an  uplifted  ax  ready  to  chop  off  his  head  if  he  touched  that 
hand,  Joe  couldn't  have  helped  doing  it.  From  putting  his 
own  hand  upon  it  as  if  by  chance,  and  taking  it  away  again 
after  a  minute  or  so,  he  got  to  riding  along  without  taking 
it  off  at  all  ;  as  if  he,  the  escort,  were  bound  to  do  that  as 
an  important  part  of  his  duty,  and  had  come  out  for  the 
purpose.  The  most  curious  circumstance  about  this  little 
incident  was,  that  Dolly  didn't  seem  to  know  of  it.  She 
looked  so  innocent  and  unconscious  when  she  turned  her 
eyes  on  Joe,  that  it  was  quite  provoking. 

She  talked  though  ;  talked  about  her  fright,  and  about 
Joe's  coming  up  to  rescue  her,  and  about  her  gratitude,  and 
about  her  fear  that  she  might  not  have  thanked  him  enouL^h, 
and  about  their  always  being  friends  from  that  time  forth — 
and  about  all  that  sort  of  thing.  And  when  Joe  said,  not 
friends  he  hoped,  Dolly  was  quite  surprised,  and  said  not 
enemies  she  hoped  ;  and  when  Joe  said,  couldn't  they  be 
something  much  better  than  either,  Dolly  all  of  a  sudden 
found  out  a  star  which  was  brighter  than  all  the  other  stars, 
and  begged  to  call  his  attention  to  the  same,  and  was  ten 
thousand  times  more  innocent  and  unconscious  than  ever. 


BARNAHV   RUDGR.  167 

In  this  manner  they  traveled  along,  talking  very  little 
above  a  whisper,  and  wished  the  road  could  be  stretched 
out  to  some  dozen  times  its  natural  length — at  least  that 
was  Joe's  desire — when,  as  they  were  getting  clear  of  the 
forest  and  emerging  on  the  more  frec^uented  road,  they  heard 
behind  them  the  sound  of  a  horse's  feet  at  a  round  trot, 
which  growing  rapidly  louder  as  it  drew  nearer,  elicited  a 
scream  from  Mrs.  Varden,  and  the  cry  "  a  friend  !  "  from 
the  rider,  who  now  came  panting  up.  and  checked  his  horse 
beside  them. 

"This  man  again  !  "cried  Dolly,  shuddering. 

*'  Hugh  !  "  said  Joe.     "  What  errand  are  you  upon  ?  " 

"  I  come  to  ride  back  with  you,"  he  answered,  glancing 
covertly  at  the  locksmith's  daughter.     "  He  sent  me." 

**  My  father  !  "  said  poor  Joe  ;  adding  under  his  breath 
with  a  very  unfilial  apostrophe,  '*  Will  he  never  think  me 
man  enough  to  take  care  of  myself  !  " 

"  Ay  ! "  returned  Hugh  to  the  first  part  of  the  inquiry. 
"  The  roads  are  not  safe  just  now,"  he  says,  "  and  you'd 
better  have  a  companion." 

"  Ride  on  then,"  said  Joe.     "  I'm  not  going  to  turn  yet." 

Hugh  complied,  and  they  went  on  again.  It  was  his  whim 
or  humor  to  ride  immediately  before  the  chaise,  and  from 
this  position  he  constantly  turned  his  head,  and  looked  back. 
Dolly  felt  that  he  looked  at  her,  but  she  averted  her  eyes 
and  feared  to  raise  them  once,  so  great  was  the  dread  with 
which  ne  had  inspired  her. 

This  interruption,  and  the  consequent  wakefulness  of  Mrs. 
Varden,  who  had  been  nodding  in  her  sleeo  up  to  this  point, 
except  for  a  minute  or  two  at  a  time,  when  she  roused  her- 
self to  scold  the  locksmith  for  audaciously  taking  hold  of 
her  to  prevent  her  nodding  herself  out  of  the  chaise,  put  a 
restraint  upon  the  whispered  conversation,  and  made  it  diffi- 
cult of  resumption.  Indeed,  before  they  had  gone  another 
mile,  Gabriel  stopped  at  his  wife's  desire,  and  that  good  lady 
protested  she  would  not  hear  of  Joe's  going  a  step  further 
an  any  account  whatever.  It  was  in  vain  for  Joe  to  protest 
on  the  other  hand  that  he  was  by  no  means  tired,  and  v/ould 
turn  back  presently,  and  would  see  them  safely  past  such  a 
point,  and  so  forth.  Mrs.  Varden  was  obdurate,  and  being 
so  was  not  to  be  overcome  by  mortal  agency. 

"  Good  night — if  I  must  say  it,"  said  Joe,  sorrowfully. 

"Good-night,"  said  Dolly.  She  would  have  added, 
"  Take  care  of  that  man,  and  pray  don't  trust  him,"  but  he 


i68  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

had  turned  his  horse's  head,  and  was  standing  close  to  them. 
She  had  therefore  nothing  for  it  but  to  suffer  Joe  to  give 
her  hand  a  gentle  squeeze,  and  when  the  chaise  had  gone  on 
for  some  distance,  to  look  back  and  wave  it,  as  he  still  lin- 
gered on  the  spot  where  they  had  parted,  with  the  tall  dark 
figure  of  Hugh  beside  him. 

What  she  thought  about,  going  home  ;  and  whether  the 
coach-maker  held  as  favorable  a  place  in  her  meditations  as 
he  had  occupied  in  the  morning,  is  unknown.  They  reached 
home  at  last — at  last,  for  it  was  a  long  way,  made  none  the 
shorter  by  Mrs.  Varden's  grumbling.  Miggs  hearing  the 
sound  of  wheels  was  at  the  door  immediately. 

"  Here  they  are,  Simmun  !  Here  they  are  !  "  crid  Miggs, 
clapping  her  hands,  and  issuing  forth  to  hetp  her  mistress 
to  alight.  *'  Bring  a  chair,  Simmun.  Now,  an't  you  the 
better  for  it,  mim  .?  Don't  you  feel  more  yourself  than  you 
would  have  done  if  you'd  have  stopped  at  him  ?  Oh,  gra- 
cious !  how  cold  you  are  !  Goodness  me,  sir,  she's  a  per- 
fect heap  of  ice." 

"  I  can't  help  it,  my  good  girl.  You  had  better  take  her 
into  the  fire,"  said  the  locksmith. 

"  Master  sounds  unfeeling,  mim,"  said  Miggs,  in  a  tone  of 
commiseration,  "but  such  is  not  his  intentions,  I'm  sure 
After  what  he  has  seen  of  you  this  day,  I  never  vvill  believe 
but  that  he  has  a  deal  more  affection  in  his  heart  than  to 
speak  unkind.  Come  in  and  sit  yourself  down  by  the  fire  ; 
there's  a  good  dear — do." 

Mrs.  Varden  complied.  The  locksmith  followed  with  his 
hands  in  his  pockets,  and  Mr.  Tappertit  trundled  off  with 
the  chaise  to  a  neighboring  stable. 

"  Martha,  my  dear,"  said  the  locksmith,  when  they  reached 
the  parlor,  *'  if  you'll  look  to  Dolly  yourself,  or  let  some- 
body else  do  it,  perhaps  it  will  be  only  kind  and  reasonable. 
She  has  been  frightened,  you  know,  and  is  not  at  all  well 
to-night." 

In  fact,  Dolly  had  thrown  herself  upon  the  sofa,  quite 
regardless  of  all  the  little  finery  of  which  she  had  been  so 
proud  in  the  morning,  and  with  her  face  buried  in  her 
hands  was  crying  very  much. 

At  first  sight  of  this  phenomenon  (for  Dolly  was  by  no 
means  accustomed  to  displays  of  this  sort,  rather  learning 
from  her  mother's  example  to  avoid  them  as  much  as  possi- 
ble) Mrs.  Varden  expressed  her  belief  that  never  was  any 
woman  so  beset  as  she  :  that  her  life  was  a  continued  scene 


BARNABY   RUDGE.  169 

of  trial  ;  that  whenever  she  was  disposed  to  be  well  and 
cheerful,  so  sure  were  the  people  around  her  to  throw,  by 
some  means  or  other,  a  damp  upon  her  spirits  ;  and  that,  as 
she  had  enjoyed  herself  that  day,  and  heaven  knew  it  was 
very  seldom  she  did  enjoy  herself,  so  she  was  now  to  pay 
the  penalty.  To  all  such  propositions  Miggs  assented  freely. 
Poor  Dolly,  however,  grew  none  the  better  for  these  restor- 
atives, but  rather  worse,  indeed  ;  and  seeing  that  she  was 
really  ill,  both  Mrs.  Varden  and  Miggs  were  moved  to  com 
passion,  and  tended  her  in  earnest. 

But  even  then,  their  very  kindness  shaped  itself  into  theL* 
usual  course  of  policy,  and  though  Dolly  was  in  a  swoon,  it 
was  rendered  clear  to  the  meanest  capacity  that  Mrs.  Var- 
den was  the  sufferer.  Thus  when  Dolly  began  to  get  a  little 
better,  and  passed  into  that  stage  in  which  matrons  hold 
that  remonstance  and  argument  maybe  successfully  applied, 
her  mother  represented  to  her,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  that  if 
she  had  been  flurried  and  worried  that  day,  she  must  remem- 
ber it  was  the  common  lot  of  humanity,  and  in  especial  of 
wom.ankind,  who  through  the  whole  of  their  existence  must 
expect  no  less,  and  were  bound  to  make  up  their  minds  to 
meek  endurance  and  patient  resignation.  Mrs.  Varden 
entreated  her  to  remember  that  one  of  these  days  she  would, 
in  all  probability,  have  to  do  violence  to  her  fe  "flings  so  far 
as  to  be  married  ;  and  that  marriage,  as  she  mig.it  see  every 
day  of  her  life  (and  truly  she  did)  was  a  state  requiring 
great  fortitude  and  forbearance.  She  represented  to  her  in 
lively  colors,  that  if  she  (Mrs.  V.)  had  not,  in  steering  her 
course  through  this  vale  of  tears,  been  supported  by  a  strong 
principle  of  duty  which  alone  upheld  and  prevented  her 
from  drooping,  she  must  have  been  in  her  grave  many  years 
ago  ;  in  which  case  she  desired  to  know  what  would  have 
become  of  that  errant  spirit  (meaning  the  locksmith),  of 
whose  eye  she  was  the  very  apple,  and  in  whose  path  she 
was,  as  it  were,  a  shining  light  and  guiding  star? 

Miss  Miggs  also  put  in  her  word  to  the  same  effect.  She 
said  that  indeed  and  indeed  Miss  Dolly  might  take  pattern 
by  ^^her  blessed  mother,  who,  she  always  had  said,  and 
always  would  say,  though  she  were  to  be  hanged,  drawn, 
and  quartered  for  it  next  minute,  was  the  mildest,  ami- 
ablest,  forgivingest-spirited,  longest-sufferingest  female  as 
ever  she  could  have  believed  ;  the  mere  narration  of 
whose  excellences  had  worked  such  a  wholesome  change  in 
the  mind  of  her  own  sister-in-law,  that,  whereas,  before,  she 


170  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

and  her  husband  lived  like  cat  and  dog,  and  were  in  the 
habit  of  exchanging  brass  candlesticks,  pot-lids,  flat-irons, 
and  other  such  strong  resentments,  they  were  now  the  happi- 
est and  affectionest  couple  upon  earth  ;  as  could  be  proved 
any  day  on  application  at  Golden  Lion  Court,  number  twenty- 
sivin,  second  bell-handle  on  the  right-hand  door-post. 
After  glancing  at  herself  as  a  comparatively  worthless  ves- 
sel, but  still  as  one  of  some  desert,  she  besought  her  to 
bear  in  mind  that  her  aforesaid  dear  and  only  mother 
was  of  a  weakly  constitution  and  excitable  temperament,  who 
had  constantly  to  sustain  afflictions  in  domestic  life,  com- 
pared with  which  thieves  and  robbers  were  as  nothing,  and 
yet  never  sunk  down  or  gave  way  to  despair  or  wrath,  but, 
in  prize-fighting  phraseology,  always  came  up  to  time  with  a 
cheerful  countenance,  and  went  in  to  win  as  if  nothing  had 
happened.  When  Miggs  finished  her  solo,  her  mistress  struck 
in  again,  and  the  two  together  performed  a  duet  to  the  same 
purpose  ;  the  burden  being,  that  Mrs.  Varden  Avas  perse- 
cuted perfection,  and  Mr.  Varden,  as  the  representative  of 
mankind  in  that  apartment,  a  creature  of  vicious  and  brutal 
habits,  utterly  insensible  to  the  blessings  he  enjoyed.  Of  so 
refined  a  character,  indeed,  was  their  talent  of  assault  under 
the  mask  of  sympathy,  that,  when  Dolly,  recovering,  em- 
braced her  father  tenderly,  as  in  vindication  of  his  goodness, 
Mrs.  Varden  expressed  her  solemn  hope  that  this  would  be 
a  lesson  to  him  for  the  remainder  of  his  life,  and  that  he 
would  do  some  little  justice  to  a  woman's  nature  ever  after- 
ward— in  which  aspiration  Miss  Miggs,  by  divers  sniffs  and 
coughs,  more  significant  than  the  longest  oration,  expressed 
her  entire  concurrence. 

But  the  great  joy  of  Miggs's  heart  was,  that  she  not  only 
picked  up  a  full  account  of  what  had  happened,  but  had  the 
exquisite  delight  of  conveying  it  to  Mr.  Tappertit  for  his 
jealousy  and  torture.  For  that  gentleman,  on  account  of 
Dolly's  indisposition,  had  been  requested  to  take  his  supper 
in  the  workshop,  and  it  was  conveyed  thither  by  Miss  Miggs's 
own  fair  hands. 

**  Oh  Sim.mun  ! "  said  the  young  lady,  *' such  goings  on 
to-day  ?     Oh,  gracious  me,  Simmun  !  " 

Mr.  Tappertit,  who  was  not  in  the  best  of  humors,  and 
who  disliked  Miss  Miggs  more  when  she  laid  her  hand  on 
her  heart  and  panted  for  breath  than  at  any  other  time,  as 
her  deficiency  of  outline  was  most  apparent  under  such  cir- 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  171 

cumstances,  eyed  her  over  in  his  loftiest  style,  and  deigned 
to  express  no  curiosity  whatever. 

"  I  never  heard  the  like,  nor  nobody  else,"  pursued 
Miggs.  *'  The  idea  of  interfering  with  her.  What  people 
can  see  in  her  to  make  it  worth  their  while  to  do  so,  that's 
the  joke — he,  he,  he  !  " 

Finding  there  was'a  lady  in  the  case,  Mr.  Tappertit  haught- 
ily requested  his  fair  friend  to  be  more  explicit,  and  de- 
manded to  know  what  she  meant  by  "  her." 

**  Why,  that  Dolly,"  said  Miggs,  with  an  extremely  sharp 
emphasis  on  the  name.  "  But,  oh,  upon  my  word  and  honor, 
young  Joseph  Willet  is  a  brave  one  ;  and  he  do  deserve  her, 
that  he  do." 

"Woman  !"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  jumping  off  the  counter 
on  which  he  was  seated  ;  "  beware  !  " 

"  My  stars,  Simmun  !  "  cried  Miggs,  in  affected  astonish- 
ment.    "  You  frighten  me  to  death  !     What's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  There  are  strings,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  flourishing  his 
bread-and-cheese  knife  in  the  air,  "  in  the  human  heart  that 
had  better  not  be  wibrated.     That's  what's  tlie  matter." 

"  Oh,  very  well — if  you're  in  a  huff,"  cried  Miggs,  turning 
away. 

"  Huff  or  no  huff,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  detaining  her  by 
the  wrist.  "  What  do  you  mean,  Jezebel  ?  What  were  you 
going  to  say  ?     Answer  me  !  " 

Notwithstanding  this  uncivil  exhortation,  Miggs  gladly  did 
as  she  was  required  ;  and  told  him  how  that  their  young 
mistress,  being  alone  in  the  meadows  after  dark,  had  been 
attacked  by  three  or  four  tall  men,  who  would  have  certainly 
have  borne  her  away  and  perhaps  murdered  her,  but  for  the 
timely  arrival  of  Joseph  Willet,  who  with  his  own  single 
hand  had  put  them  all  to  flight,  and  rescued  her;  to  the 
lasting  admiration  of  his  fellow-creatures  generally,  and  to 
the  eternal  love  and  gratitude  of  Dolly  Varden. 

"  Very  good,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  fetching  a  long  breath 
when  the  tale  was  told,  and  rubbing  his  hair  up  till  it  stood 
stiff  and  straight  on  end  all  over  his  head.  "  His  days  are 
numbered." 

''  Oh,  Simmun  !  " 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  the  'prentice,  "  his  days  are  numbered. 
Leave  me.     Get  along  with  you." 

Miggs  departed  at  his  bidding,  but  less  because  of  his  bid- 
ding than  because  she  desired  to  cliuckle  in  secret.  When 
she  had  given  vent  to  her  satisfaction,  she  returned  to  the 


172  I3ARNAFA'   RUDGK. 

parlor  ;  where  the  locksmith,  stimulated  by  quietness  and 
Toby,  had  become  talkative,  and  was  disposed  to  take  a 
cheerful  review  of  the  occurrences  of  the  day.  But  Mrs. 
Varden,  whose  practical  religion  (as  is  not  uncommon)  was 
usually  of  the  retrospective  order,  cut  him  short  by  declaim- 
ing on  the  sinfulness  of  such  junketings,  and  holding  that  it 
was  high  time  to  go  to  bed.  To  bed  therefore  she  with- 
drew, with  an  aspect  as  grim  and  gloomy  as  that  of  the 
Maypole's  own  state  coach  ;  and  to  bed  the  rest  of  the  es- 
tablishment soon  afterward  repaired. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

Twilight  had  given  place  to  night  some  hours,  and  it  was 
high  noon  in  those  quarters  of  the  town  in  which  "  the 
world  "  condescended  to  dwell — the  world  being  then,  as 
now,  of  very  limited  dimensions  and  easily  lodged — when 
Mr.  Chester  reclined  upon  a  sofa  in  his  dressing-room  in 
the  temple,  entertaining  himself  with  a  book. 

He  was  dressing,  as  it  seemed,  by  easy  stages,  and  having 
performed  half  the  journey  was  taking  a  long  rest.  Com- 
pletely attired  as  to  his  legs  and  feet  in  the  trimmest  fashion 
of  the  day,  he  had  yet  the  remainder  of  his  toilet  to  perform. 
The  coat  was  stretched,  like  a  refined  scarecrow,  on  its 
separate  horse  ;  the  waistcoat  was  displayed  to  the  best  ad- 
vantage ;  the  various  ornamental  articles  of  dress  were 
severally  set  out  in  most  alluring  order  ;  and  yet  he  lay 
dangling  his  legs  between  the  sofa  and  the  ground,  as  intent 
upon  his  book  as  if  there  were  nothing  but  bed  before  him. 

*'  Upon  my  honor,"  he  said,  at  length  raising  his  eyes  to 
the  ceiling  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  was  reflecting  seri- 
ously on  what  he  had  read  ;  "  upon  my  honor,  the  most 
masterly  composition,  the  most  delicate  thoughts,  the  finest 
code  of  morality,  and  the  most  gentlemanly  sentiments  in 
^e  universe  !  Ah  Ned,  Ned,  if  you  would  but  form  your 
mind  by  such  precepts,  we  should  have  but  one  common 
feeling  on  every  subject  that  could  possibly  arise  between 
us!" 

This  apostrophe  was  addressed,  like  the  rest  of  his  re- 
marks, to  empty  air  ;  for  Edward  was  not  present,  and  the 
father  was  quite  alone. 

■'My  Lord  Chesterfield,"  he  said,  pressing  i.*^  hand  ten- 
derly upon  the  book  as  he  laid  it  down,  "  if  i    "^ould  but 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  173 

have  profited  by  your  genius  soon  enough  to  have  formed 
my  son  on  the  model  you  have  left  to  all  wise  fathers,  both 
he  and  I  would  have  been  rich  men.  Shakespeare  was  un- 
doubtedly very  fine  in  his  way  ;  Milton  good,  though  prosy  ; 
Lord  Bacon  deep,  and  decidedly  knowing  ;  but  the  writer 
who  should  be  his  country's  pride  is  my  Lord  Chesterfield." 

He  became  thoughtful  again,  and  the  toothpick  was  in 
requisition. 

"  I  thought  I  was  tolerably  accomplished  as  a  man  of  the 
world,"  he  continued,  "  I  flattered  myself  that  I  was  pretty 
well  versed  in  all  those  little  arts  and  graces  which  distin- 
guished men  of  the  world  from  bocrs  and  peasants,  and 
separate  their  character  from  those  intensely  vulgar  senti- 
ments which  are  called  the  national  character.  Apart  from 
any  natural  prepossession  in  my  own  favor,  I  believed  I 
was.  Still,  in  every  page  of  this  enlightened  writer,  I  find 
some  captivating  hypocrisy  which  has  never  occurred  to  me 
before,  or  some  superlative  piece  of  selfishness  to  which  I 
was  utterly  a  stranger.  I  should  quite  blush  for  myself  be- 
fore this  stupendous  creature,  if  remembering  his  precepts, 
one  mxight  blush  at  any  thing.  An  amazing  man  !  a  noble- 
man indeed  !  any  king  or  queen  may  make  a  lord,  but  only 
the  devil  himself — and  the  Graces — can  make  a  Chester- 
field." 

Men  who  are  thoroughly  false  and  hollow,  seldom  try  to 
hide  those  vices  from  themselves  ;  and  yet  in  the  very  act 
of  avowing  them,  they  lay  claim  to  the  virtues  they  feign 
most  to  despise.  "  For,"  say  they,  "  this  is  honesty,  this  is 
truth.  All  mankind  are  1  ke  us,  but  they  have  not  the  can- 
dor to  avow  it."  The  more  they  affect  to  deny  the  existence 
of  any  sincerity  in  the  world,  the  more  they  would  be 
thought  to  possess  it  in  its  boldest  shape  ;  and  this  is  an  un- 
conscious compliment  to  Truth  on  the  part  of  these  philos- 
ophers, which  will  turn  the  laugh  against  them  to  the  Day 
of  Judgment. 

Mr.  Chester,  having  extolled  his  favorite  author,  as  above 
recited,  took  up  the  book  again  in  the  excess  of  his  admira- 
tion and  was  composing  himself  for  a  further  perusal  of  its 
sublime  morality,  when  he  was  disturbed  by  a  noise  at  the 
outer  door  ;  occasioned  as  it  seemed  by  the  endeavors  of 
his  servant  to  obstruct  the  entrance  of  some  unwelcome 
visitor. 

"  A  late  hour  for  an  importunate  creditor,"  he  said,  rais- 
ing his  eyebrows  with  as  indolent  an  expression  of  wonder 


174  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

as  if  the  noise  were  in  the  street,  and  one  with  which  he  had 
not  the  smallest  possible  concern.  "  Much  after  their  ac- 
customed time.  The  usual  pretense  I  suppose.  No  doubt 
a  heavy  payment  to  make  up  to-morrow.  Poor  fellow,  he 
loses  time,  and  time  is  money  as  the  good  proverb  says — 
I  never  found  it  out  though.  Well.  What  now  ?  You 
know  I  am  not  at  home." 

*'  A  man,  sir,"  replied  the  servant,  who  was  to  the  full  as 
cool  and  negligent  in  his  way  as  his  master,  **  has  brought 
home  the  riding  whip  you  lost  the  other  day.  I  told  him 
you  were  out,  but  he  said  he  was  to  wait  while  I  brought  it 
in,  and  wouldn't  go  till  I  did." 

"  He  was  quite  right,"  returned  his  master,  *'and  you're  a 
blockhead,  possessing  no  judgment  or  discretion  whatever. 
Tell  him  to  come  in,  and  see  that  he  rubs  his  shoes  for 
exactly  five  minutes  first." 

The  man  laid  the  whip  on  a  chair,  and  withdrew.  The 
master,  who  had  only  heard  his  foot  upon  the  ground  and 
had  not  taken  the  trouble  to  turn  round  and  look  at  him, 
shut  his  book,  and  pursued  the  train  of  ideas  his  entrance 
had  disturbed. 

"  If  time  were  money,"  he  said,  handling  his  snuff-box, 
"  I  would  compound  with  my  creditors,  and  give  them — let 
me  see — how  much  a  day  ?  There's  my  nap  after  dinner — 
an  hour — they're  extremely  welcom.e  to  that,  and  to  make 
the  most  of  it.  In  the  morning  between  my  breakfast  and 
the  paper,  I  could  spare  them  another  hour  ;  in  the  evening 
before  dinner  say  another.  Three  hours  a  day.  They 
might  pay  themselves  in  calls,  with  interest,  in  tv/elve 
months.  I  think  I  shall  propose  it  to  them.  Ah,  my  cen- 
taur, are  you  there  ?  " 

"Here  I  am,"  replied  Hugh,  striding  in,  followed  by  a 
dog,  as  rough  and  sullen  as  himself  ;  "  and  trouble  enough 
I've  had  to  get  here.  What  do  you  ask  me  to  come  for, 
and  keep  me  out  when  1  do  come  ?  " 

"  My  good  fellow,"  returned  the  other,  raising  his  head  a 
little  from  the  cushion  and  carelessly  surveying  him  from 
top  to  toe,  *'  I  am  delighted  to  see  you,  and  to  have,  in  your 
being  here,  the  very  best  proof  that  you  are  not  kept  out. 
How  are  you  ?  " 

"  I'm  well  enough,"  said  Hugh  impatiently. 

"  You  look  a  perfect  marvel  of  health.     Sit  down." 

"  I'd  rather  stand,"  said  Hugh. 

**  Please  yourself,  my  good  fellow,"  returned  Mr.  Chester 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  175 

rising,  slowly  pulling  off  the  loose  robe  he  wore,  and  sitting 
down  before  the  dressing-glass.  "  Please  yourself  by  all 
means." 

Having  said  this  in  the  politest  and  blandest  tone  possible, 
he  went  on  dressing,  and  took  no  further  notice  of  his  guest, 
who  stood  in  the  same  spot  as  uncertain  what  to  do  next, 
eying  him  sulkily  from  time  to  time. 

"  Are  you  going  to  speak  to  me,  master  } "  he  said,  after 
a  long  silence. 

"  My  worthy  creature,"  returned  Mr.  Chester,  "  you  are  a 
little  ruffled  and  out  of  humor.  I'll  wait  till  you're  quite 
yourself  again.     I  am  in  no  hurry." 

This  behavior  had  its  intended  effect.  It  humbled  and 
abashed  the  man,  and  made  him  still  more  irresolute  and 
uncertain.  Hard  words  he  could  have  returned,  violence 
he  would  have  repaid  with  interest  ;  but  this  cool,  compla- 
cent, contemptuous,  self-possessed  reception,  caused  him  to 
feel  his  inferiority  more  completely  than  the  most  elaborate 
arguments.  Every  thing  contributed  to  this  effect.  His 
own  rough  speech,'  contrasted  with  the  soft  persuasive 
accents  of  the  other  ;  his  rude  bearing,  and  Mr.  Chester's 
polished  manner  ;  the  disorder  and  negligence  of  his  ragged 
dress,  and  the  elegant  attire  he  saw  before  him  ;  with  all 
the  unaccustomed  luxuries  and  comforts  of  the  room,  and 
the  silence  that  gave  him  leisure  to  observe  these  things, 
and  feel  how  ill  at  ease  they  made  him  ;  all  these  influences, 
which  have  too  often  some  effect  on  tutored  minds  and  be- 
come of  almost  resistless  power  when  brought  to  bear  on  such 
a  mind  as  his,  quelled  Hugh  completely.  He  moved  by  little 
and  little  nearer  to  Mr.  Chester's  chair,  and  glancing  over 
his  shoulder  at  the  reflection  of  his  face  in  the  glass,  as  if 
seeking  for  some  encouragement  in  its  expression,  said  at 
length,  with  a  rough  attempt  at  conciliation  : 

'^  Are  you  going  to  speak  to  me,  master,  or  am  I  to  go 
away  ? " 

*'  Speak  you,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  "  speak  you,  good 
fellow.  I  have  spoken,  have  1  not  ?  I  am  waiting  for 
you." 

"  Why,  look'ee,  sir,"  returned  Hugh  with  increased 
embarrassment,  "  I  am  the  man  that  you  privately  left  your 
whip  with  before  you  rode  away  from  the  Maypole,  and  told 
to  bring  it  back  whenever  he  might  want  to  see  you  on  a 
certain  subject  ?  " 

**  No  doubt  the  same,  or  you   have  a  twin  brother,"  said 


176  BARNABY   RUDGE. 

Mr.  Chester,  glancing  at  the  reflection  of  his  anxious  face  ; 
**  which  is  not  probable,  I  should  say." 

"  Then  I  have  come,  sir,"  said  Hugh,  "  and  I  have  brought 
it  back,  and  something  else  along  with  it.  A  letter,  sir,  it 
is,  that  I  took  from  the  person  who  had  charge  of  it."  As 
he  spoke,  he  laid  upon  the  dressing-table,  Dolly's  lost  epistle. 
The  very  letter  that  had  cost  her  so  much  trouble. 

"  Did  you  obtain  this  by  force,  my  good  fellow  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Chester,  casting  his  eye  upon  it  without  the  least  per- 
ceptible surprise  or  pleasure. 

"  Not  quite,"  said  Hugh,     "  Partly." 

"  Who  was  the  messenger  from  whom  you  took  it  ? " 

"A  woman.     One  Varden's  daughter." 

"  Oh  indeed  !  "  said  Mr.  Chester  gayly.  **  What  else  did 
you  take  from  her  ?  " 

"  What  else  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  other,  in  a  drawling  manner,  for  he  was 
fixing  a  very  small  patch  of  sticking  plaster  on  a  very  small 
pimple  near  the  corner  of  his  mouth.     "  What  else  ?" 

^*  Well — a  kiss,"  replied  Hugh,  after  some  hesitation. 

"  And  what  else  ?  " 

"Nothing." 

"  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  in  the  same  easy  tone,  and 
smiling  twice  or  thrice  to  try  if  the  patch  adhered — "  I  think 
there  was  something  else.  I  have  heard  a  trifle  of  jewelry 
spoken  of — a  mere  trifle — a  thing  of  such  little  value,  indeed, 
that  you  may  have  forgotten  it.  Do  you  remember  any 
thing  of  the  kind — such  as  a  bracelet  now,  for  instance  ?  " 

Hugh  wi.'h  a  muttered  oath  thrust  his  hand  into  his  breast, 
and  drawing  the  bracelet  forth,  wrapped  in  a  scrap  of  hay, 
was  about  to  lay  it  on  the  table  likewise,  when  his  patron 
stopped  his  hand  and  bade  him  put  it  up  again. 

"  You  took  that  for  yourself,  my  excellent  friend,"  he  said, 
"  and  may  keep  it.  I  am  neither  a  thief  nor  a  receiver. 
Don't  show  it  to  me.  You.  had  better  hide  it  again,  and  lose 
no  time.  Don't  let  me  see  where  you  put  it  either,"  he 
added,  turning  away  his  head. 

"  You're  not  a  receiver  !  "  said  Hugh  bluntly,  despite  the 
increasing  awe  with  which  he  held  him.  "  What  do  you 
call  f/ii7t,  master  ? "  striking  the  letter  with  his  heavy 
hand. 

"  I  call  that  quite  another  thing,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  coolly 
"  I  shall  prove  it  presently,  as  you  will  see.  You  are  thirsty, 
I  suppose  ?  " 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  i77 

Hugh  drew  his  sleeve  across  his  lips,  and  gruffly  answered 
yes. 

"  Step  to  that  closet  and  bring  me  a  bottle  you  will  see 
there,  and  a  glass." 

He  obeyed.  His  patron  followed  him  with  his  eyes,  and 
when  his  back  was  turned,  smiled  as  he  had  never  done  when 
he  stood  beside  the  mirror.  On  his  return  he  filled  the  glass, 
and  bade  him  drink.  That  dram  dispatched,  he  poured  him 
out  another  and  another. 

"How  many  can  you  bear?"  he  said,  filling  the  glass 
again. 

"  As  many  as  you  like  to  give  me.  Pour  on.  Fill  high. 
A  bumper  with  a  bead  in  the  middle  !  Give  me  enough  of 
this,"  he  added,  as  he  tossed  it  down  his  hairy  throat,  "  and 
I'll  do  murder  if  you  ask  me  !  " 

"  As  I  don't  mean  to  ask  you,  and  you  might  possibly  do 
it  without  being  invited  if  you  went  on  much  further,"  said 
Mr.  Chester  with  great  composure,  *'  we  will  stop,  if  agree- 
able to  you,  my  good  friend,  at  the  next  glass.  You  were 
drinking  before  you  came  here." 

"  I  always  am  when  I  can  get  it,"  cried  Hugh  boister- 
ously, waving  the  empty  glass  above  his  head,  and  throwing 
himself  into  a  rude  dancing  attitude.  "  I  always  am.  Why 
not  ?  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  What's  so  good  to  me  as  this?  What 
ever  has  been  ?  What  else  has  kept  away  the  cold  on  bitter 
nights,  and  driven  hunger  off  in  starving  times  ?  What  else 
has  given  me  the  strength  and  courage  of  a  man,  when  men 
would  have  left  me  to  die,  a  puny  child  ?  I  should  never 
have  had  a  man's  heart  but  for  this.  I  should  have  died  in 
a  ditch.  Where's  he  who,  when  I  was  a  weak  and  sickly 
-wretch,  with  trembling  legs  and  fading  sight,  bademe  cheer 
up,  as  this  did  ?  I  never  knew  him  ;  not  I.  I  drink  to  the 
drink,  master.     Ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

"  You  are  an  exceedingly  cheerful  young  man,"  said  Mr. 
Chester,  putting  on  his  cravat  witli  great  deliberation,  and 
slightly  moving  his  head  from  side  to  side  to  settle  his  chin 
in  its  proper  place.     "  Quite  a  boon  companion."  ^ 

"  Do  you  see  this  hand,  master,"  said  Hugh,  "  and  this 
arm  ?"  baring  the  brawny  limb  to  the  elbow.  "  It  was  once 
mere  skin  and  bone,  and  would  have  been  dust  in  some  poor 
church-vard  by  this  time,  but  for  the  drink." 

"•  You  may  cover  it,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  "  it's  sufficiently 
real  in  your  sleeve." 

*'  I  should  never  have  been  spirited  up  to  take  a  kiss  from 


17??  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

the  proud  little  beauty,  master,  but  for  the  drink,"  cried 
Hugh.  *'  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  It  was  a  good  one.  As  sweet  as 
honey-suckle  I  warrant  you.  I  thank  the  drink  for  it.  I'll 
drink  to  the  drink  again,  master.  Fill  me  one  more.  Come. 
One  more  ? " 

"  You  are  such  a  promising  fellow,"  said  his  patron,  put- 
ting on  his  waistcoat  with  a  great  nicety,  and  taking  no  'leed 
of  this  request,  "  that  I  must  caution  you  against  having  too 
many  impulses  from  the  drink,  and  getting  hung  before  your 
time.     What's  your  age  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know." 

'*  At  any  rate,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  "  you  are  young  enough 
to  escape  what  I  may  call  a  natural  death  for  some  years  to 
come.  How  can  you  trust  yourself  in  my  hands  on  so  short 
an  acquaintance,  with  a  halter  round  your  neck  ?  What  a 
confiding  nature  yours  must  be  !  " 

Hugh  fell  back  a  pace  or  two  and  surveyed  him  with  a  look 
of  mingled  terror,  indignation  and  surprise.  Regarding  him- 
self in  the  glass  with  the  same  complacency  as  before,  and 
speaking  as  smoothly  as  if  he  were  discussing  some  pleasant 
chit-chat  of  the  town,  his  patron  went  on  : 

"  Robbery  on  the  king's  highway,  my  young  friend,  is  a 
very  dangerous  and  ticklish  occupation.  It  is  pleasant,  I  have 
no  doubt,  while  it  lasts  ;  but  like  many  other  pleasures  in 
this  transitory  world,  it  seldom  lasts  long.  And  really  if,  in 
the  ingenuousness  of  youth,  you  open  your  heart  so  readily  on 
the  subject,  I  am  afraid  your  career  will  be  an  extremely 
short  one." 

*^  How's  this  ? "  said  Hugh.  "  What  do  you  talk  of,  master  ? 
Who  was  it  set  me  on  ?  " 

"  Who  ?  "  said  Mr.  Chester,  wheeling  sharply  round,  and 
looking  full  at  him  for  the  first  time.  "  I  didn't  hear  you. 
Who  was  it  ?  " 

Hugh  faltered  and  muttered  something  which  was  not 
audible, 

"  Who  was  it?  I  am  curious  to  know,"  said  Mr.  Chester, 
with  surpassing  affability.  "  Some  rustic  beauty  perhaps  ? 
But  be  cautious,  my  good  friend.  They  are  not  always  to 
be  trusted.  Do  take  my  advice  now,  and  be  careful  of  your- 
self," With  these  words  he  turned  to  the  glass  again,  and 
went  on  with  his  toilet. 

Hugh  would  have  answered  him  that  he,  the  questioner 
himself,  had  set  him  on,  but  the  words  stuck  in  his  throat. 
The  consummate  art  with  which  his  patron  had  led  him  to 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  i79 

this  point,  and  managed  the  whole  conversation,  perfectly 
baffled  him.  He  did  not  doubt  that  if  he  made  the  retort 
which  was  on  his  lips  when  Mr.  Chester  turned  round  and 
questioned  him  so  keenly,  he  would  straightway  have  given 
him  into  custody  and  had  him  dragged  before  a  justice  with 
the  property  stolen  upon  him  ;  in  which  case  it  was  as  cer- 
tain he  would  have  been  hung  as  it  was  that  he  had  been  born. 
The  ascendency  which  it  was  the  purpose  of  the  man  of 
the  world  to  establish  over  this  savage  instrument,  was 
gained  from  that  time.  Hugh's  submission  was  complete. 
He  dreaded  him  beyond  description  ;  and  felt  that  acci- 
dent and  artifice  had  spun  a  web  about  him,  which  at  a 
touch  from  such  a  master-hand  as  his,  would  bind  him  to 
the  gallows. 

With  these  thoughts  passing  through  his  mind,  and  yet 
wondering  at  the  very  same  time  how  he  who  came  there 
rioting  in  the  confidence  of  this  man  (as  he  thought), 
should  be  so  soon  and  so  thoroughly  subdued,  Hugh  stood 
cowering  before  him,  regarding  him  uneasily  from  time  to 
time,  while  he  finished  dressing.  When  he  had  done  so,  he 
took  up  the  letter,  broke  the  seal,  and  throwing  himself  back 
in  his  chair,  read  it  leisurely  through. 

''  Very  neatly  worded  upon  my  life  !  Quite  a  woman's 
letter,  full  of  what  people  call  tenderness,  and  disinterested- 
ness, and  heart,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing  !  " 

As  he  spoke  he  twisted  it  up,  and  glancing  lazily  round 
at  Hugh  as  though  he  would  say  "  You  see  this  ?  "  held 
it  in  the  flames  of  the  candle.  When  it  was  in  a  full 
blaze  he  tossed  it  into  the  grate,  and  there  it  smoldered 
away. 

''  It  was  directed  to  my  son,"  he  said,  turning  to  Hugh, 
"and  you  did  quite  right  to  bring  it  here.  I  opened  it  on 
my  own  responsibility,  and  you  see  what  I  have  done  with  it. 
Take  this,  for  your  trouble." 

Hugh  stepped  forward  to  receive  the  piece  of  money  he 
held  out  to  him.     As  he  put  it  in  his  hand  he  added  : 

"If  you  should  happen  to  find  any  thing  else  of  this 
sort,  or  to  pick  up  any  kind  of  information  you  may  think 
1  would  like  to  have,  bring  it  here,  will  you,  my  good 
fellovv  ?  " 

This  was  said  with  a  smile  which  implied— or  Hugh 
thought  it  did—"  fail  to  do  so  at  your  peril  !  "  He  answered 
that  he  would. 

"  And  don't,"  said  his  patron,  with  an  air  of  the  very  kind- 


i8o  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

est  patronage,  "don't  be  at  all  downcast  or  uneasy  respect- 
ing that  little  rashness  we  have  been  speaking  of.  Your 
neck  is  as  safe  in  my  hands,  my  good  fellow,  as  though  a 
baby's  finger  clasped  it,  I  assure  you.  Take  another  glass. 
You  are  quieter  now." 

Hugh  accepted  it  from  his  hand,  and  looking  stealthily  at 
his  smiling  face,  drank  the  contents  in  silence. 

**  Don't  you — ha,  ha  ! — don't  you  drink  to  the  drink  any 
more  ?  "  said  Mr.  Chester,  in  his  most  winning  manner. 

"  To  you,  sir,"  was  the  sullen  answer,  with  something  ap- 
proaching to  a  bow.     "  I  drink  to  you.'' 

"  Thank  you.  God  bless  you.  By  the  by,  what  is  your 
name,  my  good  soul?  You  are  called  Hugh,  I  know,  of 
course — your  other  name  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  other  name." 

"  A  very  strange  fellow  !  Do  you  mean  that  you  never 
knew  one,  or  that  you  don't  choose  to  tell  it  ?     Which  .?  " 

"I'd  tell  it  if  I  could," said  Hugh,  quickly,     "  I  can't.     I 
have  always  been  called  Hugh  ;  nothing  more.   I  never  knew 
nor  saw,  nor  thought  about  a  father  ;  and  I  was  a  boy  of  six 
— that's  not  very  old — when   they   hung   my  mother  up  a 
Tyburn  for  a  couple  of  thousand  of  men  to  stare  rt.     They 
might  have  let  her  live.     She  was  poor  enough." 

"  How  very  sad  !  "  exclaimed  his  patron,  with  a  conde- 
scending smile.  "  I  have  no  doubt  she  was  an  exceedingly 
fine  woman." 

''  You  see  that  dog  of  mine  ? "  said  Hugh,  abruptly. 

"  Faithful,  I  dare  say  ?"  rejoined  his  patron,  looking  at 
him  through  his  glass  ;  "  and  immensely  clever  ?  Virtuous 
and  gifted  animals,  whether  man  or  beast,  always  are  so  very 
hideous." 

"  Such  a  dog  as  that,  and  one  of  the  same  breed,  was  the 
only  living  thing  except  me  that  howled  that  day,"  said  Hugh. 
"  Out  of  the  two  thousand  odd — there  w^as  a  larger  crowd 
for  its  being  a  woman — the  dog  and  I  alone  had  any  pity. 
If  he'd  have  been  a  man,  he'd  have  been  glad  to  be  quit  of 
her,  for  she  had  been  forced  to  keep  him  lean  and  half- 
starved  ;  but  being  a  dog,  and  not  having  a  man's  sense,  he 
was  sorry." 

"  It  was  dull  of  the  brute,  certainly,"  said  Mr.  Chester, 
"and  very  like  a  brute." 

Hugh  made  no  rejoinder,  but  whistling  to  his  dog,  who 
sprung  up  at  the  sound  and  came  jumping  and  sporting 
about  him,  bade  his  sympathizing  friend  good-night. 


BARNABY  RUUGE.  i8i 

"  Good-night,"  he  returned.  "  Remember  ;  3^ou're  safe 
with  me — quite  safe.  So  long  as  you  deserve  it,  my  good 
fellow,  as  I  hope  you  always  will,  you  have  a  friend  in  me, 
on  whose  silence  you  may  rely.  Now  do  be  careful  of  your- 
self, pray  do,  and  consider  what  jeopardy  you  might  have 
stood  in.     Good-night  !  bless  you." 

Hugh  truckled  before  the  hidden  meaning  of  these  words 
as  much  as  such  a  being  could,  and  crept  out  of  the  door  so 
submissively  and  subserviently — with  an  air,  in  short,  so 
different  from  that  with  which  he  had  entered — that  his 
patron  on  being  left  alone,  smiled  more  than  ever. 

"  And  yet,"  he  said,  as  he  took  a  pinch  of  snuff,  "  I  do 
not  like  their  having  hanged  his  mother.  The  fellow  has  a 
fine  eye,  and  I  am  sure  she  was  handsome.  But  very  prob- 
ably she  was  coarse — red-nosed,  and  had  clumsy  feet.  Ay, 
it  was  all  for  the  best,  no  doubt." 

With  this  comforting  reflection,  he  put  on  his  coat,  took  a 
farewell  glance  at  the  glass,  and  summoned  his  man,  who 
promptly  attended,  followed  by  a  chair  and  its  two  bearers. 

''  Foh  !  "  said  Mr.  Chester.  "  The  very  atmosphere  that 
centaur  has  breathed,  seems  tainted  with  the  cart  and  ladder. 
Here,  Peak.  Bring  some  scent  and  sprinkle  the  floor  ;  and 
take  away  the  chair  he  sat  upon,  and  air  it ;  and  dash  a  lit- 
tle of  that  mixture  upon  me.     I  am  stifled  !  " 

The  man  obeyed  ;  and  the  room  and  its  master  being  both 
purified,  nothing  remained  for  Mr.  Chester  but  to  demand 
his  hat,  to  fold  it  jauntily  under  his  arm,  to  take  his  seat  in 
the  chair  and  be  carried  off  ;  humming  a  fashionable  tune. 


CHAPTER   XXIV. 

How  the  accomplished  gentleman  spent  the  evening  in 
the  midst  of  a  dazzling  and  brilliant  circle  ;  how  he  en- 
chanted all  those  with  whom  he  mingled  by  the  grace  of  his 
deportment,  the  politeness  of  his  manner,  the  vivacity  of  his 
conversation,  and  the  sweetness  of  his  voice  ;  how  it  was 
observed  in  every  corner,  that  Chester  was  a  man  of  that 
happy  disposition  that  nothing  ruffled  him,  that  he  was  one 
on  whom  the  world's  cares  and  errors  sat  lightly  as  his  dress, 
and  in  whose  smiling  face  a  calm  and  tranquil  mind  was  con- 
stantly reflected  ;  how  honest  men,  who  by  instinct  knew 
him  better,  bowed  down  before  him  nevertheless,  deferred 
to  his  every  word,  and  courted   his   favorable   notice  ;  how 


i82  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

people,  who  really  had  good  in  them,  went  with  the  stream, 
and  fawned  and  flattered  and  approved,  and  despised  them> 
selves  while  they  did  so,  and  yet  had  not  the  courage  to 
resist  ;  how,  in  short,  he  was  one  of  those  who  are  received 
and  cherished  in  society  (as  the  phrase  is)  by  scores  who 
individually  would  shrink  from  and  be  repelled  by  the  ob- 
ject of  their  lavish  regard  ;  are  things  of  course,  which  will 
suggest  themselves.  Matter  so  commonplace  needs  but  a 
passing  glance,  and  there  an  end. 

The  despisers  of  mankind — apart  from  the  mere  fools  and 
mimics  of  that  creed — are  of  two  sorts.  They  who  believe 
their  merit  neglected  and  unappreciated,  makeup  one  class  ; 
they  who  receive  adulation  and  flattery,  knowing  their  own 
worthlessness,  compose  the  other.  Be  sure  that  the  coldest- 
hearted  misanthropes  are  ever  of  this  last  order. 

Mr.  Chester  sat  up  in  bed  next  morning,  sipping  his  coffee, 
and  remembering  with  a  kind  of  contemptuous  satisfaction 
how  he  had  shone  last  night,  and  how  he  had  been  caressed 
and  courted,  when  his  servant  brought  in  a  very  small  scrap 
of  dirty  paper,  tightly  sealed  in  two  places,  on  the  inside 
wliereof  was  inscribed  in  pretty  large  text  these  words.  "  A 
friend.  Desiring  of  a  conference.  Immediate.  Private 
Burn  it  when  you've  read  it." 

'*  Where  in  the  name  of  the  Gunpowder  Plot  did  you  pick 
up  this  ?"  said  his  master. 

It  was  given  him  by  a  person  then  waiting  at  the  door,  the 
man  replied. 

"  With  a  cloak  and  dagger  ?  "  said  Mr.  Chester. 

With  nothing  more  threatening  about  him,  it  appeared, 
than  a  leather  apron  and  a  dirty  face.  "  Let  him  come  in." 
In  he  came — Mr.  Tappertit  •  with  his  hair  still  on  end,  and 
a  great  lock  in  his  hand,  which  he  put  down  on  the  floor  in 
the  middle  of  the  chamber  as  if  he  were  about  to  go  through 
some  performances  in  which  it  was  a  necessary  agent. 

"  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  with  a  low  bow,  "  I  thank  you 
for  this  condescension,  and  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  Pardon 
the  menial  office  in  which  I  am  engaged,  sir,  and  extenc". 
your  sympathies  to  one  who,  humble  as  his  appearance  is, 
has  inn'ard  workings  far  above  his  station." 

Mr.  Chester  held  the  bed-curtain  further  back,  and  looked 
at  him  with  a  vague  impression  that  he  was  some  maniac, 
who  had  not  only  broken  open  the  door  of  his  place  of  con- 
finement, but  had  brought  away  the  lock.  Mr.  Tappertit 
bowed  again,  and  displayed  his  legs  to  the  best  advantage. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  183 

"  You  have  heard,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  faying  his 
hand  upon  his  breast,  "  of  G.  Varden,  locksmith  and  bell- 
hanger,  and  repairs  neatly  executed  in  town  and  country, 
Clerkenwell,  London?" 

"  What  then  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Chester. 

"I'm  his  'prentice,  sir." 

"  What  M<f// ;  " 

"Ahem  !  "  said  Mr.  Tappertit.  "Would  you  permit  me 
to  shut  the  door,  sir,  and  will  you  further,  sir,  give  me  your 
honor  bright,  that  what  passes  between  us  is  in  the  strictest 
confidence  ?" 

Mr.  Chester  laid  himself  calmly  down  in  bed  again,  and 
turning  a  perfectly  undisturbed  face  toward  the  strange 
apparition,  which  had  by  this  time  closed  the  door,  begged 
him  to  speak  out,  and  to  be  as  rational  as  he  could,  without 
putting  himself  to  any  very  great  inconvenience. 

"In  the  first  place,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  producing  a 
small  pocket  handkerchief,  and  shaking  it  out  of  the  folds, 
"as  1  have  not  a  card  about  me  (for  the  envy  of  masters 
debases  us  below  that  level)  allow  me  to  offer  the  best  sub- 
stitute that  circumstances  will  admit  of.  If  you  will  take 
that  in  your  ov/n  hand,  sir,  and  cast  your  eye  on  the  right- 
hand  corner,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  offering  it  with  a  graceful 
air,  "you  will  meet  with  my  credentials." 

"  Thank  you,"  answered  Mr.  Chester,  politely  accepting, 
and  turning  to  some  blood-red  characters  at  one  end. 
"  '  Four.     Simon  Tappertit.     One.'     Is  that  the- " 

"Without  the  numbers,  sir,  that  is  my  name,"  replied  the 
'prentice.  "They  are  merely  intended  as  directions  to  the 
washerwoman,  and  have  no  connection  with  myself  or 
family.  Your  name,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  looking  very 
hard  at  his  nightcap,  "  is  Chester,  I  suppose  ?  You  needn't 
pull  it  off,  sir,  thank  you.  I  observe  E.  C.  from  here.  We 
will  take  the  rest  for  granted." 

"  Pray,  Mr.  Tappertit,  said  Mr.  Chester,  "  has  that  com- 
plicated piece  of  iron-mongery  which  you  have  done  me  the 
favor  to  bring  with  you,  any  immediate  connection  with  the 
business  we  are  to  discuss  ?  " 

"  It  has  not,  sir,"  rejoined  the  'prentice.  "  It's  going  to 
be  fitted  on  a  ware'us  door  in  Thames  Street." 

"  Perhaps,  as  that  is  the  case,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  "  and  as 
it  has  a  stronger  flavor  of  oil  than  I  usually  refresh  my  bed- 
room with,  you  will  oblige  me  so  far  as  to  put  it  outside  the 
door?" 


j8/  J3ARNABY  RUDGE 

'  By  aii  means,  sir  said  Mr  Tappertit-  suiting  the  actior 
to  the  word- 

*  You'll  excuse  my  mentioning  it,  I  hope  ? ' 
'  Don't  apologize,  sir,  I  beg.     And  now.  if  you  please,  tt 
business." 

During  the  whole  of  this  dialogue,  Mr.  Chester  had  suf- 
fered nothing  but  his  smile  of  unvarying  serenity  and  polite- 
ness to  appear  upon  his  face.  Sim  Tappertit,  who  had  far 
too  good  an  opinion  of  himself  to  suspect  that  any  body 
could  be  playing  upon  him,  thought  within  himself  that  this 
was  something  like  the  respect  to  which  he  was  entitled,  and 
drew  a  comparison  from  this  courteous  demeanor  of  a 
stranger,  by  no  means  favorable  to  the  worthy  locksmith. 

"  From  what  passes  in  our  house,"  said  Mr,  Tappertit,  "  I 
am  aware,  sir,  that  your  son  keeps  company  with  a  young 
lady  against  your  inclinations  Sir,  your  son  has  not  used 
me  well." 

"Mr.  Tappertit,"  said  the  other,  "you  grieve  me  beyond 
description," 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  replied  the  'prentice,  ''I'm  glad  to 
hear  you  say  so  He's  very  proud,  sir,  is  your  son  ;  very 
haughty." 

"  I    am  afraid   he   is  haughty,"  said   Mr.  Chester.     "  Do 
70U  know  I  was  really  afraid  of  that   before  ;  and  you  con 
firm  me  ? " 

"  To  recount  the  menial  offices  I've  had  to  do  for  your 
son,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit  ;  "  the  chairs  I've  had  to  hand 
him,  the  coaches  I've  had  to  call  for  him,  the  numerous 
degrading  duties,  wholly  unconnected  with  my  indenters, 
that  I've  had  to  do  for  him,  would  fill  a  family  Bible.  Be- 
sides which,  sir,  he  is  but  a  young  man  himself,  and  I  do 
not  consider  '  thank'ee  Sim,'  a  proper  form  of  address  on 
those  occasions." 

"  Mr.  Tappertit,  your  wisdom  is  beyond  your  years. 
Pray  go  on." 

I  thank  you  for  your  good  opinion,  sir,"  said  Sim,  much 
gratified,  "  and  will  endeavor  so  to  do.  Now,  sir,  on  this 
account  (and  perhaps  for  another  reason  or  two  which  I 
needn't  go  into)  I  am  on  your  side.  .And  what  I  tell  you  is 
this — that  as  long  as  our  people  go  backward  and  forward, 
to  and  fro,  up  and  down,  to  that  there  jolly  old  Maypole, 
lettering,  and  messaging,  and  fetching,  and  carrying,  you 
couldn't  help  .your  son  keeping  company  with  that  young 
lady  by  deputy — not  if  he   was  minded  night  and  day  by 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  185 

all  the  Horse  Guards,  and  every  man  of  'em  in  the  very  full- 
est uniform." 

Mr.  Tappertit  stopped  to  take  breath  after  this,  and  then 
started  fresh  again. 

"  Now,  sir,  1  am  a-coming  to  the  point.  You  will  inquire 
of  me,  *  how  is  this  to  be  prevented  ? '  I'll  tell  you  how. 
If  an  honest,  civil,  smiling  gentleman  like  you '' 

"  Mr.  Tappertit — really " 

"  No,  no,  I'm  serious,"  rejoined  the  prentice,  "'  1  am, 
upon  my  soul.  If  an  honest,  civil,  smiling  gentleman  like 
you,  was  to  talk  but  ten  minutes  to  our  old  woman — that's 
Mrs.  Varden — and  flatter  her  up  a  bit,  you'd  gain  her  over 
forever.  Then  there's  this  point  got — that  her  daughter 
Dolly," — here  a  flush  came  over  Mr.  Tappertit's  face— 
'*  wouldn't  be  allowed  to  be  a  go-between  from  that  time 
forward  ;  and  till  that  point's  got,  there's  nothing  ever  will 
prevent  her      Mind  that." 

"  Mr.  Tappertit,  your  knowledge  of  human  nature — ' 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  said  Sim,  folding  his  arms  with  a  dread 
ful  calmness.  "  Now,  I  come  to  the  point.  Sir,  there  is  a 
villain  at  that  Maypole,  a  monster  in  human  shape,  a  vaga- 
bond of  the  deepest  dye,  that  unless  you  get  rid  of,  and 
have  kidnapped  and  carried  off  at  the  very  least — nothing 
less  will  do — will  marry  your  son  to  that  young  woman, 
as  certainly  and  as  surely  as  if  he  was  the  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury  himself.  He  will,  sir,  for  the  hatred  and  mal- 
ice that  he  bears  to  you  ;  let  alone  the  pleasure  of  doing 
a  bad  action,  which  to  him  is  its  own  reward.  If  you  knew 
how  this  chap,  this  Joseph  Willet — that's  his  name— comes 
backward  and  forward  to  our  house,  libeling,  and  denounc- 
ing, and  threatening  you,  and  how  I  shudder  when  I  hear 
him,  you'd  hate  him  worse  than  I  do — worse  than  I  do,  sir," 
said  Mr.  Tappertit  wildly,  putting  his  hair  up  straighter, 
and  making  a  crunching  noise  with  his  teeth  :  "  if  such  a 
thing  is  possible." 

"  A  little  private  vengeance  in  this,  Mr.  Tappertit  ?" 

•*  Private  vengence,  sir,  or  public  sentiment,  or  both 
combined — destroy  him,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit.  "Miggs 
says  so  too.  Miggs  and  me  both  say  so.  We  can't  bear 
the  plotting  and  undermining  that  takes  place.  Our  souls 
recoil  from  it.  Barnaby  Rudge  and  Mrs.  Rudge  are  in 
it  likewise  ;  but  the  villain,  Joseph  Willet,  is  the  ring- 
leader. Their  plottings  and  schemes  are  known  to  me  and 
Miggs.     If  you  want  information  of  'em  apply  to  us.    Put 


i86  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

Joseph  Willet  down,  sir.  Destroy  him.  Crush  him.  And 
be  happy." 

With  these  words,  Mr.  Tappertit,  who  seemed  to  expect 
no  reply,  and  to  hold  it  as  a  necessary  consequence  of  his 
eloquence  that  his  hearer  should  be  utterly  stunned,  dum- 
foundered,  and  overwhelmed,  folded  his  arms  so  that  the 
palm  of  each  hand  rested  on  the  opposite  shoulder,  and  dis- 
appeared after  the  manner  of  those  mysterious  warners  of 
whom  he  had  read  in  cheap  story-books. 

"  That  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  relaxing  his  face  when 
he  was  fairly  gone,  '*  is  good  practice.  I  have  some  com- 
mand of  my  features,  beyond  all  doubt.  He  fully  con- 
firms what  I  suspected,  though ;  and  blunt  tools  are 
sometimes  found  of  use,  where  sharper  instruments  would 
fail.  I  fear  I  may  be  obliged  to  make  great  havoc  among 
these  worthy  people.  A  troublesome  necessity  !  I  quite 
feel  for  them, " 

With  that  he  fell  into  a  quiet  slumber  : — subsided  into 
such  a  gentle,  pleasant  sleep  that  it  was  quite  infantine. 


CHAPTER    XXV. 

Leaving  the  favored,  and  well-received,  and  flattered  of  the 
world  ;  him  of  the  world  most  worldly,  who  never  compromised 
himself  by  an  ungentlemanly  action,  and  never  was  guilty  of 
a  manly  one  ;  to 'ie  smilingly  asleep — for  even  sleep,  working 
but  little  change  in  his  dissembling  face,  became  with  him  a 
piece  of  cold,  conventional  hypocrisy — we  follow  in  the 
steps  of  two  slow  travelers  on  foot,  making  toward  Chigwell. 

Barnaby  and  his  mother.  Grip  in  their  company,  of 
course. 

The  widow,  to  whom  each  painful  mile  seemed  longer  than 
the  last,  toiled  wearily  along  ;  while  Barnaby,  yielding  to 
every  inconstant  impulse,  fluttered  here  and  there,  now  leav- 
ing her  far  behind,  now  lingering  far  behind  himself,  now 
darting  into  some  by-lane  or  path  and  leaving  her  to  pursue 
her  way  alone,  until  he  stealthily  emerged  again  and  came 
upon  her  with  a  wild  shout  of  merriment,  as  his  wayward 
and  capricious  nature  prompted.  Now  he  would  call  to  her 
from  the  topmost  branch  of  some  high  tree  by  the  road  side  ; 
now  using  his  tall  as  a  leaping-pole,  coming  flying  over  ditch 
or  hedge  or  five-barred  gate  ;  now  run  with  surprising  swift- 
ness for  a  mile  or  more   on   the  straight   road,  and   halting, 


BAXINABY  RUDGE.  187 

sport  upon  a  patch  of  grass  with  Grip  till  she  came  up. 
These  were  his  delights  ;  and  when  his  patient  mother 
heard  his  merry  voice,  or  looked  into  his  flushed  and  healthy 
face,  she  would  not  have  abated  them  by  one  sad  word  of 
murmur,  though  each  had  been  to  her  a  source  of  suffering 
in  the  same  degree  as  it  was  to  him  of  pleasure. 

It  is  something  to  look  upon  enjoyment,  so  that  it  be  free 
and  wild  and  in  the  face  of  nature,  though  it  is  but  the  en- 
joyment of  an  idiot.  It  is  something  to  know  that  heaven 
has  left  the  capacity  of  gladness  in  such  a  creature's  breast  ; 
it  is  something  to  be  assured  that,  however  lightly  men  may 
crush  that  faculty  in  their  fellows,  the  Great  Creator  of  man- 
kind imparts  it  even  to  his  despised  and  slighted  work.  Who 
would  not  rather  see  a  poor  idiot  happy  in  the  sunlight,  than 
a  wise  man  pining  in  the  darkened  jail  ! 

Ye  men  of  gloom  and  austerity,  who  paint  the  face  of  the 
Infinite  Benevolence  v.ath  an  eternal  frown  ;  read  in  the 
Everlasting  Book,  wide  open  to  your  view,  the  lesson  it 
would  teach.  Its  pictures  are  not  in  black  and  somber  hues, 
but  bright  and  glowing  tints  ;  its  music — save  when  ye 
drown  it — is  not  in  sighs  and  groans,  but  songs  and  cheerful 
sounds.  Listen  to  the  million  voices  in  the  summer  air,  and 
find  one  dismal  as  your  own.  Remember,  if  ye  can.  the 
sense  of  hope  and  pleasure  which  every  glad  return  of  cay 
awakens  in  the  breast  of  all  your  kind  who  have  not  changed 
their  nature  ;  and  learn  some  wisdom  even  from  the  witless, 
when  their  hearts  are  lifted  up  they  know  not  why,  by  all 
the  mirth  and  happiness  it  brings. 

The  widow's  breast  was  full  of  care,  was  laden  heavily 
with  secret  dread  and  sorrow  ;  but  her  boy's  gayety  of  heart 
gladdened  her,  and  beguiled  the  long  journey.  Sometimes 
he  would  bid  her  lean  upon  his  arm,  and  would  keep  beside 
her  steadily  for  a  short  distance  ;  but  it  was  more  his  nature 
to  be  rambling  to  and  fro,  and  she  better  liked  to  see  him 
free  and  happy,  even  than  to  have  him  near  her,  because  she 
loved  him  better  than  herself. 

She  had  quitted  the  place  to  which  they  were  traveling, 
directly  after  the  event  which  had  changed  her  whole  exist- 
ence ;  and  for  two-and-twenty  years  had  never  had  courage 
to  revisit  it.  It  was  her  native  village.  How  many  recol- 
lections crowded  on  her  mind  when  it  appeared  in  sight ! 

Two-and-twenty  years.  Her  boy's  whole  life  and  history. 
The  last  time  she  looked  back  upon  those  roofs  among  the 
trees,  she  carried   him   in  her  arms,  an  infant.     How  often 


i8S  BARNABV  RUDGE. 

since  that  time  had  she  sat  beside  him  night  and  day,  watch- 
ing for  the  dawn  of  mind  that  never  came  ;  how  had  she 
feared,  and  doubted,  and  yet  hoped,  long  after  conviction 
forced  itself  upon  her  !  The  little  stratagems  she  had  de- 
vised to  try  him,  the  little  tokens  he  had  given  in  his  child- 
ish way — not  of  dullness  but  of  something  infinitely  worse, 
so  ghastly  and  unchildlike  in  its  cunning — came  back  as 
vividly  as  if  but  yesterday  had  intervened.  The  room  in 
which  they  used  to  be  ;  the  spot  in  which  his  cradle  stood  ; 
he,  old  and  elfin-like  in  face,  but  ever  dear  to  her,  gazing  at 
her  with  a  wild  and  vacant  eye,  and  crooning  some  uncouth 
song  as  she  sat  by  and  rocked  him  ;  every  circumstance  of 
his  infancy  came  thronging  back,  and  the  most  trivial,  per- 
haps, the  most  distinctly. 

His  older  childhood,  too  ;  the  strange  imaginings  he  had  ; 
his  terror  of  certain  senseless  things — familiar  objects  he  en- 
dowed with  life  ;  the  slow  and  gradual  breaking  out  of  that 
one  horror,  in  w^hich,  before  his  birth,  his  darkened  intellect 
began  ;  how,  in  the  midst  of  all,  she  had  found  some  hope 
and  comfort  in  his  being  unlike  another  child,  and  had  gone 
on  almost  believing  in  the  slow  development  of  his  mind  until 
he  grew  a  man,  and  then  his  childhood  was  complete  and 
lasting  ;  one  after  another,  all  these  old  thoughts  sprung  up 
within  her,  strong  after  their  long  slumber  and  bitterer  than 
ever. 

She  took  his  arm  and  they  hurried  through  the  village 
street.  It  was  the  same  as  it  was  wont  to  be  in  old  times, 
yet  different  too,  and  wore  another  air.  The  change  was  in 
herself,  not  it  ;  but  she  never  thought  of  that,  and  wondered 
at  its  alteration  and  where  it  lay,  and  what  it  was. 

The  people  all  knew  Barnaby,  and  the  children  of  the  place 
came  flocking  round  him — as  she  remembered  to  have  done 
with  their  fathers  and  mothers  round  some  silly  beggerman, 
when  a  child  herself.  None  of  them  knew  her  ;  they  passed 
each  well  remembered  house,  and  yard,  and  homestead  ;  and 
striking  into  the  fields,  were  soon  alone  again. 

The  Warren  was  the  end  of  their  journey.  Mr.  Hare- 
dale  was  walking  in  the  garden,  and  seeing  them  as  they 
passed  the  iron  gate,  unlocked  it,  and  bade  them  enter  that 
way. 

"  At  length  you  have  mustered  heart  to  visit  the  old  plar<r  " 
he  said  to  the  widow.     "  I  am  glad  you  have." 

"  For  the  first  time  and  the  last,  sir,"  she  replied. 

'*  The  first  for  many  years,  but  not  the  last  ?" 


iJAKNABY  RUDGE.  189 

rue  very  last.' 

■  You  mean,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  regarding  her  with  some 
surprise,  **  that  having  made  this  effort,  you  are  resolved  not 
to  persevere  and  are  determined  to  relapse  ?  This  is  un- 
worthy of  you.  I  have  often  told  you,  you  should  return 
here.  You  would  be  happier  here  than  elsewhere,  I  know. 
As  to  Barnaby,  it's  quite  his  home." 

"And  Grip's,"  said  Barnaby,  holding  the  basket  open.  The 
raven  hopped  gravely  out,  and  perching  on  his  shoulder, 
and  addressing  himself  to  Mr.  Haredale,  cried — as  a  hint, 
perhaps,  that  some  temperate  refreshment  would  be  accept- 
able— "  Polly  put  the  ket-tle  on,  we'll  all  have  tea." 

*'  Hear  me,  Mary,"  said  Mr.  Haredale  kindly,  as  he  mo- 
tioned her  to  walk  with  him  toward  the  house.  ''Your  life 
has  been  an  example  of  patience  and  fortitude,  except  in 
this  one  particular  which  has  often  given  me  great  pain. 
It  is  enough  to  know  that  you  were  cruelly  involved  in  the 
calamity  which  deprived  me  of  an  only  brother,  and  Emma 
of  her  father,  without  being  obliged  to  suppose  (as  I  some- 
times am)  that  you  associate  us  with  the  author  of  our  joint 
misfortunes." 

"  Associate  you  with  him,  sir  !  "  she  cried. 

"  Indeed,"  said  Mr.  Haredale.  ''  I  think  you  do.  I  al- 
most believe  that  because  your  husband  was  bound  by  so 
many  ties  to  our  relation,  and  died  in  his  service  and 
defense,  you  have  come  in  some  sort  to  connect  us  with  his 
murderer." 

"Alas  !  "  she  answered.  "  You  little  know  my  heart,  sir. 
You  little  know  the  truth  !  " 

"  It  is  natural  you  should  do  so  ;  it  is  very  probable  you  may, 
without  being  conscious  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  speaking 
more  to  himself  than  her.  ''  We  are  a  fallen  house.  Money 
dispensed  with  the  most  lavish  hand,  would  be  a  poor 
recompense  for  sufferings  like  yours  ;  and  thinly  scattered 
by  hands  so  pinched  and  tied  as  ours,  it  becomes  a  miserable 
mockery.  I  feel  it  so,  God  knows,"  he  added,  hastily. 
**  Why  should  I  wonder  if  she  does  !  " 

"  You  do  me  wrong,  dear  sir,  indeed,"  she  rejoined,  with 
great  earnestness  ;  "  and  yet  when  you  come  to  hear  what  I 
desire  your  leave  to  say " 

"  I  shall  find  my  doubts  confirmed  ?  "  he  said,  observing 
that  she  faltered  and  became  confused.     "  Well  !  " 

He  quickened  his  pace  for  a  few  steps,  but  fell  back  again 
to  her  side,  and  said  : 


I90  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  And  have  you  come  all  this  way  at  last,  solely  to  speak 
to  me  ?" 

She  answered,  "  Yes." 

"A  curse,"  he  muttered,  "upon  the  wretched  state  of  us 
proud  beggars,  from  whom  the  poor  and  rich  are  equally  at 
a  distance  :  the  one  being  forced  to  treat  us  with  a  show  of 
cold  respect  ;  the  other  condescending  to  us  in  their  every 
deed  and  word,  and  keeping  more  aloof,  the  nearer  they  ap- 
proach us.  Why,  if  it  were  pain  to  you  (as  it  must  have 
been)  to  break  for  this  slight  purpose  the  chain  of  habit 
forged  through  two-and-twenty  years,  could  you  not  let  me 
know  your  wish,  and  beg  me  to  come  to  you?" 

"  There  is  not  time,  sir,"  she  rejoined.  "  I  took  my  reso- 
lution but  last  night,  and  taking  it,  felt  that  I  must  not  lose 
a  day — a  day  !  an  hour — in  having  speech  with  you." 

They  had  by  this  time  reached  the  house.  Mr.  Haredale 
paused  for  a  moment  and  looked  at  her  as  if  surprised  by  the 
energy  of  her  manner.  Observing,  however,  that  she  took 
no  heed  of  him,  but  glanced  up,  shuddering,  at  the  old  walls 
with  which  such  horrors  were  connected  in  her  mind,  he 
led  her  by  a  private  stair  into  his  library,  where  Emma  was 
seated  in  a  window,  reading. 

The  young  lady,  seeing  who  approached,  hastily  arose  and 
laid  aside  her  book,  and  with  many  kind  words,  and  not 
without  tears,  gave  her  a  warm  and  earnest  welcome.  But 
the  widow  shrunk  from  her  embrace  as  though  she  feared 
her,  and  sunk  down  trembling  on  a  chair. 

"  It  is  the  return  to  this  place  after  so  long  an  absence," 
said  Emma  gently.  "  Pray  ring,  dear  uncle— or  stay — Barnaby 
will  run  himself  and  ask  for  wine " 

"  Not  for  the  world,"  she  cried.  "  It  would  have  another 
taste — I  could  not  touch  it.  I  want  but  a  minute's  rest. 
Nothing  but  that." 

Miss  Haredale  stood  beside  her  chair,  regarding  her  with 
silent  pity.  She  remained  for  a  little  time  quite  still  ;  then 
rose  and  turned  to  Mr.  Haredale,  who  had  sat  down  in  his 
easy  chair,  and  was  contemplating  her  with  fixed  attention. 

The  tale  connected  with  the  mansion  borne  in  mind,  it 
seemed,  as  has  been  already  said,  the  chosen  theater  for 
such  a  deed  as  it  had  known.  The  room  in  which  this  group 
were  now  assembled — hard  by  the  very  chamber  where  the 
act  was  done — dull,  dark  and  somber  ;  heavy  with  worm- 
eaten  books  ;  deadened  and  shut  in  by  faded  hangings, 
muffling  every  sound  ;  shadowed  mournfully  by  trees  whose 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  191 

rustling  boughs  gave  ever  and  anon  a  spectral  knocking  at 
the  glass  ;  wore,  beyond  all  others  in  the  house,  a  ghostly, 
gloomy  air.  Nor  were  the  group  assembled  there  unfitting 
tenants  of  the  spot,  The  widow,  with  her  marked  and  start- 
ling face  and  downcast  eyes  ;  Mr.  Haredale,  stern  and  de- 
spondent ever  ;  his  niece  beside  him,  like,  )et  most  unlike, 
the  picture  of  her  father,  which  gazed  reproachfully  down 
upon  them  from  the  blackened  wall  ;  Barnaby,  with  his  va- 
cant look  and  restless  eye,  were  all  in  keeping  with  the  place, 
and  actors  in  the  legend.  Nay,  the  very  raven  which  hopped 
upon  the  table,  and  with  the  air  of  some  old  necromancer, 
appeared  to  be  profoundly  studying  a  great  folio  volume  that 
lay  open  on  a  desk,  was  strictly  in  unison  with  the  rest,  and 
looked  like  the  embodied  spirit  of  evil  biding  his  time  of 
mischief. 

"  I  scarcely  know,"  said  the  widow,  breaking  silence,  '*  how 
to  begin.     You  will  think  my  mind  disordered." 

"  The  whole  tenor  of  your  quiet  and  reproachless  life 
since  you  were  last  here,"  returned  Mr.  Haredale,  mildly, 
"  shall  bear  witness  for  you.  Why  do  you  fear  to  awaken 
such  a  suspicion  ?  You  do  not  speak  to  strangers.  You 
have  not  to  claim  our  interest  or  consideration  for  the  first 
tinie.  Be  more  yourself.  Take  heart.  Any  advice  or  as- 
sistance that  I  can  give  you,  you  know  is  yours  of  right,  and 
freely  yours." 

*'  What  if  I  came,  sir,"  she  rejoined,  "  I  who  have  but  one 
other  friend  on  earth,  to  reject  your  aid  from  this  moment, 
and  to  say  that  henceforth  I  launch  myself  upon  the  world 
alone  and  unassisted,  to  sink  or  swim  as  heaven  may  de- 
cree !  " 

"  You  would  have,  if  you  came  to  me  for  such  a  purpose," 
said  Mr.  Haredale  calmly,  "  some  reason  to  assign  for  con- 
duct so  extraordinary,  which,  if  one  may  entertain  the  pos- 
sibility of  any  thing  so  wild  and  strange,  would  have  its 
weiglit,  of  course." 

"  That,  sir,"  she  answered,  "  is  the  misery  of  my  distress. 
I  can  give  no  reason  whatever.  My  own  bare  word  is  all 
that  I  can  offer.  It  is  my  duty,  my  imperative  and  bounden 
duty.  If  I  did  not  discharge  it  I  should  be  a  base  and  guilty 
wretch.  Having  said  that,  my  lips  are  sealed,  and  I  can  say 
no  more." 

As  though  she  felt  relieved  at  having  said  so  much,  and 
had  nerved  herself  to  the  remainder  of  her  task,  she  spoke 
from  this  time  with  a  firmer  voice  and  heightened  courage. 


192  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  Heaven  is  my  witness,  as  my  own  heart  is — and  yours, 
dear  young  lady,  will  speak  for  me,  I  know — that  I  have 
lived  since  that  time  we  all  have  bitter  reason  to  remember, 
in  unchanging  devotion  and  gratitude  to  this  family.  Heaven 
is  my  witness  that,  go  where  I  may,  I  shall  preserve  those 
feelings  unimpaired.  And  it  is  my  witness,  too,  that  they 
alone  impel  me  to  the  course  I  must  take,  and  from  which 
nothing  now  shall  turn  me,  as  I  hope  for  mercy." 

"  These  are  strange  riddles,"  said  Mr.  Haredale. 

"  In  this  world,  sir,"  bhe  replied,  *'  they  may,  perhaps,  never 
be  explained.  In  another,  the  truth  will  be  discovered  in  its 
own  good  time.  And  may  that  time,"  she  added  in  a  low 
voice,  *'  be  far  distant  !  " 

"  Let  me  be  sure,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  "  that  I  understand 
you,  for  I  am  doubtful  of  my  own  senses.  Do  you  mean 
that  you  are  resolved  voluntarily  to  deprive  yourself  of  those 
means  of  support  you  have  received  from  us  so  long — that 
you  are  determined  to  resign  the  annuity  we  settled  on  you 
twenty  years  ago — to  leave  house  and  home  and  goods,  and 
begin  life  anew — and  this  for  some  secret  reason  or  mon- 
strous fancy  which  is  incapable  of  explanation,  which  only 
now  exists,  and  has  been  dormant  all  this  time  ?  In  the 
name  of  God,  under  what  delusion  are  you  laboring  ? " 

"As  I  am  deeply  thankful,"  she  made  answer,  "for  the 
kindness  of  those,  alive  and  dead,  who  have  owned  this 
house  ;  and  as  I  would  not  have  its  roof  fall  down  and 
crush  me,  or  its  very  walls  drip  blood,  my  name  being  spoken 
in  their  hearing,  I  never  will  again  subsist  upon  their 
bounty,  or  let  it  help  me  to  subsistence.  You  do  not  know," 
she  added  suddenly,  "  to  what  uses  it  may  be  applied  ;  into 
what  hands  it  may  pass.     I  do,  and  I  renounce  it." 

"Surely,"   said  Mr.  Haredale,  "its  uses  rest  with  you." 

"  They  did.  They  rest  with  me  no  longer.  It  may  be — 
it  is — devoted  to  purposes  that  mock  the  dead  in  their  graves. 
It  never  can  prosper  with  me.  It  will  bring  some  other 
heavy  judgment  on  the  head  of  my  dear  son,  whose  inno- 
cence will  suffer  for  his  mother's  guilt." 

"  What  words  are  these  !  "  cried  Mr.  Haredale,  regarding 
her  with  wonder.  "  Among  what  associates  have  you  fallen  ? 
Into  what  guilt  have  you  ever  been  betrayed  ?" 

"  I  am  guilty,  and  yet  innocent ;  wrong,  yet  right ;  good 
in  intention,  though  constrained  to  shield  and  aid  the  bad. 
Ask  me  no  more  questions,  sir  ;  but  believe  that  I  am  rather 
to   be   pitied    than  condemned.      I    must  leave  my  house 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  193 

to-morrow,  for  while  I  stay  there,  it  is  haunted.  My  future 
dwelling,  if  I  am  to  live  in  peace,  must  be  a  secret.  If  my 
poor  boy  should  ever  stray  this  way,  do  not  tempt  him  to  dis- 
close it  or  have  him  watched  when  he  returns  ;  for  if  we  are 
hunted,  we  must  fly  again.  And,  now  this  load  is  off  my  mind, 
I  beseech  you — and  you,  dear  Miss  Haredale,  too^ — to  trust 
me  if  you  can,  and  think  of  me  kindly  as  you  have  been  used 
to  do.  If  I  die  and  can  not  tell  my  secret  even  then  (for  that 
may  come  to  pass),  it  will  sit  the  lighter  on  my  breast  in  that 
hour  for  this  day's  work  ;  and  on  that  day,  and  every  day 
until  it  comes,  I  will  pray  for  and  thank  you  both,  and  trou- 
ble you  no  more." 

With  that,  she  would  have  left  them,  but  they  detained 
her,  and  with  many  soothing  words  and  kind  entreaties,  be- 
sought her  to  consider  what  she  did,  and  above  all,  to  repose 
more  freely  upon  them,  and  say  what  weighed  so  sorely  on 
her  mind. '  Finding  her  deaf  to  all  their  persuasions,  Mr. 
Haredale  suggested,  as  a  last  resource,  that  she  should  con- 
fide in  Emma,  of  whom,  as  a  young  person  and  one  of  her 
own  sex,  she  might  stand  in  less  dread  than  of  himself.  From 
this  proposal,  however,  she  recoiled  with  the  same  indescrib- 
able repugnance  she  had  manifested  when  they  met.  The 
utmost  that  could  be  wrung  from  her  was  a  promise  that  she 
would  receive  Mr.  Haredale  at  her  own  house  next  evening, 
and  in  the  meantime  reconsider  her  determination  and  their 
dissuasions — though  any  change  on  her  part^as  she  told 
them,  was  quite  hopeless.  This  condition  mad(Fat  last,  they 
reluctantly  suffered  her  to  depart,  since  she  would  neither 
eat  nor  drink  within  the  house  ;  and  she,  and  Barnaby,  and 
Grip,  accordingly  went  out  as  they  had  come,  by  the  private 
stair  and  garden-gate  ;  seeing  and  being  seen  of  no  one  by 
the  way. 

It  was  remarkable  in  the  raven  that  during  the  whole 
interview  he  had  kept  his  eye  on  his  book  with  exactly  the 
air  of  a  very  sly  human  rascal,  who,  under  the  mask  of  pre- 
tending to  read  hard,  was  listening  to  every  thing.  He  still 
appeared  to  have  the  conversation  very  strongly  in  his  mind, 
for  although,  when  they  were  alone  again,  he  issued  orders 
for  the  instant  preparation  of  innumerable  kettles  for  pur- 
poses of  tea,  he  was  thoughtful,  and  rather  seemed  to  do  so 
from  an  abstract  sense  of  duty,  than  with  any  regard  to 
making  himself  agreeable,  of  being  what  is  commonly  called 
good  company. 

They  were  to  return  by  the   coach.      As  there  was  an 


194  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

interval  of  full  two  hours  before  it  started,  and  they  needed 
rest  and  some  refreshment,  Barnaby  begged  hard  for  a  visit 
to  the  Maypole.  But  his  mother,  who  had  no  wish  to  be 
recognized  by  any  of  those  who  had  known  her  long  ago, 
and  who  feared  besides  that  Mr.  Haredale  might,  on  second 
thoughts,  dispatch  some  messenger  to  that  place  of  enter- 
tainment in  quest  of  her,  proposed  to  wait  in  the  church- 
yard instead.  As  it  was  easy  for  Barnaby  to  buy  and  carry 
thither  such  humble  viands  as  they  required,  he  cheerfully 
assented,  and  in  the  church-yard  they  sat  down  to  take  their 
frugal  dinner." 

Here  again,  the  raven  was  in  a  highly  reflective  state  ; 
walking  up  and  down  when  he  had  dined,  with  an  air  of 
elderly  complacency  which  was  strongly  suggestive  of  his 
having  hi'S  hands  under  his  coat-tails  ;  and  appearing  to  read 
the  tombstones  with  a  very  critical  taste.  Sometimes,  after 
a  long  inspection  of  an  epitaph,  he  would  strop  his  beak  upon 
the  grave  to  which  it  referred,  and  cry  in  his  hoarse  tones, 
*'  I'm  a  devil,  I'm  a  devil,  I'm  a  devil  !  "  but  whether  he  ad- 
dressed his  observations  to  any  supposed  person  below,  or 
merely  threw  them  off  as  a  general  remark,  is  matter  of  un 
certainty. 

It  was  a  quiet  pretty  spot,  but  a  sad  one  for  Barnaby's 
mother  ;  for  Mr.  Reuben  Haredale  lay  there,  and  near  the 
vault  in  which  his  ashes  rested  was  a  stone  to  the  memory  of 
her  own  hu^and,  with  a  brief  inscription  recording  how  and 
when  he  nad  lost  his  life.  She  sat  here,  thoughtful  and 
apart,  until  their  time  was  out,  and  the  distant  horn  told  that 
the  coach  was  coming. 

Barnaby,  who  had  been  sleeping  on  the  grass,  sprung  up 
quickly  at  the  sound  ;  and  Grip,  who  appeared  to  under- 
stand it  equally  well,  walked  into  his  basket  straightway, 
entreating  society  in  general  (as  though  he  intended  a  kind 
of  satire  upon  them  in  connection  with  church-yards)  never 
to  say  die  on  any  terms.  They  were  soon  on  the  coach-top 
and  rolling  along  the  road. 

It  went  round  by  the  Maypole,  and  stopped  at  the  door. 
Joe  was  from  home,  and  Hugh  came  sluggishly  out  to  hand  up 
the  parcel  that  it  called  for.  There  was  no  fear  of  old  John 
coming  out.  They  could  see  him  from  the  coach-roof  fast 
asleep  in  his  cozy  bar.  It  was  a  part  of  John's  character.  He 
made  a  point  of  going  to  sleep  at  the  coach's  time.  He  de- 
spised gadding  about  ;  he  looked  upon  coaches  as  things 
that  ought  to  be  indicted  ;    as  disturbers  of  the  peace  of 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  195 

mankind  ;  as  restless,  bustling,  busy,  horn-blowing  contriv- 
ances, quite  beneath  the  dignity  of  men,  and  only  suited  to 
giddy  girls  that  did  nothing  but  chatter  and  go  a-shopping. 
"  We  know  nothing  about  coaches  here,  sir,"  John  would  say, 
if  an  unlucky  stranger  made  inquiry  touching  the  offensive 
vehicles  ;  "  we  don't  book  for  'em  ;  we'd  rather  not  ;  they're 
more  trouble  than  they're  worth,  with  all  their  n©ise  and 
rattle.  If  you  like  to  wait  for  'em  you  can  ;  but  we  don't 
know  any  thing  about  'em  ;  they  may  call  and  they  may  not 
— there's  a  carrier — he  was  looked  upon  as  quite  good  enough 
for  us,  when  I  was  a  boy." 

She  dropped  her  veil  as  Hugh  climbed  up,  and  while  he 
hung  behind,  and  talked  to  Barnaby  in  whispers.  But  neither 
he  nor  any  other  person  spoke  to  her,  or  noticed  her,  or 
had  any  curiosity  about  her  ;  and  so,  an  alien,  she  visited 
and  left  the  village  where  she  had  been  born,  and  had  lived 
a  merry  child,  a  comely  girl,  a  happy  wife — where  she  had 
known  all  her  enjoyment  of  life,  and  had  entered  on  its 
hardest  sorrows. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

"  And  you're  not  surprised  to  hear  this,  Varden  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Haredale.  "  Well  !  You  and  she  have  always  been 
the  best  friends,  and  you  should  understand  her  if  any  body 
does." 

"I  ask  your  pardon,  sir,"  rejoined  the  locksmith.  "I 
didn't  say  I  understood  her.  I  wouldn't  have  the  pre- 
sumption to  say  that  of  any  woman.  It's  not  so  easily  done. 
But  I  am  not  so  much  surprised,  sir,  as  you  expected  me  to 
be,  certainly." 

"  May  I  ask  why  not,  my  good  friend  ?  " 

"  I  have  seen,  sir,"  returned  the  locksmith,  with  evident  re- 
luctance, "  I  have  seen  in  connection  with  her,  something 
that  has  filled  me  with  distrust  and  uneasiness.  She  has 
made  bad  friends,  how,  or  when,  I  don't  know  ;  but  that  her 
house  is  a  refuge  for  one  robber  and  cut-throat,  at  least,  I 
am  certain.     There,  sir  !     Now  it's  out." 

"  Varden  !  " 

"  My  own  eyes,  sir,  are  my  witnesses,  and  for  her  sake  I 
would  be  willingly  half-blind,  if  I  could  but  have  the  pleas- 
ure of  mistrusting  'em.  I  have  kept  the  secret  till  now,  and 
it  will  go  no  further  than  yourself,  I   know  ;  but  I  tell  you 


196  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

that  with  my  own  eyes — broad  awake — I  saw,  in  the  passage 
of  her  house  one  evening  after  dark,  the  highwayman  who 
robbed  and  wounded  Mr.  Edward  Chester,  and  on  the  same 
night  threatened  me." 

"  And  you  made  no  effort  to  detain  him  ?  "  said  Mr.  Hare- 
dale,  quickly. 

"  Sir,"  returned  the  locksmith,  "  she  herself  prevented  me 
— held  me,  with  all  her  strength,  and  hung  about  me  until 
he  had  got  clean  off."  And  having  gone  so  far  he  related 
circumstantially  all  that  had  passed  upon  the  night  in  ques- 
tion. 

This  dialogue  was  held  in  a  low  tone  in  the  locksmith's 
little  parlor,  into  which  honest  Gabriel  had  shown  his  visitor 
on  his  arrival.  Mr.  Haredale  had  called  upon  him  to  entreat 
his  company  to  the  widow's,  that  he  might  have  the  assist- 
ance of  his  persuasion  and  influence  ;  and  out  of  this  cir- 
cumstance the  conversation  had  arisen. 

"  I  forbore,"  said  Gabriel,  "  from  repeating  one  word  of 
this  to  any  body,  as  it  could  do  her  no  good  and  might  do 
her  great  harm.  I  thought  and  hoped,  to  say  the  truth,  that 
she  would  come  to  me,  and  talk  to  me  about  it,  and  tell  me 
how  it  was  ;  but  though  I  have  purposely  put  myself  in  her 
way  more  than  once  or  twice,  she  has  never  touched  upon 
the  subject — except  by  a  look.  And  indeed,"  said  the  good- 
natured  locksmith,  *'  there  was  a  good  deal  in  the  look,  more 
than  could  have  been  put  into  a  great  many  words.  It 
said  among  other  matters  '  don't  ask  me  any  thing'  so  im- 
ploringly, that  I  didn't  ask  her  any  thing.  You'll  think  me 
an  old  fool  I  know,  sir.  If  it's  any  relief  to  call  me  one, 
pray  do." 

"  I  am  greatly  disturbed  by  what  you  tell  me,"  said 
Mr.  Haredale,  after  a  silence.  "  What  meaning  do  you  at- 
tach to  it  ? " 

The  locksmith  shook  his  head,  and  looked  doubtfully  out 
of  window  at  the  failing  light. 

"  She  can  not  have  married  again,"  said  Mr.  Haredale. 

"  Not  without  our  knowledge  surely,  sir." 

"  She  may  have  done  so,  in  the  fear  that  it  would  lead,  if 
known,  to  some  objection  or  estrangement.  Suppose  she 
married  incautiously — it  is  not  improbable,  for  her  existence 
has  been  a  lonely  and  monotonous  one  for  many  years — and 
the  man  turned  out  a  ruffian,  she  would  be  anxious  to  screen 
him,  and  yet  would  revolt  from  his  crimes.  This  might  be. 
It  bears  strongly  on  the  whole  drift  of  her  discourse  yester- 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  197 

day,  and  would  quite  explain  her  conduct.  Do  you  suppose 
Barnaby  is  privy  to  these  circumstances  ? " 

"  Quite  impossible  to  say,  sir,"  returned  the  locksmith, 
shaking  his  head  again  ;  *'  and  "next  to  impossible  to  find 
out  from  him.  If  what  you  suppose  is  really  the  case,  I 
tremble  for  the  lad — a  notable  person,  sir,  to  put  to  bad 
uses " 

"  It  is  not  possible,  Varden,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  in  a  still 
lower  tone  of  voice  than  he  had  spoken  yet,  ''  that  we  have 
been  blinded  and  deceived  by  this  woman  from  the  begin- 
ning ?  It  is  not  possible  that  this  connection  was  formed  in 
her  husband's  lifetime,  and  led  to  his  and  my  brother's " 

"Good  God,  sir,"  cried  Gabriel,  interrupting  him,  "don't 
entertain  such  dark  thoughts  for  a  moment.  Five-and- 
twenty  years  ago,  where  was  there  a  girl  like  her  ?  A  gay, 
handsome,  laughing,  bright-eyed  damsel !  Think  what  she 
was,  sir.  It  makes  my  heart  ache  now,  even  now,  though 
I'm  an  old  man,  with  a  woman  for.  a  daughter,  to  think  what 
she  was  and  what  she  is.  We  all  change,  but  that's  with 
Time  ;  Time  does  his  work  honestly,  and  I  don't  mind  him. 
A  fig  for  Time,  sir.  Use  him  well  and  he's  a  hearty  fellow, 
and  scorns  to  have  you  at  a  disadvantage.  But  care  and 
suffering  (and  those  have  changed  her)  are  devils,  sir— se- 
cret, stealthy,  undermining  devils — who  tread  _  down  the 
brightest  flowers  in  Eden,  and  do  more  havoc  in  a  month 
than  Time  does  in  a  year.  Picture  to  yourself  for  one  min- 
ute what  Mary  was  before  they  went  to  work  with  her  fresh 
heart  and  face — to  do  her  that  justice— and  say  whether  such 
a  thing  is  possible." 

"  You're  a  good  fellow,  Varden,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  "  and 
are  quite  right.  I  have  brooded  on  that  subject  so  long, 
that  every  breath  of  suspicion  carries  me  back  to  it.  You 
are  quite  right." 

"  It  isn't,  sir,"  cried  the  locksmith  with  brightened  eyes, 
and  sturdy  honest  voice  ;  "  it  isn't  because  I  courted  her 
before  Rudge,  and  failed,  that  I  say  she  was  too  good  for 
him.  She  would  have  been  as  much  too  good  for  me.  But 
she  was  too  good  for  him  ;  he  wasn't  free  and  frank  enough 
for  her.  I  don't  reproach  his  memory  with  it,  poor  fellow  ; 
I  only  want  to  put  her  before  you  as  she  really  was.  For 
myself,  I'll  keep  her  old  picture  in  my  mind  ;  and  thmking 
of  that,  and  what  has  altered  her,  I'll  stand  her  friend,  and 
try  to  win  her  back  to  peace.  And  damme,  sir,"  cried  Ga- 
briel, "  with  your  pardon  for  the  word,  I'd  do  the  same  if 


198  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

she  had  married  fifty  highwaymen  in  a  twelvemonth  ;  and 
think  it  in  the  Protestant  'Manual  too,  though  Martha  said 
it  wasn't,  tooth  and  nail,  till  doomsday  !  " 

If  the  dark  little  parlor  had  been  filled  with  a  dense  fog, 
which,  clearing  away  in  an  instant,  left  it  all  radiance  and 
brightness,  it  could  not  have  been  more  suddenly  cheered 
than  by  this  outbreak  on  the  part  of  the  hearty  locksmith. 
In  a  voice  nearly  as  full  and  round  as  his  own,  Mr.  Hare- 
dale  cried  "Well  said  1  "  and  bade  him  come  away  without 
more  parley.  The  locksmith  complied  right  willingly  ;  and 
both  getting  into  a  hackney-coach  which  was  w^aiting  at  the 
door,  drove  off  straightway. 

They  alighted  at  the  street  corner,  and  dismissing  their 
conveyance,  walked  to  the  house.  To  their  first  knock  at 
the  door  there  was  no  response,  A  second  met  with  a  like 
result.  But  in  answer  to  the  third,  which  was  of  a  more 
vigorous  kind,  the  parlor  window-sash  was  gently  raised,  and 
a  musical  voice  cried  : 

"  Haredale,  my  dear  fellow,  I  am  extremely  glad  to  see 
you.  How  very  much  you  have  improved  in  your  appear- 
ance since  our  last  meeting  !  I  never  saw  you  looking  bet- 
ter.    Hoiv  do  you  do.^" 

Mr.  Haredale  turned  his  eyes  toward  the  casement  whence 
the  voice  proceeded,  though  there  was  no  need  to  do  so,  to 
recognize  the  speaker,  and  Mr.  Chester  waved  his  hand,  and 
smiled  a  courteous  welcome. 

"The  door  will  be  opened  immediately,"  he  said.  "There  is 
nobody  but  a  very  dilapidated  female  to  perform  such  offices. 
You  will  excuse  her  infirmities  ?  If  she  were  in  a  more  ele- 
vated station  of  society,  she  would  be  gouty.  Being  but  a 
hewer  of  wood  and  a  drawer  of  water,  she  is  rheumatic.  My 
dear  Haredale,  these  are  natural  class  distinctions,  depend 
upon  it." 

Mr.  Haredale,  whose  face  resumed  its  lowering  and  dis- 
trustful look  the  moment  he  heard  the  voice,  inclined  his 
head  stiffly,  and  turned  his  back  upon  the  speaker. 

"  Not  opened  yet,"  said  Mr.  Chester.  "  Dear  me  !  I  hope 
the  aged  soul  has  not  caught  her  foot  in  some  unlucky  cob- 
web by  the  way.     She  is  there  at  last  !     Come  in,  I  beg  !  " 

Mr.  Haredale  entered,  followed  by  the  locksniith.      Turn- 
ing with  a  look  of  great  astonishment  to  the  old  woman  who 
had  opened  the  door,  he  inquired  for  Mrs.  Rudge — for  Barn- 
aby.     They  were  both  gone,  she  replied,  wagging  her  an 
cient  head,  for  good.     There  was  a  gentleman  in  the  parlor, 


5ARNABY  RUDGE.  199 

who   perhaps   could    tell    them    more.       That   was   all  she 
knew. 

"  Pray,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  presenting  himself  before 
this  new  tenant,  "  where  is  the  person  whom  I  came  here  to 
see  ? " 

"  My  dear  friend,"  he  returned,  "  I  have  not  tr.^  least  idea." 

"  Your  trifliug  is  ill-timed,"  retorted   the  other  in  a  sup- 
pressed tone  and  voice,  "  and  its  subject  ill-chosen.    Reserve 
it  for  those  who  are  your  friends,  and  do  not   expend   it  on 
me.     I  lay  no  claim  to  the  distinction,  and   have  the  self 
denial  to  reject  it." 

"  My  dear,  good  sir,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  "  you  are  heated 
with  walking.     Sit  down,  I  beg.     Our  friend  is " 

"  Is  but  a  plain  honest  man,"  returned  Mr.  Haredale,  "  and 
quite  unworthy  of  your  notice." 

"  Gabriel  Varden  by  name,  sir,"  said  the  locksmith 
bluntly. 

"  A  worthy  English  yeoman  !  "  said  Mr.  Chester.  "  A 
most  worthy  yeoman,  of  whom  I  have  frequently  heard  my 
son  Ned — darling  fellow — speak,  and  have  often  wished  to 
see.  Varden,  my  good  friend,  I  am  glad  to  know  you.  You 
Avonder  now,"  he  said,  turning  languidly  to  Mr.  Haredale 
**  to  see  me  here.     Now,  I  am  sure  you  do." 

Mr.  Haredale  glanced  at  him — not  fondly  or  admiringly — 
smiled,  and  held  his  peace. 

"  The  mystery  is  solved  in  a  moment,"  said  Mr.  Chester  ; 
**  in  a  moment.  Will  you  step  aside  with  me  one  instant. 
You  remember  our  little  compact  in  reference  to  Ned,  and 
your  dear  niece,  Haredale  ?  You  remember  the  list  of  assist- 
ants in  their  innocent  intrigue  ?  You  remember  these  two 
people  being  among  them  ?  My  dear  fellow,  congratulate 
yourself,  and  me.     I  have  bought  them  off." 

"  You  have  done  what  ? '"  said  Mr.  Haredale. 

"  Bought  them  off,"  returned  his  smiling  friend.  ***  I  have 
found  it  necessary  to  take  some  active  steps  toward  setting 
this  boy  and  girl  attachment  quite  at  rest,  and  have  begun 
by  removing  these  two  agents.  You  are  surprised  ?  Who 
can  withstand  the  influence  of  a  little  money  !  They  wanted 
it,  and  have  been  bought  off.  We  have  nothing  more  to 
fear  from  them.     Thev  are  gone." 

"  Gone  !  "  echoed  Mr.  Haredale.     "  Where  ?  " 

"  My  dear  fellow — and  you  must  permit  me  to  say  again, 
that  you  never  looked  so  young  ;  so  positively  boyish  as  you 
do  to-night — the  Lord  knows  where  ;  I  believe  Columbus 
himself  wouldn't  find    them.     Between    you  and   me  they 


200  BARNABY  P.UDGE. 

have  their  hidden  reasons,  but  upon  that  point  I  have  pledged 
myself  to  secrecy.  She  appointed  to  see  you  here  to-night 
I  know,  but  found  it  inconvenient,  and  couldn't  wait.  Here 
is  the  key  of  the  door.  I  am  afraid  you'll  find  it  inconven- 
iently large  ;  but  as  the  tenement  is  yours,  your  good-nature 
will  excuse  that,  Haredale,  I  am  certain  !  " 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Mr.  Haredale  stood  in  the  widow's  parlor  with  the  door- 
key  in  his  hand,  gazing  by  turns  at  Mr.  Chester  and  at  Ga- 
briel Varden,  and  occasionally  glancing  downward  at  the 
key  as  in  the  hope  that  of  its  own  accord  it  would  unlock 
the  mystery  ;  until  Mr.  Chester,  putting  on  his  hat  and 
gloves,  and  sweetly  inquiring  whether  they  were  walking  in 
the  same  direction,  recalled  him  to  himself. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  Our  roads  diverge — widely,  as  you 
know.     For  the  present,  I  shall  remain  here." 

"  You  will  be  hipped,  Haredale  ;  you  will  be  miserable, 
melancholy,  utterly  wretched,"  returned  the  other.  **  It's  a 
place  of  the  very  last  description  for  a  man  of  your  temper. 
I  know  it  will  make  you  very  miserable." 

"  Let  it,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  sitting  down  ;  "  and  thrive 
upon  the  thought.     Good-night  !  " 

Feigning  to  be  wholly  unconscious  of  the  abrupt  wave  of 
the  hand  which  rendered  this  farewell  tantamount  to  a  dis- 
missal, Mr.  Chester  retorted  with  a  bland  and  heartfelt  bene- 
diction, and  inquired  of  Gabriel  in  what  direction  he  was 
going. 

"Yours,  sir,  would  be  too  much  honor  for  the  like  of  me," 
replied  the  locksmith,  hesitating. 

"  I  wish  you  to  remain  here  a  little  while,  Varden,"  said 
Mr.  Haredale,  without  looking  toward  them.  "  1  have  a 
word  or  two  to  say  to  you." 

"  1  will  not  intrude  upon  your  conference  another 
moment,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  with  inconceivable  politeness. 
"  May  it  be  satisfactory  to  you  both  !  God  bless  you  !  "  So 
saying,  and  bestowing  upon  the  locksmith  a  most  refulgent 
smile,  he  left  them. 

"  A  deplorably  constituted  creature,  that  rugged  person," 
he  said,  as  he  walked  along  the  street  ;  "  he  is  an  atrocity  that 
carries  its  own  punishment  along  with  it — a  bear  that  gnaws 
himself.     And  here  is  one  of  the  inestimable  advantages  of 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  201 

having  a  perfect  command  over  one's  inclinations.  I  have 
been  tempted  in  these  two  short  interviews,  to  draw  upon  that 
fellow,  fifty  times.  Five  men  in  six  would  have  yielded  to 
the  impulse.  By  suppressing  mine,  I  wound  him  deeper 
and  more  keenly  than  if  I  were  the  best  swordsman  in  all 
Europe,  and  he  the  worst.  You  are  the  wise  man's  very  last 
resource,"  he  said,  tapping  the  hilt  of  his  weapon  ;  "  we  can 
but  appeal  to  you  when  all  else  is  said  and  done.  To  come 
to  you  before,  and  thereby  spare  our  adversaries  so  much, 
is  a  barbarian  mode  of  warfare,  quite  unworthy  of  any  man 
with  the  remotest  pretensions  to  delicacy  of  feeling,  or  re- 
finement." 

He  smiled  so  very  pleasantly  as  he  communed  with  him- 
self after  this  manner,  that  a  beggar  was  emboldened  to  fol- 
low for  alms,  and  to  dog  his  footsteps  for  some  distance. 
He  was  gratified  by  the  circumstance,  feeling  it  complimen- 
tary to  his  power  of  feature,  and  as  a  reward  suffered  the 
man  to  follow  him  until  he  called  a  chair,  when  he  gra- 
ciously dismissed  him  with  a  fervent  blessing. 

"  Which  is  as  easy  as  cursing,"  he  wisely  added,  as  he  took 
his  seat,  *'  and  more  becoming  to  the  face. — To  Clerkenwell, 
my  good  creatures,  if  you  please  !  "  The  chairmen  were 
rendered  quite  vivacious  by  having  such  a  courteous  bur- 
den, and  to  Clerkenwell  they  went  at  a  fair  round  trot. 

Alighting  at  a  certain  point  he  had  indicated  to  them 
upon  the  road,  and  paying  them  something  less  than  they 
expected  from  a  fare  of  such  gentle  speech,  he  turned  into 
the  street  in  which  the  locksmith  dwelt,  and  presently  stood 
beneath  the  shadow  of  the  Golden  Key.  Mr.  Tappertit,  who 
was  hard  at  work  by  lamplight,  in  a  corner  of  the  work- 
shop, remained  unconscious  of  his  presence  until  a  hand 
upon  his  shoulder  made  him  start  and  turn  his  head. 

"  Industry,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  "  is  the  soul  of  business, 
and  the  key- stone  of  prosperity.  Mr.  Tappertit,  I  shall  ex- 
pect you  to  invite  me  to  dinner  when  you  are  lord  mayor  of 
London." 

"Sir,"  returned  the  'prentice,  laying  down  his  hammer, 
and  rubbing  his  nose  on  the  back  of  a  very  sooty  hand,  "  I 
scorn  the  lord  mayor  and  every  thing  that  belongs  to  him. 
We  must  have  another  state  of  society,  sir,  before  you  catch 
me  being  lord  mayor.     How  de  do,  sir  ? " 

"  The  better,  Mr.  Tappertit,  for  looking  into  your  ingen- 
uous face  once  more.      1  hope  you  are  well." 

"  I  am  as  well,  sir,"  said  Sim,  standing  up  to  get  nearer  to 


202  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

his  ear,  and  whispering  hoarsely,  "  as  any  man  can  be  under 
the  aggrawations  to  which  I  am  exposed.  My  life's  a  bur- 
den to  me.  If  it  wasn't  for  wengeance,  I'd  play  at  pitch  and 
toss  with  it  on  the  losing  hazard." 

*'  Is  Mrs.  Varden  at  home  ?  "  said  Mr.  Chester. 

"Sir,"  returned  Sim,  eying  him  over  with  a  look  of  con- 
centrated expression — "  she  is.     Did  you  wish  to  see  her  ?  " 

Mr.  Chester  nodded. 

"  Then  come  this  way,  sir,"  said  Sim,  wiping  his  face  upon 
his  apron.  *'  Follow  me,  sir. — Would  you  permit  me  to 
whisper  in  your  ear,  one  half  a  second  ?  " 

**  By  all  means." 

Mr..  Tappertit  raised  himself  on  tiptoe,  applied  his  lips  to 
Mr.  Chester's  ear,  drew  back  his  head  without  saying  any 
thing,  looked  hard  at  him,  applied  them  to  his  ear  again, 
again  drew  back,  and  finally  whispered — "  The  name  is 
Joseph  Willet.     Hush  !     I  say  no  more." 

Having  said  that  much,  he  beckoned  the  visitor  with  a 
mysterious  aspect  to  follow  him  to  the  parlor  door,  where  he 
announced  him  in  the  voice  of  a  gentleman  usher.  *'  Mr. 
Chester." 

*'  And  not  Mr.  Ed'dard,  mind,"  said  Sim,  looking  into  the 
door  again,  and  adding  this  by  way  of  postscript  in  his  own 
person  ;  "  it's  his  father." 

"But  do  not  let  his  father,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  advancing, 
hat  in  hand,  as  he  observed  the  effect  of  this  last  explanatory 
announcement,  "  do  not  let  his  father  be  any  check  or  re- 
straint on  your  domestic  occupations,  Miss  Varden." 

"  Oh  !  Now  !  There  !  An't  I  always  a-saying  it !  "  ex- 
claimed Miggs,  clapping  her  hands.  "If  h© an't  been  and 
took  missis  for  her  own  daughter.  Well,  she  do  look  like 
it,  that  she  do.     Only  think  of  that,  mim  !  " 

"Is  it  possible,"  said  Mr.  Chester  in  his  softest  tones, 
"that  this  is  Mrs.  Varden !  I  am  amazed.  That  is  not 
your  daughter,  Mrs.  Varden?     No,  no.     Your  sister." 

"  My  daughter,  indeed,  sir,"  returned  Mrs.  V.,  blushing 
with  great  juvenility. 

"  Ah,  Mrs.  Varden  !  "  cried  the  vistor.  "  Ah,  ma'am — 
humanity  is  indeed  a  happy  lot,  when  we  can  repeat  our- 
selves in  others,  and  still  be  young  as  they.  You  must  allow 
me  to  salute  you — the  custom  of  the  country,  my  dear 
madam — your  daughter  too." 

Dolly  showed  some  reluctance  to  perform  this  ceremony, 
but  was  sharply  reproved   by  Mrs,  Varden,  who  insisted  on 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  203 

her  undergoing  it  that  minute.  For  pride,  she  said  with 
great  severity,  was  one  of  the  seven  deadly  sins,  and  humil- 
ity and  lowliness  of  heart  were  virtues.  Wherefore  she  de- 
sired that  Dolly  would  be  kissed  immediately,  on  pain  of 
her  just  displeasure  ;  at  the  same  time  giving  her  to  under- 
stand that  whatever  she  saw  her  mother  do,  she  might  safely 
do  herself,  without  being  at  the  trouble  of  any  reasoning  or 
reflection  on  the  subject — which,  indeed,  was  offensive  and 
undutiful,  and  in  direct  contravention  of  the  church  cate- 
chism. 

Thus  admonished,  Dolly  complied,  though  by  no  means 
willingly  ;  for  there  was  a  broad,  bold  look  of  admiration  in 
Mr.  Chester's  face,  refined  and  polished  though  it  sought  to 
be,  which  distressed  her  very  much.  As  she  stood  with 
downcast  eyes,  not  liking  to  look  up  and  meet  his,  he  gazed 
upon  her  with  an  approving  air,  and  then  turned  to  her 
mother. 

"  My  friend  Gabriel  (whose  acquaintance  I  only  made 
this  very  evening)  should  be  a  happy  man,  Mrs.  Varden." 

"  Ah  !  "  sighed  Mrs.  V.,  shaking  her  head. 

*'  Ah  !  "  echoed  Miggs. 

"  Is  that  the  case?  "  said  Mr.  Chester,  compassionately. 
'*  Dear  me  !  " 

"  Master  has  no  intentions,  sir,"  murmured  Miggs,  as  she 
sidled  up  to  him,  "  but  to  be  as  grateful  as  his  natur  will  let 
him,  for  everythink  he  owns  which  it  is  in  his  power  to  ap- 
preciate. But  we  never,  sir," — said  Miggs  looking  sideways 
at  Mrs.  Varden,  and  interlarding  her  discourse  with  a  sigh 
— "  we  never  know  the  full  value  of  some  wines  and  fig-trees 
till  we  lose  'em.  So  much  the  worse,  sir,  for  them  as  has 
the  slighting  of  'em  on  their  consciences  when  they're  gone 
to  be  in  full  blow  elsewhere."  And  Miss  Miggs  cast  up  her 
eyes  to  signify  where  that  might  be. 

As  Mrs.  Varden  distinctly  heard,  and  was  intended  to 
hear,  all  that  Miggs  said,  and  as  these  words  appeared  to 
convey  in  metaphorical  terms  a  presage  or  foreboding  that 
she  would  at  some  early  period  droop  beneath  her  trials 
and  take  an  easy  flight  toward  the  stars,  she  immediately 
began  to  languish,  and  taking  a  volume  of  the  Manual  from 
a  neighboring  table,  leaned  her  arm  upon  it  as  though  she 
were  Hope  and  that  her  anchor.  Mr.  Chester  perceiving 
this,  and  seeing  how  the  volume  was  lettered  on  the  back, 
took  it  gently  from  her  hand,  and  turned  the  fluttering 
leaves. 


204  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  My  favorite  book,  dear  madam.  How  often,  how  very 
often  in  his  early  life — before  he  can  remember  " — (this 
clause  was  strictly  true)  "  have  I  deduced  little  easy  moral 
lessons  from  its  pages,  for  my  dear  son  Ned  !  You  know 
Ned?" 

Mrs.  Varden  had  that  honor,  and  a  fine  affable  young 
gentleman  he  was. 

"You're  a  mother,  Mrs.  Varden,"  said  Mr.  Chester, 
taking  a  pinch  of  snuff,  "  and  you  know  what  I,  as  a  father, 
feel,  when  he  is  praised.  He  gives  me  some  uneasiness — 
much  uneasiness — he's  of  a  roving  nature,  ma'am — from 
flower  to  flower — from  sweet  to  sweet — but  his  is  a  butterfly 
time  of  life,  and  we  must  not  be  hard  upon  such  triflings." 

He  glanced  at  Dolly.  She  was  attending  evidently  to 
what  he  said.     Just  what  he  desired  ! 

"  The  only  thing  I  object  to  in  this  little  trait  of  Ned's, 
is,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  " — and  the  mention  of  his  name  re- 
minds me,  by  the  way,  that  I  am  about  to  beg  the  favor  of 
a  minute's  talk  with  you  alone — the  only  thing  I  object  to 
in  it,  is,  that  it  does  partake  of  insincerity.  Now,  however 
I  may  attempt  to  disguise  the  fact  from  myself  in  my  affec- 
tion for  Ned,  still  I  always  revert  to  this — that  if  we  are  not 
sincere,  we  are  nothing.  Nothing  upon  earth.  Let  us  be 
sincere,  my  dear  madam — " 

*'  — And  Protestant,"  murmured  Mrs.  Varden. 

"  — And  Protestant  above  all  things.  Let  u.s  be  sincere 
and  Protestant,  strictly  moral,  strictly  just  (though  always 
with  a  leaning  toward  mercy),  strictly  honest,  and  strictly 
true,  and  we  gain — it  is  a  slight  point,  certainly,  but  still  it 
is  something  tangible  ;  we  throw  up  a  groundwork  and  found- 
ation, so  to  speak,  of  goodness,  on  which  we  may  after- 
ward erect  some  worthy  superstructure." 

Now,  to  be  sure,  Mrs.  Varden  thought,  here  is  a  perfect 
character.  Here  is  a  meek,  righteous,  thorough-going 
Christian,  who,  having  mastered  all  these  qualities,  so 
difficult  of  attainment  ;  who,  having  dropped  a  pinch  of 
salt  on  the  tails  of  all  the  cardinal  virtues,  and  caught  them 
every  one  ;  makes  light  of  their  possession,  and  pants  for 
more  morality.  For  the  good  woman  never  doubted  (as 
many  good  men  and  women  never  do),  that  this  slighting 
kind  of  profession,  this  setting  so  little  store  by  great 
matters,  this  seeming  to  say  "  I  am  not  proud,  I  am  what 
you  hear,  but  I  consider  myself  no  better  than  other  people  ; 
let  US  change  the  subject,  pray  " — was  perfectly  genuine  and 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  205 

true.  He  so  contrived  it,  and  said  it  in  that  way  that  ii:  ap- 
peared to  have  been  forced  from  him,  and  its  effect  was 
marvelous. 

Aware  of  the  impression  he  had  made — few  men  were 
quicker  than  he  at  such  discoveries — Mr.  Chester  followed 
up  the  blow,  propounding  certain  virtuous  maxjms,  some- 
what vague  and  general  in  their  nature,  doubtless,  and  oc- 
casionally partaking  of  the  character  of  truisms,  worn  a 
little  out  at  the  elbow,  but  delivered  in  so  charming  a  voice 
and  with  such  uncommon  serenity  and  peace  of  mind,  that 
they  answered  as  well  as  the  best.  Nor  is  this  to  be 
wondered  at ;  for  as  hollow  vessels  produce  a  far  more 
musical  sound  in  falling  than  those  which  are  substantial,  so 
it  will  oftentimes  be  found  that  sentiments  which  have 
nothing  in  them  make  the  loudest  ringing  in  the  worldj  and 
are  most  relished. 

Mr.  Chester  with  the  volume  gently  extended  in  one  hand, 
and  with  the  other  planted  lightly  on  his  breast,  talked  to 
them  in  the  most  delicious  manner  possible  ;  and  quite  en- 
chanted all  his  hearers,  notwithstanding  their  conflicting 
interests  and  thoughts.  Even  Dolly,  who,  between  his  keen 
regards  and  her  eying  over  by  Mr.  Tappertit,  was  put  quite 
out  of  countenance,  could  not  help  owning  within  herself 
that  he  was  the  sweetest  spoken  gentleman  she  had  ever  seen. 
Even  Miss  Miggs,  who  was  divided  between  admiration  of 
Mr.  Chester  and  a  mortal  jealousy  of  her  young  mistress,  had 
sufficient  leisure  to  be  propitiated.  Even  Mr.  Tappertit, 
though  occupied  as  we  have  seen  in  gazing  at  his  heart's  de- 
light, could  not  wholly  divert  his  thoughts  from  the  voice  of 
the  other  charmer.  Mrs.  Varden,  to  her  own  private  think- 
ing, had  never  been  so  improved  in  all  her  life  ;  and  when 
Mr.  Chester,  rising  and  craving  permission  to  speak  with  her 
apart,  took  her  by  the  hand  and  led  her  at  arm's-length  up- 
stairs to  the  best  sitting-room,  she  almost  deemed  him  some- 
thing more  than  human. 

"  Dear  madam,"  he  said,  pressing  her  hand  delicately  to 
his  lips  ;  '*  be  seated." 

Mrs.  Varden  called  up  quite  a  courtly  air,  and  became 
seated.  ^    ,. 

"  You  guess  my  object  ?  "  said  Mr.  Chester,  drawing  a  chair 
toward  her.  "  You  divine  my  purpose  ?  I  am  an  affection- 
ate parent,  my  dear  Mrs.  Varden." 

"  That  I  am  sure  you  are,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  V. 

"  Thank  you,"  returned  Mr.  Chester,  tapping  his  snuff-box 


2o6  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

Ud.     **  Heavy  moral  responsibilities  rest  with  parents,  Mrs. 
Varden  " 

Mrs.  Varden  slightly  raised  her  hands,  shook  her  head, 
and  looked  at  the  ground  as  though  she  saw  straight  through 
the  globe,  out  at  the  other  end,  and  into  the  immensity  of 
space  beyond. 

"  I  may  confide  in  you,"  said  Mr.Chester,  "  without  reserve. 
I  love  my  son,  ma'am,  dearly  ;  and  loving  him  as  I  do,  I 
would  save  him  from  working  certain  misery.  You  know  of 
his  attachment  to  Miss  Haredale.  You  have  abetted  him  in 
it,  and  very  kind  of  you  it  was  to  do  so.  I  am  deeply  obliged 
to  you — most  deeply  obliged  to  you — for  your  interest  in  his 
behalf  ;  but  my  dear  ma'am,  it  is  a  mistaken  one,  I  do  assure 
you." 

Mrs.  Varden  stammered  that  she  v/as  sorry 

"  Sorry,  my  dear  ma'am,"  he  interposed.  "  Never  be  sorry 
for  what  is  so  very  amiable,  so  very  good  in  intention,  so  per- 
fectly like  yourself.  But  there  are  grave  and  v/eighty  reasons, 
pressing  family  considerations,  and  apart  even  from  these, 
points  of  religious  difference,  which  interpose  themselves, 
and  render  their  union  impossible  ;  utterly  im-possible.  I 
should  have  mentioned  these  circumstances  to  your  husband  ; 
but  he  has — you  will  excuse  my  saying  this  so  freely — he  has 
not  your  quickness  of  apprehension  or  depth  of  moral  sense. 
What  an  extremely  airy  house  this  is,  and  how  beautifully 
kept  !  For  one  like  myself — a  widower  so  long — these 
tokens  of  female  care  and  superintendence  have  inexpressi- 
ble charms." 

Mrs.  Varden  began  to  think  (she  scarcely  knew  why)  that 
the  young  Mr.  Chester  must  be  in  the  r  ^ong  and  the  old  Mr. 
Chester  must  be  in  the  right. 

*'  My  son  Ned,"  resumed  her  tempter  with  his  utmost  win- 
ning air,  "  has  had,  I  am  told,  your  lovely  daughter's  aid,  and 
your  open-hearted  husband's." 

" — Much  more  than  mine,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Varden  ;  *'  a 
great  deal  more.     I  have  often  had  my  doubts.     It's  a " 

"A  bad  example,"  suggested  Mr.  Chester.  **  It  is.  No 
doubt  it  is.  Your  daughter  is  at  that  age  when  to  set  before 
her  an  encouragement  for  young  persons  to  rebel  against 
their  parents  on  this  most  important  point,  is  particularly  in- 
judicious. You  are  quite  right.  I  ought  o  have  thought  of 
that  myself,  but  it  escaped  me,  I  confess — so  far  superior  are 
your  sex  to  ours,  dear  madam,  in  point  of  penetration  «tnd 
sagacity." 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  207 

Mrs.  Varden  looked  as  wise  as  if  she  had  really  said  some- 
thing to  deserve  this  compliment — firmly  believed  she  had, 
in  short — and  her  faith  in  her  own  shrewdness  increased  con- 
siderably. 

"  My  dear  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  "you  embolden  me 
to  be  plain  with  you.  My  son  and  I  are  at  variance  on  this 
point.  The  young  lady  and  her  natural  guardian  differ  upon 
it  also.  And  the  closing  point  is,  that  my  son  is  bound  by 
his  duty  to  me,  by  his  honor,  by  every  solemn  tie  and  obli- 
gation, to  marry  some  one  else." 

"  Engaged  to  marry  another  lady  !  "  quoth  Mrs.  Varden, 
holding  up  her  hands. 

"  My  dear  madam,  brought  up,  educated,  and  trained,  ex- 
pressly for  that  purpose.  Expressly  for  that  purpose. — Miss 
Haredale,  I  am  told,  is  a  very  charming  creature." 

"  I  am  her  foster  mother,  and  should  know — the  best  young 
lady  in  the  world,"  said  Mrs.  Varden. 

"  I  have  not  the  smallest  doubt  of  it.  I  am  sure  she  is. 
And  you,  who  have  stood  in  that  tender  relation  toward  her, 
are  bound  to  consult  her  happiness.  Nov/,  can  I — as  I  have 
said  to  Haredale,  who  quite  agrees — can  I  possibly  stand  by, 
and  suffer  her  to  throve  herself  away  (although  she  is  of  a 
Catholic  family),  upon  a  young  fellow  who  as  yet  has  no 
heart  at  all  ?  It  is  no  imputation  upon  him  to  say  he  has 
not,  because  young  men  who  have  plunged  deeply  into  the 
frivolities  and  conventionalities  of  society,  very  seldom  have. 
Their  hearts  never  grow,  my  dear  ma'am,  till  after  thirty. 
I  don't  believe,  no,  I  do  not  believe,  that  I  had  any  heart 
myself  when  I  was  Ned's  age." 

"  Oh,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Varden,  "  I  think  you  must  have  had. 
It's  impossible  that  you,  who  have  so  much  now,  can  ever 
have  been  without  any." 

**  I  hope,"  he  answered,  shrugging  bis  shoulders  meekly, 
"  I  have  a  little  ;  I  hope,  a  very  little — heaven  knows  !  But 
to  return  to  Ned  ;  I  have  no  doubt  you  thought,  and  there- 
fore interfered  benevolently  in  his  behalf,  that  I  object  to 
Miss  Haredale.  How  very  natural  !  My  dear  madam,  I 
object  to  him — to  him — emphatically  to  Ned  himself." 

Mrs.  Varden  was  perfectly  aghast  at  the  disclosure, 

"  He  has,  if  he  honorably  fulfills  this  solemn  obligation  of 
which  I  have  told  you — and  he  must  be  honorable,  dear  Mrs. 
Varden,  or  he  is  no  son  of  mine — a  fortune  within  his  reach. 
He  is  of  most  expensive,  ruinously  expensive  habits  ;  and  if, 
in  a  moment  of  caprice  and  willfulness,  he  were  to  marry  this 


2o8  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

young  lady,  and  so  deprive  himself  of  the  means  of  gratify- 
ing the  tastes  to  which  he  had  been  so  long  accustomed,  he 
would — my  dear  madam,  he  would  break  the  gentle  creat- 
ure's heart.  Mrs.  Varden,  my  good  lady,  my  dear  soul,  I 
put  it  to  you — is  such  a  sacrifice  to  be  endured  ?  Is  the 
female  heart  a  thing  to  be  trifled  with  in  this  way  ?  Ask 
your  own,  my  dear  madam.  Ask  your  own,  I  beseech 
you." 

**  Truly,"  thought  Mrs.  Varden,  "  this  gentleman  is  a  saint. 
But,"  she  added  aloud,  and  not  unnaturally,  "  if  you  take 
Miss  Emma's  lover  away,  sir,  what  becomes  of  the  poor 
thing's  heart  then  ?  " 

'*  The  very  point,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  not  at  all  abashed, 
"  to  which  I  wish  to  lead  you.  A  marriage  with  my  son, 
whom  I  should  be  compelled  to  disown,  would  be  followed 
by  years  of  misery  ;  they  would  be  separated,  my  dear 
madam,  in  a  twelvemonth.  To  break  off  this  attachment, 
which  is  more  fancied  than  real,  as  you  and  I  know  very 
well,  will  cost  the  dear  girl  but  a  few  tears,  and  she  is  happy 
again.  Take  the  case  of  your  own  daughter,  the  young  lady 
down  stairs,  who  is  your  breathing  image  " — Mrs.  Varden 
coughed  and  simpered — *'  there  is  a  young  man  (I  am  sorry 
to  say,  a  dissolute  fellow,  of  very  indifferent  character),  of 
whom  I  have  heard  Ned  speak — Bullet  was  it — Pullet — 
Mullet " 

"  There  is  a  young  man  of  the  name  of  Joseph  Willet,  sir," 
said  Mrs.  Varden,  folding  her  hands  loftily. 

"  That's  he,"  cried  Mr.  Chester.  *'  Suppose  this  Joseph 
Willet,  now,  were  to  aspire  to  the  affections  of  your  charm- 
ing daughter,  and  were  to  engage  them." 

"  It  would  be  like  his  impudence,"  interposed  Mrs.  Var- 
den, bridling,  *'  to  dare  to  think  of  such  a  thing  !  " 

"  My  dear  madam,  that's  the  whole  case.  I  know  it  would 
be  like  his  impudence.  It  is  like  Ned's  impudence  to  do  as 
he  has  done  ;  but  you  would  not  on  that  account,  or  because 
of  a  few  tears  from  your  beautiful  daughter,  refrain  from 
checking  their  inclinations  in  their  birth.  I  meant  to  have 
reasoned  thus  with  your  hushand  when  I  saw  him  at  Mrs. 
Rudge's  this  evening " 

"  My  husband,"  said  Mrs.  Varden,  interposing  with  emo- 
tion, '^  would  be  a  great  deal  better  at  home  than  going  to 
Mrs.  Rudge's  so  often.  I  don't  know  what  he  does  there. 
I  don't  see  what  occasion  he  has  to  busy  himself  in  her 
^affairs  at  uU,  sir." 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  209 

"  If  I  don't  appear  to  express  my  concurrence  in  those 
last  sentiments  of  yours,"  returned  Mr.  Chester,  "  quite  so 
strongly  as  you  might  desire,  it  is  because  his  being  there, 
my  dear  madam,  and  not  proving  conversational,  led  me 
hither,  and  procured  me  the  happiness  of  this  interview  with 
one,  in  whom  the  whole  management,  conduct,  and  prosper- 
ity of  her  family  are  centred,  I  perceive." 

With  that  he  took  Mrs.  Varden's  hand  again,  and  having 
pressed  it  to  his  lips  with  the  high-flown  gallantry  of  the 
day — a  little  burlesqued  to  render  it  the  more  striking  in 
the  good  lady's  unaccustomed  eyes — proceeded  in  the  same 
strain  of  mingled  sophistry,  cajolery,  and  flattery,  to  entreat 
that  her  utmost  influence  might  be  exerted  to  restrain  her 
husband  and  daughter  from  any  further  promotion  of 
Edward's  suit  to  Miss  Haredale,  and  from  aiding  or  abetting 
either  party  in  any  way.  Mrs.  Varden  was  but  a  woman, 
and  had  her  share  of  vanity,  ODstinacy,  and  love  of  power. 
She  entered  into  a  secret  treaty  of  alliance,  offensive  and 
defensive,  with  her  insinuating  visitor  ;  and  really  did  believe, 
as  many  others  would  have  done  who  saw  and  heard  him, 
that  in  so  doing  she  furthered  the  ends  of  truth,  justice,  and 
morality,  in  a  very  uncommon  degree. 

Overjoyed  by  the  success  of  his  negotiation,  and  mightily 
amused  within  himself,  Mr.  Chester  conducted  her  down 
stairs  in  the  same  state  as  before  ;  and  having  repeated  the 
previous  ceremony  of  salutation,  which  also  as  before  com- 
prehended Dolly,  took  his  leave  ;  first  completing  the  con- 
quest of  Miss  Miggs's  fi^eart,  by  inquiring  if  "  this  young 
lady  "  would  light  him  to  the  door. 

"  Oh,  mim,"  said  Miggs,  returning  with  the  candle.  "  Oh, 
gracious  me,  mim,  there's  a  gentleman  !  Was  there  ever 
such  an  angel  to  talk  as  he  is — and  such  a  sweet-looking  man  ! 
So  upright  and  noble,  that  he  means  to  despise  the  very 
ground  he  walks  on  !  and  yet  so  mild  and  condescending, 
that  he  seems  to  say  '  but  I  will  take  notice  on  it  too.'  And 
to  think  of  his  taking  you  for  Miss  Dolly,  and  Miss  Dolly 
for  your  sister  !  Oh,  my  goodness  me,  if  I  was  master 
wouldn't  I  be  jealous  of  him  !  " 

Mrs.  Varden  reproved  her  handmaid  for  this  vain  speak- 
ing ;  but  very  gently  and  mildly — quite  smilingly  indeed 
— remarking  that  she  was  a  foolish,  giddy,  light-headed 
girl,  whose  spirits  carried  her  beyond  all  bounds,  and  who 
didn't  mean  half  she  said,  or  she  would  be  quite  angry  with 
her. 


2IO     .  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  For  my  part,"  said  Dolly,  in  a  thoughtful  manner,  "  I 
half  believe  Mr,  Chester  is  something  like  Miggs,  in  that 
respect.  For  all  his  politenesss  and  pleasant  speaking,  I  am 
pretty  sure  he  was  making  game  of  us,  more  than  once." 

**  If  you  venture  to  say  such  a  thing  again,  and  to  speak 
ill  of  people  behind  their  backs  in  my  presence,  miss,"  said 
Mrs.  Varden,  "  I  shall  insist  upon  your  taking  a  candle  and 
going  to  bed  directly.  How  dare  you,  Dolly  ?  I'm  aston- 
ished at  you.  The  rudeness  of  your  whole  behavior  this 
evening  has  been  disgraceful.  Did  any  body  ever  hear," 
cried  the  enraged  matron,  busting  into  tears,  "  of  a  daughter 
telling  her  own  mother  she  has  been  made  game  of  !  " 

What  a  very  uncertain  temper  Mrs.  Varden's  was  ! 


CHAPTER    XXVIII. 

Repairing  to  a  noted  coffee-house  in  Covent  Garden  when 
he  left  the  locksmith's,  Mr.  Chester  sat  long  over  a  late  din- 
ner, entertaining  himself  exceedingly  with  the  whimsical 
recollection  of  his  recent  proceedings,  and  congratulating 
himself  very  much  on  his  great  cleverness.  Influenced  by 
'hese  thoughts,  his  face  wore  an  expression  so  benign  and 
tranquil,  that  the  waiter  in  immediate  attendance  upon  him 
felt  he  could  almost  have  died  in  his  defense,  and  settled 
in  his  own  mind  (until  the  receipt  of  the  bill,  and  a  very 
small  fee  for  very  great  trouble  disabused  it  of  the  idea) 
that  such  an  apostolic  customer  was  worth  half-a-dozen  of 
the  ordinary  run   of  visitors,  at  least. 

A  visit  to  the  gaming-table — not  as  a  heated,  anxious 
venturer,  but  one  whom  it  was  quite  a  treat  to  see  staking 
his  two  or  three  pieces  in  deference  to  the  follies  of  society 
and  smiling  with  equal  benevolence  on  winners  and  losers 
— made  it  late  before  he  reached  home.  It  was  his  custom 
to  bid  his  servant  go  to  bed  at  his  own  time  unless  he  had 
orders  to  the  contrary,  and  to  leave  a  candle  on  the  com- 
mon stair.  There  was  a  lamp  on  the  landing  by  which  he 
could  always  light  it  when  he  came  home  late,  and  having  a 
key  of  the  door  about  him  he  could  enter  and  go  to  bed  at 
his  pleasure. 

He  opened  the  glass  of  the  dull  lamp,  whose  wick,  burned 
up  and  swollen  like  a  drunkard's  nose,  came  flying  off  in 
little  carbuncles  at  the  candle's  touch,  and  scattering  hot 
sparks  about,  rendered  it  matter  of  some  difficulty  to  kindle 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  211 

the  lazy  taper  ;  when  a  noise,  as  of  a  man  snoring  deeply 
some  steps  higher  up,  caused  him  to  pause  and  listen.  It 
was  the  heavy  breathing  of  a  sleeper,  close  at  hand.  Some 
fellow  had  lain  down  on  the  open  staircase,  and  was  slum- 
bering soundly.  Having  lighted  the  candle  at  length  and 
opened  his  own  door,  he  softly  ascended,  holding  the  taper 
high  above  his  head,  and  peering  cautiously  about  ;  curious 
to  see  what  kind  of  man  had  chosen  so  comfortless  a  shelter 
for  his  lodging. 

With  his  head  upon  the  landing  and  his  great  limbs  flung 
over  half  a  dozen  stairs,  as  carelessly  as  though  he  were  a 
dead  man  whom  drunken  bearers  had  thrown  down  by 
chance,  there  lay  Hugh,  face  uppermost,  his  long  hair  droop- 
ing like  some  wild  weed  upon  his  wooden  pillow,  and  his 
huge  chest  heaving  with  the  sounds  which  so  unwontedly  dis- 
turbed the  place  and  hour. 

He  who  came  upon  him  so  unexpectedly  was  about  to 
break  his  rest  by  thrusting  him  with  his  foot,  when,  glancing 
at  his  upturned  face,  he  arrested  himself  in  the  very  action, 
and  stooping  down  and  shading  the  candle  with  his  hand, 
examined  his  features  closely.  Close  as  his  first  inspection 
was,  it  did  not  suffice,  for  he  passed  the  light,  still  carefully 
shaded  as  before,  across  and  across  his  face,  and  yet  ob- 
served him  with  a  searching  eye. 

While  he  was  thus  engaged,  the  sleeper,  without  any  start- 
ing or  turning  round,  awoke.  There  was  a  kind  of  fascina- 
tion in  meeting  his  steady  gaze  so  suddenly,  which  took  from 
the  other  the  presence  of  mind  to  withdraw  his  eyes,  and 
forced  him,  as  it  were,  to  meet  his  look.  So  they  remained 
staring  at  each  other,  until  Mr.  Chester  at  last  broke  silence, 
and  asked  him  in  a  low  voice,  why  he  lay  sleeping  there. 

**  I  thought,"  said  Hugh,  struggling  into  a  sitting  posture 
and  gazing  at  him  intently,  still,  'that  you  were  a  part  of  my 
dream.  It  was  a  curious  one.  I  hope  it  may  never  come 
true,  master." 

'*  What  makes  you  shiver  ? " 

**  The — the  cold,  1  suppose,"  he  growled,  as  he  shook  him- 
self and  rose.     "  I  hardly  know  where  I  am  yet." 

''  Do  you  know  me  ? "  said  Mr.  Chester. 

"  Ay,  I  know  you,"  he  answered.  '*  1  was  dreaming  of  you 
— we're  not  where  I  thought   we  were.     That's  a  comfort." 

He  looked  round  him  as  he  spoke,  and  in  particular  looked 
above  his  head,  as  though  he  half  expected  to  be  standing 
under  some  object  which  had  had  existence  in  his  dream. 


212  BARNABY  RUDGK 

Then  he  rubbed  his  eyes  and  shook  himself  again,  and  fol- 
lowed his  conductor  into  his  own  rooms. 

Mr.  Chester  lighted  the  candles  which  stood  upon  hrs 
dressing-table,  and  wheeling  an  easy-chair  toward  the  fire, 
which  was  yet  burning,  stirred  up  a  cheerful  blaze,  sat  down 
before  it,  and  bade  his  uncouth  visitor  "  Come  here,"  and 
draw  his  boots  off. 

"  You  have  been  drinking  again,  my  fine  fellow,"  he  said, 
as  Hugh   went  down   on  one  knee,  and  did  as  he  was  told. 

"As  I'm  alive,  master,  I've  walked  the  long  twelve  miles, 
and  waited  here  I  don't  know  how  long,  and  had  no  drink 
between  my  lips  since  dinner-time  at  noon." 

"  And  can  you  do  nothing  better,  my  pleasant  friend,  than 
fall  asleep,  and  shake  the  very  building  with  your  snores  ?  " 
said  Mr.  Chester.  "  Can't  you  dream  ii.  your  strav/  at  home, 
dull  dog  as  you  are,  that  you  need  come  here  to  do  it? — 
Reach  me  those  slippers,  and  tread  softly." 

Hugh  obeyed  in  silence. 

"  And  harkee,  my  dear  young  gentleman,"  said  Mr.  Ches- 
ter, as  he  put  them  on,  "  the  next  time  you  dream,  don't  let 
it  be  of  me,  but  of  some  dog  or  horse  with  whom  you  are 
better  acquainted.  Fill  the  glass  once — you'll  find  it  and  the 
bottle  in  the  same  place — and  empty  it  to  keep  yourself 
awake." 

Hugh  obeyed  again — even  more  zealously — and  having 
done  so,  presented  himself  before  his  patron. 

"  Now,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  "  what  do  you  want  with  me  ?  " 

"  There  was  news  to-day,"  returned  Hugh.  *'  Your  son 
was  at  our  house — came  down  on  horseback.  He  tried  to 
see  the  young  woman,  but  couldn't  get  sight  of  her.  He  left 
some  letter  or  some  message  which  our  Joe  had  charge  of, 
but  he  and  the  old  one  quarreled  about  it  when  your  son  had 
gone,  and  the  old  one  wouldn't  let  it  be  delivered.  He  says 
(that's  the  old  one  does)  that  none  of  his  people  shall  inter- 
fere and  get  him  into  trouble.  He's  a  landlord,  he  says,  and 
lives  on  every  body's  custom." 

"  He's  a  jewel,"  smiled  Mr.  Chester,  *'and  the  better  for 
being  a  dull  one. — Well  ? " 

"  Varden's  daughter — that's  the  girl  I  kissed " 

" — And  stole  the  bracelet  from  upon  the  king's  highway," 
said  Mr.  Chester,  composedly.     "  Yes  ;  what  of  her  ? " 

"  She  wrote  a  note  at  our  house  to  the  young  woman,  say- 
ing she  lost  the  letter  I  brought  to  you,  and  you  burned.  Our 
Joe  was  to  carry  it,  but  the  old  one  kept  him  at  home  all 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  213 

next  day,  on  purpose  that  he  shouldn't.  Next  morning  he 
gave  it  to  me  to  take  ;  and  here  it  is." 

"You  didn't  deliver  it  then,  my  good  friend  ?"  said  Mr. 
Chester,  twirling  Dolly's  note  between  his  finger  and  thumb, 
and  feigning  to  be  surprised. 

"I  supposed  you'd  want  to  have  it,"  retorted  Hugh.  "  Burn 
one,  burn  all,  I  thought." 

"  My  devil-may-care  acquaintance,"  said  Mr.  Chester — 
**  really  if  you  do  not  draw  some  nicer  distinctions,  your 
career  will  be  cut  short  with  most  surprising  suddenness. 
Don't  you  know  that  the  letter  you  brought  to  me,  was  di- 
rected to  my  son  who  resides  in  this  very  place  ?  And  can 
you  descry  no  difference  between  his  letters  and  those  ad- 
dressed to  other  people  ?  " 

*'If  you  don't  want  it,"  said  Hugh,  disconcerted  by  this 
reproof,  for  he  had  expected  high  praise,  "  give  it  me  back, 
and  I'll  deliver  it.     I  don't  know  how  to  please  you,  master." 

"  I  shall  deliver  it,"  returned  his  patron,  putting  it  away 
after  a  moment's  consideration,  ''  myself.  Does  the  young 
lady  walk  out,  on  fine  mornings  ?  " 

"  Mostly — about  noon  is  her  usual  time." 

"Alone?" 

''Yes,  alone." 

"Where?" 

"  In  the  grounds  before  the  house. — Them  that  the  foot- 
path crosses." 

"  If  the  weather  should  be  fine,  I  may  throw  myself  in  her 
way  to-morrow,  perhaps,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  as  coolly  as  if 
she  were  one  of  his  ordinary  acquaintance.  "  Mr.  Hugh,  if 
I  should  ride  up  to  the  Maypole  door,  you  will  do  me  the 
favor  only  to  have  seen  me  once.  You  must  suppress  your 
gratitude,  and  endeavor  to  forget  my  forbearance  in  the 
matter  of  the  bracelet.  It  is  natural  it  should  break  out, 
and  it  does  you  honor  ;  but  when  other  folks  are  by,  you 
must,  for  you  own  sake  and  safety,  be  as  like  your  usual 
self  as  though  you  owed  me  no  obligation  whatever,  and 
had  never  stood  within  these  walls.    You  comprehend  me  ?  " 

Hugh  understood  him  perfectly.  After  a  pause  he  mut- 
tured  that  he  hoped  his  patron  would  involve  him  in  no  trou- 
ble about  this  last  letter  ;  for  he  had  kept  it  back  solely  with 
the  view  of  pleasing  him.  He  was  continuing  in  this  strain, 
when  Mr.  Chester  with  a  most  beneficent  and  patronizing 
air  cut  him  short  by  saying  : 

"  My  good  fellow,  you  have  my  promise,    my  word,  my 


214  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

scaled  bond  (for  a  verbal  pledge  with  me  is  quite  as  good), 
that  I  will  always  protect  you  so  long  as  you  deserve  it.  Now, 
do  you  set  your  mind  at  rest.  Keep  it  at  easej  I  beg  of  you. 
When  a  man  puts  himself  in  my  power  so  thoroughly  as  you 
have  done,  I  really  feel  as  though  he  had  a  kind  of  claim 
on  me.  I  am  more  disposed  to  mercy  and  forbearance  under 
such  circumstances  than  I  can  tell  you,  Hugh.  Do  look 
upon  me  as  your  protector,  and  rest  assured,  1  entreat  you, 
that  on  the  subject  of  that  indiscretion,  you  may  preserve, 
as  long  as  you  and  I  are  friends,  the  lightest  heart  that  ever 
beat  within  a  human  breast.  Fill  that  glass  once  more  to 
cheer  you  on  your  road  homeward — I  am  really  quite 
ashamed  to  think  how  far  you  have  to  go — and  then  God 
bless  you  for  the  night." 

**  They  think,"  said  Hugh,  when  he  had  tossed  the  liquor 
down,  "that  I  am  sleeping  soundly  in  the  stable.  Ha,  ha, 
ha  !     The  stable  door  is  shut,  but  the  steed's  gone,  master." 

"  You  are  a  most  convivial  fellow,"  returned  his  friend, 
"  and  I  love  your  humor  of  all  things.  Good-night !  Take 
the  greatest  possible  care  of  yourself,  for  my  sake  !  " 

It  was  remarkable  that  during  the  whole  interview,  each 
had  endeavored  to  catch  stolen  glances  of  the  other's  face, 
and  had  never  looked  full  at  it.  They  interchanged  one 
brief  and  hasty  glance  as  Hugh  went  out,  averted  their  eyes 
directly,  and  so  separated.  Hugh  closed  the  double  doors 
behind  him,  carefully  and  v/ithout  noise  ;  and  Mr.  Ghester 
remained  in  his  easy-chair,  with  his  gaze  intently  upon  the 
fire. 

"Well  !  "  he  said,  after  meditating  for  a  long  time — and 
said  with  a  deep  sigh  and  an  uneasy  shifting  of  his  attitude, 
as  though  he  dismissed  some  other  subject  from  his  thoughts, 
and  returned  to  that  which  had  held  possession  of  them  all 
the  day — "  the  plot  thickens  ;  I  have  thrown  the  shell  ;  it 
will  explode,  I  think,  in  eight-and-forty  hours,  and  should 
scatter  these  good  folks  amazingly.     We  shall  see  !  " 

He  went  to  bed  and  fell  asleep,  but  had  not  slept  long 
when  he  started  up  and  thought  that  Hugh  was  at  the  outer 
door,  calling  in  a  strange  voice,  very  different  from  his  own, 
to  be  admitted.  The  delusion  was  so  strong  upon  nim,  and 
was  so  full  of  that  vague  terror  of  the  night  in  which  such 
visions  have  their  being,  that  he  rose,  and  taking  his  sheathed 
sword  in  his  hand,  opened  the  door,  and  looked  out  upon 
the  staircase,  and  toward  the  spot  where  Hugh  had  lain 
asleep  ;  and  even  spoke  to  him  by  name.     But  all  was  dark 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  215 

and  quiet,  and  creeping  back  to  bed  again,  he   fell,  after  an 
hour's  uneasy  watching,  into  a  second   sleep,  and  woke  no 


more  till  morning. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


The  thoughts  of  worldly  men  are  forever  regulated  by  a 
moral  law  of  gravitation,  which,  like  the  physical  one,  holds 
them  down  to  the  earth.  The  bright  glory  of  day,  and  the 
silent  wonders  of  a  starlit  night,  appeal  to  their  minds  in 
vain.  There  are  no  signs  in  the  sun,  or  in  the  moon,  or  in 
the  stars,  for  their  reading.  They  are  like  some  wise  men, 
who,  learning  to  know  each  planet  by  its  Latin  name,  have 
quite  forgotten  such  small  heavenly  constellations  as  char- 
ity, forbearance,  universal  love,  and  mercy,  although  they 
shine  by  night  and  day  so  brightly  that  the  blind  may  see 
them  ;  and  who,  looking  upward  at  the  spangled  sky,  see 
nothing  there  but  the  reflection  of  their  own  great  wisdom 
and  book-learning. 

It  is  curious  to  imagine  these  people  of  the  world,  busy  in 
thought,  turning  their  eyes  toward  the  countless  spheres  that 
shine  above  us,  and  making  them  reflect  the  only  images 
their  minds  contain.  The  man  who  lives  but  in  the  breath 
of  princes,  has  nothing  in  his  sight  but  stars  for  courtiers' 
breasts.  The  envious  man  beholds  his  neighbors'  honors 
even  in  the  sky  ;  to  the  money-hoarder,  and  the  mass  of 
worldly  folk,  the  whole  great  universe  above  glitters  with 
sterling  coin — fresh  from  the  mint — stamped  with  the  sover- 
eign s  head  coming  always  between  them  and  heaven,  turn 
where  they  may.  So  do  the  shadows  of  our  own  desires 
stand  between  us  and  our  better  angels,  and  thus  their  bright- 
ness is  eclipsed. 

Every  thing  was  fresh  and  gay,  as  though  the  world  were 
but  that  morning  made,  when  Mr.  Chester  rode  at  a  tranquil 
pace  along  the  forest  road.  Though  early  in  the  season,  it 
was  warm  and  genial  weather  ;  the  trees  were  budding  into 
leaf,  the  hedges  and  the  grass  were  green,  the  air  was 
musical  with  songs  of  birds,  and  high  above  them  all  the 
lark  poured  out  her  richest  melody.  In  shady  spots  the 
morning  dew  sparkled  on  each  young  leaf  and  blade  of 
grass  ;  and  where  the  sun  was  shining,  some  diamond  drops 
yet  glistened  brightly,  as  in  unwillingness  to  leave  so  fair  a 
world,  and  have  such  brief  existence.     Even  the  light  wind 


2i6  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

whose  rustling  was  as  gentle  to  the  ear  as  softly-falling 
water,  had  its  hope  and  promise  ;  and,  leaving  a  pleasant 
fragrance  in  its  track  as  it  went  fluttering  by,  whispered  of 
its  intercourse  with  summer,  and  of  its  happy  coming. 

The  solitary  rider  went  glancing  on  among  the  trees,  from 
sunlight  into  shade  and  back  again,  at  the  same  even  pace 
— looking  about  him,  certainly,  from  time  to  time,  but  with 
no  greater  thought  of  the  day  or  the  scene  through  which  he 
moved  than  that  he  was  fortunate  (being  choicely  dressed)  to 
have  such  favorable  weather.  He  smiled  very  compla- 
cently at  such  times,  but  rather  as  if  he  were  satisfied  with 
himself  than  with  any  thing  else  :  and  so  went  riding  on, 
upon  his  chestnut  cob,  as  pleasant  to  look  upon  as  his  own 
horse,  and  probably  far  less  sensitive  to  the  many  cheerful 
influences  by  which  he  was  surrounded. 

In  the  course  of  time,  the  Maypole's  massive  chimneys 
rose  upon  his  view  ;  but  he  quickened  not  his  pace  one  jot, 
and  with  the  same  cool  gravity  rode  up  to  the  tavern  porcli. 
John  Willet,  who  was  toasting  his  red  face  before  a  great 
fire  in  the  bar,  and  who  with  surprising  foresight  and  quick- 
ness of  apprehension,  had  been  thinking  as  he  looked  at  the 
blue  sky,  that  if  that  state  of  things  lasted  much  longer,  it 
might  ultimately  become  necessary  to  leave  off  fires,  and 
throw  the  windows  open,  issued  forth  to  hold  his  stirrup  ; 
calling  lustily  for  Hugh. 

"Oh,  you're  here,  are  you,  sir?"  said  John,  rather  sur- 
prised by  the  quickness  with  which  he  appeared.  "Take 
this  here  valuable  animal  into  the  stable,  and  have  more 
than  particular  care  of  him  if  you  want  to  keep  your  place. 
A  mortal  lazy  fellow,  sir  ;  he  needs  a  deal  of  looking  after." 

"  But  you  have  a  son,"  returned  Mr.  Chester,  giving  his 
bridle  to  Hugh,  as  he  dismounted,  and  acknowledged  his 
salute  by  a  careless  motion  of  his  hand  toward  his  hat. 
"  \\'hy  don't  you  make  /i/m  useful  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  truth  is,  sir,"  replied  John  with  great  import- 
ance, "  that  my  son — what,  you're  a-listening  are  you, 
villain  ?" 

"Who's  listening?"  returned  Hugh  angrily.  "A  treat, 
indeed,  to  hear  you  speak  I  Would  you  have  me  take  him 
in  till  he's  cool  ?  " 

"  Walk  him  up  and  down  further  off  then,  sir,"  cried  old 
John,  *'  and  when  you  see  me  and  a  noble  gentleman  enter- 
taining ourselves  with  talk,  keep  your  distance.  If  you 
don't  know  your  distance,  sir,"  added  Mr.  Willet.  after  an 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  217 

enormously  long  pause,  during  which  he  fixed  his  great  dull 
eyes  on  Hugh,  and  waited  with  exemplary  patience  for  any 
little  property  in  the  way  of  ideas  that  might  come  to  him, 
''  we'll  find  a  way  to  teach  you,  pretty  soon." 

Hugh  shrugged  his  shoulders  scornfully,  and  in  his  reck- 
less swaggering  way,  crossed  to  the  other  side  of  the  little 
green,  and  there,  with  the  bridle  slung  loosely  over  his  shoul- 
der, led  the  horse  to  and  fro,  glancing  at  his  master  every 
now  and  then  from  under  his  bushy  eyebrows,  with  as  sin- 
ister an  aspect  as  one  would  desire  to  see. 

Mr.  Chester,  who,  without  appearing  to  do  so,  had  eyed 
him  attentively  during  this  brief  dispute,  stepped  into  the 
porch,  and  turning  abruptly  to  Mr.  Willet,  said  : 

''You  keep  strange  servants,  John." 

"  Strange  enough  to  look  at,  sir,  certainly,"  answered  the 
host  ;  "  but  out  of  doors  ;  for  horses,  dogs,  ana  the  likes  of 
that,  there  ain't  a  better  man  in  England  than  is  that  May- 
pole Hugh  yonder.  He  ain't  fit  for  in-doors,"  added  Mr. 
Willet,  with  the  confidential  air  of  a  man  who  felt  his  own 
superior  nature,  "/do  that  ;  but  if  that  chap  had  only  a 
a  little  imagination,  sir — " 

"  He's  an  active  fellow  now,  I  dare  swear,"  said  Mr. 
Chester,  in  a  musing  tone  which  seemed  to  suggest  that  he 
would  have  said  the  same  had  there  been  nobody  to  hear 
him. 

"  Active,  sir  !  "  retorted  John,  with  quite  an  expression  in 
his  face  ;  "  that  chap  !  Hallo  there  !  You  sir  !  Bring  the 
horse  here,  and  go  and  hang  my  wig  on  the  weathercock  to 
show  this  gentleman  whether  you're  one  of  the  lively  sort  or 
not." 

Hugh  made  no  answer,  but  throwing  the  bridle  to  his  mas- 
ter, and  snatching  his  wig  from  his  head,  in  a  manner  so 
unceremonious  and  hasty  that  the  action  discomposed  Mr. 
Willet  not  a  little,  though  performed  at  his  own  special 
desire,  climbed  nimbly  to  the  very  summit  of  the  maypole 
before  the  house,  and  hanging  the  wig  upon  the  weather- 
cock, sent  it  twirling  round  like  a  roasting  jack.  Having 
achieved  this  performance,  he  cast  it  on  the  ground,  and 
sliding  down  the  pole  with  inconceivable  rapidity,  alighted 
on  his  feet  almost  as  soon  as  it  had  touched  the  earth. 

"  There,  sir,"  said  John,  relapsing  into  his  usual  stolid 
state,  "  you  won't  see  that  at  many  houses,  besides  the  May- 
pole, Where's  there  good  accommodation  for  man  and  beast 
—nor  that  neither,  though  that  with  him  is  nothing." 


2i8  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

This  last  remark  bore  reference  to  his  vaulting  on  horse- 
back, as  upon  Mr.  Chester's  first  visit,  and  quickly  disap- 
pearing by  the  stable  gate. 

"That  with  him  is  nothing,"  repeated  Mr.  Willet,  brush- 
ing his  wig  with  his  wrist,  and  inwardly  resolving  to  distribute 
a  small  charge  of  dust  and  damage  to  that  article  of  dress, 
through  the  various  items  of  his  guest's  bill  ;  *'  he'll  get  out  of 
a'most  any  winder  in  the  house.  There  never  was  such  a 
chap  for  flinging  himself  about  and  never  hurting  his  bones. 
It's  my  opinion,  sir,  that  it's  pretty  nearly  all  owing  to  his  not 
having  any  imagination  ;  and  if  that  imagination  could  be 
(which  it  can't)  knocked  into  him,  he'd  never  be  able  to  do 
it  any  more.     But  we  was  a-talking,  sir,  about  my  son." 

"  True,  Willet,  true,"  said  his  visitor,  turning  again  toward 
the  landlord  with  that  serenity  of  face.  "My  good  friend, 
what  about  him  ?  " 

It  has  been  reported  that  Mr.  Willet,  previously  to  making 
answer,  winked.  But  as  he  was  never  known  to  be  guilty  of 
such  lightness  of  conduct  either  before  or  afterward  this 
may  be  looked  upon  as  a  malicious  invention  of  his  enemies 
— founded,  perhaps,  upon  the  undisputed  circumstance  of 
his  taking  his  guest  by  the  third  breast  button  of  his  coat, 
counting  downwards  from  the  chin,  and  pouring  his  reply 
into  his  ear  : 

"  Sir,"  whispered  John,  with  dignity,  "  I  know  ray  duty. 
We  want  no  love-making  here,  sir,  unbeknown  to  parents. 
I  respect  a  certain  young  gentleman,  taking  him  in  the  light 
of  a  young  gentleman  ;  I  respect  a  certain  young  lady, 
taking  her  in  the  light  of  a  young  lady  ;  but  of  the  two  as  a 
couple,  I  have  no  knowledge,  sir,  none  whatever.  My  son, 
sir,  is  upon  his  patrol." 

"  I  thought  I  saw  him  looking  through  the  corner  window 
but  this  moment,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  who  naturally  thought 
that  being  on  patrol,  implied  walking  about  somewhere. 

"  No  doubt  you  did,  sir,"  returned  John.  "  He  is  upon 
his  patrol  of  honor,  sir,  not  to  leave  the  premises.  Me  and 
some  friends  of  mine  that  use  the  Maypole  of  an  evening,  sir, 
considered  what  was  best  to  be  done  with  him,  to  prevent 
his  doing  any  thing  unpleasant  in  opposing  your  desires  ; 
and  we've  put  him  oit  his  patrol.  And  what's  more,  sir,  he 
won't  be  off  his  patrol  for  a  pretty  long  time  to  come,  I  can 
tell  you  that." 

When  he  had  communicated  this  bright  idea,  which  had 
its   origin  in  the  perusal  by  the  village  cronies  of  a  news- 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  219 

paper  containing,  among  other  matters,  an  account  of  how 
some  officer  pending  the  sentence  of  some  court-martial  had 
been  enlarged  on  parole,  Mr.  Willet  drew  back  from  hi<i 
guest's  ear  and  without  any  visible  alteration  of  feature, 
chuckled  thrice  audibly.  This  nearest  approach  to  a  laugh 
in  which  he  ever  indulged  (and  that  but  seldom  and  only  on 
extreme  occasions),  never  even  curled  his  lip  or  effected  the 
smallest  change  in — no,  not  so  much  as  a  slight  wagging 
of — his  great,  fat,  double  chin,  which  at  these  times,  as  at  all 
others,  remained  a  perfect  desert  in  the  broad  map  of  his 
face  ;  one  changeless,  dull,  tremendous  blank. 

Lest  it  should  be  a  matter  of  surprise  to  any,  that  Mr. 
Willet  adopted  this  bold  course  in  opposition  to  one  whom 
he  had  often  entertained,  and  who  had  always  paid  his  way 
at  the  Maypole  gallantly,  it  may  be  remarked  that  it  was 
his  very  penetration  and  sagacity  in  this  respect,  which 
occasioned  him  to  indulge  in  those  unusual  demonstrations 
of  jocularity,  just  now  recorded.  For  Mr.  Wiilet,  after  care- 
fully balancing  father  and  son  in  his  mental  scales,  had 
arrived  at  the  distinct  conclusion  that  the  old  gentleman  was 
a  better  sort  of  a  customer  than  the  young  one.  Throwing 
his  landlord  into  the  same  scale,  which  was  already  turned 
by  this  consideration,  and  heaping  upon  him,  again,  his 
strong  desire  to  run  counter  to  the  unfortunate  Joe,  and  his 
opposition  as  a  general  principle  to  all  matters  of  love  and 
m.atrimony,  it  went  down  to  the  very  ground  straightway, 
and  sent  the  light  cause  of  the  younger  gentleman  flying  up- 
ward to  the  ceiling.  Mr.  Chester  was  not  the  kind  of  man 
to  be  by  any  means  dim-sighted  to  Mr.  Willet's  motives,  but 
he  thanked  him  as  graciously  as  if  he  had  been  one  of  the 
most  disinterested  martyrs  that  ever  shone  on  earth  ;  and 
leaving  him,  with  many  complimentary  reliances  on  his 
great  taste  and  judgment,  to  prepare  v/hatever  dinner  he 
might  deem  most  fitting  the  occasion,  bent  his  steps  toward 
the  Warren. 

Dressed  with  more  than  his  usual  elegance  ;  assuming  a 
gracefulness  of  manner  which,  though  it  was  the  result  of 
long  study,  sat  easily  upon  him  and  became  him  well  ;  com- 
posing his  features  into  their  most  serene  and  prepossessing 
expression  ;  and  setting  in  short  that  guard  upon  himself, 
at  every  point,  which  denoted  that  he  attached  no  slight  im- 
portance to  the  impression  that  he  was  about  to  make  ;  he 
entered  the  bounds  of  Miss  Haredale's  usual  walk.  He  had 
not  gone  far,  or  looked  about  him  long,  when  he  descried 


220  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

coming  toward  him,  a  female  figure.  A  glimpse  of  the  form 
and  dress  as  she  crossed  a  little  wooden  bridge  which  lay 
between  them,  satisfied  him  that  he  had  found  her  whom  he 
desired  to  see.  He  threw  himself  in  her  way,  and  a  very 
few  paces  brought  them  close  together. 

He  raised  his  hat  from  his  head,  and  yielding  the  path, 
suffered  her  to  pass  him.  Then,  as  if  the  idea  had  but  that 
moment  occurred  to  him,  he  turned  hastily  back  and  said  in 
an  agitated  voice  : 

*'  1  beg  pardon — do  I  address  Miss  Haredale  ?  " 

She  stopped  in  some  confusion  at  being  so  unexpectedly 
accosted  by  a  stranger  ;  and  answered  "  Yes." 

*'  Something  told  me,"  he  said,  looking  a  compliment  to  her 
beauty,  ''  that  it  could  be  no  other.  Miss  Haredale,  I  bear  a 
name  which  is  not  unknown  to  you — which  it  is  a  pride,  and 
yet  a  pain  to  me  to  know,  sounds  pleasantly  in  your  ears.  I 
am  a  man  advanced  in  life,  as  you  see.  I  am  the  father  of 
him  whom  you  honor  and  distinguish  above  all  other  men. 
May  I,  for  weighty  reasons  which  fill  me  with  distress,  beg 
but  a  minute's  conversation  with  you  here  ? " 

Who  that  was  inexperienced  in  deceit,  and  had  a  frank 
and  youthful  heart,  could  doubt  the  speaker's  truth — could 
doubt  it,  too,  when  the  voice  that  spoke,  was  like  the  faint 
echo  of  one  she  knew  so  well,  and  so  much  loved  to  hear  ? 
She  inclined  her  head,  and  stopping,  cast  her  eyes  upon  the 
ground. 

"  A  little  more  apart — among  these  trees.  It  is  an  old 
man's  hand,  Miss  Haredale  ;  an  honest  one,  believe  me." 

She  put  hers  in  it  as  he  said  these  words,  and  suffered  him 
to  lead  her  to  a  neighboring  seat. 

*'  You  alarm  me,  sir,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice.  ''  You  are 
not  the  bearer  of  any  ill  news,  I  hope  ? " 

"  Of  none  that  you  anticipate,"  he  answered,  sitting  down 
beside  her.  "  Edward  is  well — quite  well  It  is  of  him  I 
wish  to  speak,  certainly ;  but  I  have  no  misfortune  to  com- 
municate." 

She  bowed  her  head  again,  and  made  as  though  she  would 
have  begged  him  to  proceed  ;  but  said  nothing. 

"  I  am  sensible  that  I  speak  to  you  at  a  disadvantage,  dear 
Miss  Haredale.  Believe  me  that  I  am  not  so  forgetful  of 
the  feelings  of  my  younger  days  as  not  to  know  that  you  are 
little  disposed  to  view  me  with  favor.  You  have  heard  me 
described  as  cold-hearted,  calculating,  selfish " 

*^  I  have  never,  sir  " — she  interposed  with  an  altered  man- 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  221 

ner  and  a  firmer  voice  ;  "  I  have  never  heard  you  spoken  of 
in  harsh  or  disrespectful  terms.  You  do  a  great  wrong  to 
Edward's  nature  if  you  believe  him  capable  of  any  mean  or 
base  proceeding." 

"  Pardon  me,  my  sweet  young  lady,  but  your  uncle " 

"  Nor  is  it  my  uncle's  nature  either,"  she  replied,  with  a 
heightened  color  in  her  cheek.  "It  is  not  his  nature  to  stab 
in  the  dark,  nor  is  it  mine  to  love  such  deeds." 

She  rose  as  she  spoke,  and  would  have  left  him  ;  but  he 
detained  her  with  a  gentle  hand,  and  besought  her  in  such 
persuasive  accents  to  hear  him  but  another  minute,  that  she 
was  easily  prevailed  upon  to  comply,  and  so  sat  down  again. 

"  And  it  is,"  said  NIr.  Chester,  looking  upward,  and  apos- 
trophizing the  air  ;  "  it  is  this  frank,  ingenuous,  noble  nature, 
Ned,  that  you  can  wovnd  so  lightly.  Shame — shame  upon 
you,  boy  !  " 

She  turned  toward  him  quickly,  and  with  a  scornful  look 
and  flashing  eyes.  There  were  tears  in  Mr.  Chester's  eyes, 
but  he  dashed  them  hurriedly  away,  as  though  unwilling  that 
his  weakness  should  be  known,  and  regarded  her  with 
mingled  admiration  and  compassion. 

"  I  never  until  now,"  he  said,  '*  believed  that  the  frivo- 
lous actions  of  a  young  man  could  move  me  like  these  of  my 
own  son.  I  never  knew  till  now  the  worth  of  a  woman's 
heart,  which  boys  so  lightly  win,  and  lightly  fling  away. 
Trust  me,  dear  young  lady,  that  I  never  until  now  did  know 
your  worth  ;  and  though  an  abhorrence  of  deceit  and  false- 
hood has  impelled  me  to  seek  you  out,  and  would  have  done 
so  had  you  been  the  poorest  and  least  gifted  of  your  sex,  I 
should  have  lacked  the  fortitude  to  sustain  this  interview 
could  1  have  pictured  you  to  my  imagination  as  you  really 
are." 

Oh  !  If  Mrs.  Varden  could  have  seen  the  virtuous  gentle- 
man as  he  said  these  words,  with  indigna^.ion  sparkling  from 
his  eyes — if  she  could  have  heard  his  broken,  quavering 
voice — if  she  could  have  beheld  him  as  he  stood  bareheaded 
in  the  sunlight,  and  with  unwonted  energy  poured  forth  his 
eloquence  ! 

With  a  haughty  face,  but  pale  and  trembling  too,  Emma 
regarded  him  in  silence.  She  neither  spoke  nor  moved,  but 
gazed  upon  him  as  though  she  would  look  into  his  heart. 

"I  throw  off,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  **  the  restraint  which 
natural  affection  would  impose  on  some  men,  and  reject  all 
bonds  but   those  of  truth   and   duly.     Miss   Haredale,  you 


222  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

are  deceived  ;  yon  are  deceived  by  your  unworthy  lover,  and 
my  unworthy  son." 

Still  she  looked  at  him  steadily,  and  still  said  not  one 
word, 

"  I  have  ever  opposed  his  professions  of  love  for  you  ;  you 
will  do  me  the  justice,  dear  Miss  Haredale,  to  remember 
that.  Your  uncle  and  myself  were  enemies  in  early  life, 
and  if  I  had  sought  retaliation,  I  might  have  found  it  here. 
But  as  we  grow  older,  we  grow  wiser — better,  I  would  fain 
hope — and  from  the  first,  I  have  opposed  him  in  this 
attempt.  I  foresaw  the  end,  and  would  have  spared  you,  if 
I  could." 

"  Speak  plainly,  sir,"  she  faltered.  "  You  deceive  me,  or 
are  deceived  yourself.  I  do  not  believe  you — I  can  not — I 
should  not." 

"  First,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  soothingly,  "  for  there  may  be 
in  your  mind  some  latent  angry  feeling  to  which  I  would 
not  appeal,  pray  take  this  letter.  It  reached  ray  hand  by 
chance,  and  by  mistake,  and  should  have  accounted  to  you 
(as  I  am  told)  for  my  son's  not  answering  some  other  note 
of  yours.  God  forbid,  Miss  Haredale,"  said  the  good  gen- 
tleman, with  great  emotion,  "  that  there  should  be  in  your 
gentle  breast  one  causeless  ground  of  quarrel  with  him. 
You  should  know,  and  you  will  see,  that  he  was  in  no  fault 
here." 

There  appeared  something  so  very  candid,  so  scrupu- 
lously honorable,  so  very  truthful  and  just  in  this  course — 
something  which  rendered  the  upright  person  who  resorted 
to  it,  so  worthy  of  belief — that  Emma's  heart,  for  the  first 
time,  sunk  within  her.  She  turned  away  and  burst  into 
tears. 

"  I  would,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  leaning  over  her,  and  speak- 
ing in  mild  and  quite  venerable  accents  ;  '*  I  would,  dear 
girl,  it  were  my  task  to  banish,  not  increase,  those  tokens  of 
your  grief.  My  son,  my  erring  son — I  will  not  call  him 
deliberately  criminal  in  this,  for  men  so  young,  who  have 
been  inconstant  twice  or  thrice  before,  act  without  reflec- 
tion, almost  without  a  knowledge  of  the  wrong  they  do — 
will  break  his  plighted  faith  to  you  ;  has  broken  it  even 
now.  Shall  I  stop  here,  and  having  given  you  this  warning, 
leave  it  to  be  fulfilled  ;  or  shall  I  go  on  ?  " 

"  You  will  go  on,  sir,"  she  answered,  "  and  speak  more 
plainly  yet,  in  justice  both  to  him  and  me." 

"  My  dear  girl,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  bending  over  her  more 


BARNAE/  kUDGE.  223 

affectionately  still ;  "  whom  I  would  call  my  daughter,  but 
the  Fates  forbid,  Edward  seeks  to  break  with  you  upon  a 
false  and  most  unwarrantable  pretense.  I  have  it  on  his 
own  showing  ;  in  his  own  hand.  Forgive  me,  if  I  have  had 
a  watch  upon  his  conduct  ;  I  am  his  father  ;  I  had  a  regard 
for  your  peace  and  his  honar,  and  no  better  resource  was 
left  me.  There  lies  on  his  desk  at  this  present  moment, 
ready  for  transmission  to  you,  a  letter,  in  which  he  tells  you 
that  our  poverty — our  poverty  ;  his  and  mine,  Miss  Hare- 
dale — forbids  him  to  pursue  his  claim  upon  your  hand  ;  in 
which  he  offers,  voluntarily  proposes,  to  free  you  from 
your  pledge  ;  and  talks  magnanimously  (men  do  so,  very 
commonly,  in  such  cases)  of  being  in  time  more  worthy  of 
your  regard — and  so  forth.  A  letter,  to  be  plain,  in  which 
he  not  only  jilts  you — pardon  the  word  ;  I  would  summon 
to  your  aid  your  pride  and  dignity — not  only  jilts  you,  I 
fear,  in  favor  of  the  object  whose  slighting  treatment  first 
inspired  his  brief  passion  for  yourself,  and  gave  it  birth  in 
wounded  vanity,  but  affects  to  make  a  merit  and  a  virtue  of 
the  act." 

She  glanced  proudly  at  him  once  more,  as  by  an  involun- 
tary impulse,  and  with  a  swelling  breast  rejoined,  "  If  what 
you  say  be  true,  he  takes  much  needless  trouble,  sir,  to 
compass  his  design.  He  is  very  tender  of  my  peace  of  mind. 
I  quite  thank  him." 

"  The  truth  of  what  I  tell  you,  dear  young  lady,"  he 
replied,  "  you  will  test  by  the  receipt  or  non-receipt  of  the 
letter  of  which  I  speak.  Haredale,  my  dear  fellow,  I  am 
delighted  to  see  you,  although  we  meet  under  singular  cir- 
cumstances, and  upon  a  melancholy  occasion.  I  hope  you 
are  very  well." 

At  these  words  the  young  lady  raised  her  eyes,  which 
were  filled  with  tears  ;  and  seeing  that  her  uncle  indeed 
stood  before  them,  and  being  quite  unequal  to  the  trial  of 
hearing  or  of  speaking  one  word  more,  hurriedly  withdrew, 
and  left  them.  They  stood  looking  at  each  other,  and  at 
her  retreating  figure,  and  for  a  long  time  neither  of  them 
spoke. 

*'  What  does  this  mean  ?  Explain  it,"  said  Mr.  Haredale 
at  length.     *'  Why  are  you  here,  and  why  with  her  ?  " 

**  My  dear  friend,"  rejoined  the  other,  resuming  his  accus- 
tomed manner  with  infinite  readiness,  and  throwing  himself 
upon  the  bench  with  a  weary  air.  "  you  told  me  not  very 
long  ago,  at  that  delightful  old  tavern  of  which  vou  are  the 


224  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

esteemed  proprietor  (and  a  most  charming  establishment  it 
is  for  persons  of  rural  pursuits  and  in  robust  health,  who 
are  not  liable  to  take  cold),  that  I  had  the  head  and  heart 
of  an  evil  spirit  in  all  matters  of  deception.  I  thought  at 
the  time  ;  1  really  did  think  ;  you  flattered  me.  But  now  I 
begin  to  wonder  at  your  discernment,  and  vanity  apart,  do 
honestly  believe  you  spoke  the  truth.  Did  you  ever  coun- 
terfeit extreme  ingenuousness  and  honest  indignation  ?  My 
dear  fellow,  you  have  no  conception,  if  you  never  did,  how 
faint  the  effort  makes  one." 

Mr.  Haredale  surveyed  him  with  a  look  of  cold  contempt. 
"  You  may  evade  an  explanation,  I  know,"  he  said,  folding 
his  arms.     "  But  I  must  have  it.     I  can  wait." 

**  Not  at  all.  Not  at  all,  my  good  fellow.  You  shall  not 
v/ait  a  moment,"  returned  his  friend,  as  he  lazily  crossed  his 
legs.  "  The  simplest  thing  in  the  world.  It  lies  in  a  nut- 
shell. Ned  has  written  her  a  letter — a  boyish,  honest,  senti- 
mental composition  which  remains  as  yet  in  his  desk,  because 
he  hasn't  had  the  heart  to  send  it.  I  have  taken  a  liberty, 
for  which  my  parental  affection  and  anxiety  are  a  sufficient 
excuse,  and  possessed  myself  of  the  contents.  I  have  de- 
scribed them  to  your  niece  (a  most  enchanting  person,  Hare- 
dale  ;  quite  an  angelic  creature),  with  a  little  coloring  and 
description  adapted  to  our  purpose.  It's  done.  You  may 
be  quite  easy.  It's  all  over.  Deprived  of  their  adherents 
and  mediators  ;  her  pride  and  jealousy  roused  to  the  utmost ; 
with  nobody  to  undeceive  her,  and  you  to  confirm  me  ;  you 
will  find  that  their  intercourse  will  close  with  her  answer. 
If  she  receives  Ned's  letter  by  to-morrow  noon,  you  may 
date  their  parting  from  to-morrow  night.  No  thanks,  I 
beg  ;  you  owe  me  none.  I  have  acted  for  myself  ;  and  if  I 
have  forwarded  our  compact  with  all  the  ardor  even  you 
could  have  desired,  I  have  done  so  selfishly,  indeed." 

"  I  curse  the  compact,  as  you  call  it,  with  my  whole  heart 
and  soul,"  returned  the  other.  "  It  was  made  in  an  evil  hour. 
I  have  bound  myself  to  a  lie  ;  I  have  leagued  myself  with 
you  ;  and  though  I  did  so  with  a  righteous  motive,  and 
though  it  cost  me  such  an  effort  as  haply  few  men  know,  I 
hate  and  despise  myself  for  the  deed." 

"  You  are  very  warm,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  with  a  languid 
smile. 

*'  I  am  warm.  I  am  maddened  by  your  coldness.  Death, 
Chester,  if  your  blood  ran  warmer  in  your  veins,  and  there 
were  no  restraints  upon  me,  such  as  those  that  hold  and  drag 


BARNABV  RIIDGR.  22$ 

me  back — well  ;  it  is  done  ;  you  lell  me  so,  and  on  such  a 
point  I  may  believe  you.  When  I  am  most  remorseful  for 
this  treachery,  I  will  think  of  you  and  your  marriage,  and 
try  to  justify  myself  in  such  remembrances,  for  having  torn 
asunder  Emma  and  your  son,  at  any  cost.  Our  bond  is  can- 
celed now  and  we  may  part." 

Mr.  Chester  kissed  his  hand  gracefully  ;  and  with  the 
same  tranquil  face  he  had  preserved  throughout — even  when 
he  had  seen  his  companion  so  tortured  and  transported 
by  his  passion  that  his  whole  frame  was  shaken — lay  in  his 
lounging  posture  on  the  seat  and  watched  him  as  he  walked 
away. 

"My  scapegoat  and  my  drudge  at  school,"  he  said,  rais- 
ing his  head  to  look  after  him  ;  "  my  friend  of  later  days, 
who  could  not  keep  his  mistress  when  he  had  won  her, 
and  threw  me  in  her  way  to  carry  off  the  prize  ;  I  tri- 
umph in  the  present  and  the  past.  Bark  on,  ill-favored, 
ill-conditioned  cur  ;  fortune  has  ever  been  with  me — I 
like  to  hear  you." 

The  spot  where  they  had  met  was  in  an  avenue  of  trees 
Mr.  Haredale  not  passing  out  on  either  hand,  had  walked 
straight  on.  He  chanced  to*  turn  his  head  when  at  some 
considerable  distance,  and  seeing  that  his  late  companion 
had  by  that  time  risen  and  was  looking  after  him,  stood  still, 
as  though  he  had  expected  him  to  follow,  and  waited  for  his 
coming  up. 

'*  It  w<zy  come  to  that  one  day,  but  not  yet,"  said  Mr. 
Chester,  waving  his  hand,  as  though  they  were  the  best  of 
friends,  and  turning  away.  "  Not  yet,  Haredale.  Life  is 
pleasant  enough  to  me  ;  dull  and  full  of  heaviness  to  you. 
No.  To  cross  swords  with  such  a  man — to  indulge  his 
humor  unless  upon  extremity — would  be  weak  indeed." 

For  all  that,  he  drew  his  sword  as  he  walked  along,  and  in 
an  absent  humor  ran  his  eye  from  hilt  to  point  full  twenty 
times.  But  thoughtfulness  begets  wrinkles  ;  remembering 
this,  he  soon  put  it  up,  smoothed  his  contracted  brow, 
hummed  a  gay  tune  with  greater  gayety  of  manner,  and  was 
his  unruffled  self  again. 


226  BARNABV  RUDGE. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

A  homely  proverb  recognizes  the  existence  of  a  trouble- 
some class  of  persons  who,  having  an  inch  conceded  them, 
will  take  an  ell.  Not  to  quote  the  illustrious  examples  of 
those  heroic  scourges  of  mankind,  whose  amiable  path  in  life 
has  been  from  birth  to  death  through  blood,  and  fire,  and 
ruin,  and  who  would  seem  to  have  existed  for  no  better  pur- 
pose than  to  teach  mankind  that  as  the  absence  of  pain  is 
plasure,  so  the  earth,  purged  of  their  presence  may  be  deemed 
a  blessed  place — not  to  quote  such  mighty  instances,  it  will 
be  sufficient  to  refer  to  old  John  Willet. 

Old  John  having  long  encroached  a  good  standard  inch, 
full  measure,  on  the  liberty  of  Joe,  and  having  snipped  off 
a  Flemish  ell  in  the  matter  of  the  parole,  grew  so  despotic 
and  so  great,  that  his  thirst  for  conquest  knew  no  bounds. 
The  more  young  Joe  submitted,  the  more  absolute  old  John 
became.  The  ell  soon  faded  into  nothing.  Yards,  furlongs, 
miles  arose  ;  and  on  went  old  John  in  the  pleasantest  man- 
ner possible,  trimming  off  an  exuberance  in  this  place, 
shearing  away  some  liberty  of  speech  or  action  in  that,  and 
conducting  himself  in  this  small  way  with  as  much  high 
mightiness  and  majesty  as  the  most  glorious  tyrant  that  ever 
had  his  statue  reared  in  the  public  ways,  of  ancient  or  of 
modern  times. 

As  great  men  arc  urged  on  to  the  abuse  of  power  (when 
they  need  urging,  which  is  not  often),  by  their  flatterers  and 
dependents,  so  old  John  was  impelled  to  these  exercises  of 
authority  by  the  applause  and  admiration  of  his  Maypole 
cronies,  who,  in  the  intervals  of  their  nightly  pipes  and  pots, 
would  shake  their  heads  and  say  that  Mr.  Willet  was  a 
father  of  the  good  old  English  sort  ;  that  there  were  no  new- 
fangled notions  or  modern  ways  in  him  ;  that  he  put  them 
in  mind  of  what  their  fathers  were  when  they  were  boys  ; 
that  there  was  no  mistake  about  him  ;  that  it  would  be  well 
for  the  country  if  there  were  more  like  him,  and  more  was  the 
pity  that  there  were  not  ;  with  many  other  original-remarks 
of  that  nature.  Then  they  would  condescendingly  give  Joe 
to  understand  that  it  was  all  for  his  good,  and  he  would  be 
thankful  for  it  one  day  ;  and  in  particular,  Mr.  Cobb  would 
acquaint  him,  that  when  he  was  his  age,  his  father  thought 
no  more  of  giving  him  a  parental  kick,  or  a  box  on  the  ears, 
or  a  cuff  on  the  head,  or  some  little  admonition  of  that  sort. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  227 

than  he  did  of  any  other  ordinary  duty  of  life ;  and  he 
would  further  remark,  with  looks  of  great  significance,  that 
but  for  this  judicious  bringing  up,  he  might  have  never  been 
the  man  he  was  at  that  present  speaking  ;  which  was  prob- 
able enough,  as  he  was,  beyond  all  question,  the  dullest  dog 
of  the  party.  In  short,  between  old  John  and  old  John's 
'riends,  there  never  was  an  unfortunate  young  fellow  so 
bullied,  badgered,  worried,  fretted,  and  brow-beaten  ;  so 
constantly  beset,  or  made  so  tired  of  his  life,  as  poor  Joe 
Willet. 

This  had  come  to  be  the  recognized  and  established  state 
of  things  ;  but  as  John  was  very  anxious  to  flourish  his 
supremacy  before  the  ey£s  of  Mr.  Chester,  he  did  that  day 
exceed  himself,  and  did  so  goad  and  chafe  his  son  and  heir, 
that  but  for  Joe's  having  made  a  solemn  vow  to  keep  his 
hands  in  his  pockets  when  they  were  not- otherwise  engaged, 
it  is  impossible  to  say  what  he  might  have  done  with  them. 
But  the  longest  day  has  an  end,  and  at  length  Mr.  Chester 
came  down  stairs  to  mount  his  horse,  which  was  ready  at 
the  door. 

As  old  John  was  not  in  the  way  at  the  moment,  Joe,  who 
was  sitting  in  the  bar  ruminating  on  his  dismal  fate  and  the 
manifold  perfections  of  Dolly  Varden,  ran  out  to  hold  the 
guest's  stirrup  and  assist  him  to  mount.  Mr.  Chester  was 
scarcely  in  the  saddle,  and  Joe  was  in  the  very  act  of  making 
him  a  graceful  bow,  when  old  John  came  diving  out  of  the 
porch,  and  collared  him. 

"None  of  that,  sir,"  said  John,  "none  of  that,  sir.  No 
breaking  of  patrols.  How  dare  you  come  out  of  the  door, 
sir,  without  leave  ?  You're  trying  to  get  away,  sir,  are  you, 
and  to  make  a  traitor  of  yourself  again  ?  What  do  you 
mean,  sir  ? " 

'*  Let  me  go,  father,"  said  Joe,  imploringly,  as  he  marked 
the  smile  upon  their  visitor's  face,  and  observed  the  pleasure 
his  disgrace  afforded  him.  "  This  is  too  bad.  Who  wants 
to  get  away  ?  " 

"  Who  wants  to  get  away,"  cried  John,  shaking  him. 
"  Why  you  do,  sir,  you  do.  You're  the  boy,  sir,"  added  John, 
collaring  with  one  hand,  and  aiding  the  effect  of  a  farewell 
bow  to  the  visitor  with  the  other,  "that  wants  to  sneak  into 
houses,  and  stir  up  differences  between  noble  gentlemen  and 
their  sons,  are  you,  eh  ?     Hold  your  tongue,  sir." 

Joe  made  no  effort  to  reply.  It  v/as  the  crowning  circum- 
stance of  his  degradation.     He  extricated  himself  from  his 


228  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

father's  grasp,  darted  an  angry  look  at  the  departing  guest, 
and  returned  into  the  house. 

"  But  for  her,"  thought  Joe,  as  he  threw  his  arms  upon  a 
table  in  the  common  room,  and  laid  his  head  upon  them, 
'^  but  for  Dolly,  who  I  couldn't  bear  should  think  me  the 
rascal  they  would  make  me  out  to  be  if  I  ran  away,  this 
house  and  I  should  part  to-night." 

It  being  evening  by  this  time,  Solomon  Daisy,  Tom  Cobb, 
and  Long  Parkes,  were  all  in  the  common-room  too,  and  had 
from  the  window  been  witnesses  of  what  had  just  occurred. 
Mr.  Willet  joining  them  soon  afterward,  received  the  com- 
pliments of  the  company  with  great  composure,  and  lighting 
his  pipe,  sat  down  among  them. 

"We'll  see,  gentlemen,"  said  John,  after  a  long  pause, 
"who's  the  master  of  this  house,  and  who  isn't.  We'll  see 
whether  boys  are  to  govern  men,  or  men  are  to  govern  boys." 

"And  quite  right  too,"  assented  Solomon  Daisy,  with  some 
approving  nods  ;  "  quite  right,  Johnny.  Very  good,  Johnny. 
Well  said,  Mr.  Willet.     Bravo,  sir." 

John  slowly  brought  his  eyes  to  bear  upon  him,  looked  at 
him  for  a  long  time,  and  finally  made  answer,  to  the  unspeak- 
able consternation  of  his  hearers,  "  When  I  want  encourage- 
ment from  you,  sir,  I'll  ask  you  for  it.  You  let  me  alone, 
sir.  I  can  get  on  wit\out  you,  I  hope.  Don't  you  tackle 
me,  sir,  if  you  please.' 

"  Don't  take  it  ill,  Johnny  ;  I  didn't  mean  any  harm," 
pleaded  the  little  man. 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  said  John,  more  than  usually  obstinate 
after  his  late  success.  "  Never  mind,  sir.  I  can  stand 
pretty  firm  of  myself,  sir,  I  believe,  without  being  shored  up 
by  you."  And  having  given  utterance  to  this  retort,  Mr. 
Willet  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  boiler,  and  fell  into  a  kind  of 
tobacco-trance. 

The  spirits  of  the  company  being  somewhat  damped  by 
this  embarrassing  line  of  conduct  on  the  part  of  their  host, 
nothing  more  was  said  for  a  long  time  ;  but  at  length  Mr. 
Cobb  took  upon  himself  to  remark  as  he  rose  to  knock  the 
ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  that  he  hoped  Joe  would  thenceforth 
learn  to  obey  his  father  in  all  things  ;  that  he  had  found, 
that  day,  he  was  not  one  of  the  sort  of  men  who  were  to  be 
trifled  with  ;  and  that  he  would  recommend  him,  poetically 
speaking,  to  mind  his  eye  for  the  future. 

"  I'd  recommend  you,  in  return,"  said  Joe,  looking  up 
with  a  flushed  face,  "  not  to  talk  to  me." 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  229 

"  Hold  your  tongue,  sir,"  cried  Mr.  Willet,  suddenly  rous- 
ing himself,  and  turning  round.' 

"  1  won't,  father,"  cried  Joe,  smiting  the  table  with  his 
fist,  so  that  the  jugs  and  glasses  rung  again  ;  *"  these  things 
are  hard  enough  to  bear  from  you  ;  from  any  body  else  I 
never  will  endure  them  any  more.  Therefore  I  say,  Mr. 
Cobb,  don't  talk  to  me." 

"  Why,  who  are  you,"  said  Mr.  Cobb,  sneeringly,  "  that 
you're  not  to  be  talked  to,  eh,  Joe  ?  " 

To  which  Joe  returned  no  answer,  but  with  a  very  omin- 
ous shake  of  the  head,  resumed  his  old  position,  which  he 
would  have  peacefully  preserved  until  the  house  shut  up  at 
night,  but  that  Mr.  Cobb,  stimulated  by  the  wonder  of  the 
company  at  the  young  man's  presumption,  retorted  with 
sundry  taunts,  which  proved  too  much  for  flesh  and  blood 
to  bear.  Crowding  into  one  moment  the  vexation  and  the 
wrath  of  years,  Joe  started  up,  overturned  the  table,  fell  upon 
his  long  enemy,  pummeled  him  with  all  his  might  and  main, 
and  finished  by  driving  him  with  surprising  swiftness  against 
a  heap  of  spittoons  in  one  corner  ;  plunging  into  which,  head 
foremost,  with  a  tremendous  crash,  he  lay  at  full  length 
among  the  ruins,  stunned  and  motionless.  Then,  without 
waiting  to  receive  the  compliments  of  the  bystanders  on  the 
victory  he  had  won,  he  retreated  to  his  own  bed-chamber, 
and  considering  himself  in  a  state  of  siege,  piled  all  the 
portable  furniture  against  the  door  by  way  of  barricade. 

"  I  have  done  it  now,"  said  Joe,  as  he  sat  down  upon  his 
bedstead  and  wiped  his  heated  face.  "  1  knew  it  would 
come  at  last.  The  Maypole  and  I  must  part  company. 
I'm  a  roving  vagabond — she  hates  me  for  evermore — it's 
all  over !  " 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Pondering  on  his  unhappy  lot,  Joe  sat  and  listened  for  a 
long  time,  expecting  every  moment  to  hear  their  creaking 
^^ootsteps  on  the  stairs,  or  to  be  greeted  by  his  worthy  father 
with  a  summons  to  capitulate  unconditionally,  and  deliver 
himself  up  straightway.  But  neither  voice  nor  footstep 
came  ;  and  though  some  distant  echoes,  as  of  closing  doors 
and  people  hurrying  in  and  out  of  rooms,  resounding  from 
time  to  time  through  the  great  passages,  and  penetrating  to 
his  remote  seclusion,  gave  note  of  unusual  commotion  down 


230  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

stairs,  no  nearer  sound  disturbed  his  place  of  retreat,  which 
seemed  the  quieter  for  these  far-off  noises,  and  was  as  dull 
and  full  of  gloom  as  any  hermit's  cell. 

It  came  on  darker  and  darker.  The  old  fashioned  furni- 
ture of  the  chamber,  which  was  a  kind  of  hospital  for  all 
the  invalided  movables  in  the  house,  grew  indistinct  and 
shadowy  in  its  many  shapes ;  chairs  and  tables,  which  by 
day  were  as  honest  cripples  as  need  be,  assumed  a  doubtful 
and  mysterious  character  ;  and  one  old  leprous  screen  of 
faded  India  leather  and  gold  binding,  which  had  kept  out 
many  a  cold  breath  of  air  in  days  of  yore  and  shut  in  many 
a  jolly  face,  frowned  on  him  with  a  spectral  aspect,  and 
stood  at  full  height  in  its  allotted  corner,  like  some  gaunt 
ghost  who  waited  to  be  questioned.  A  portrait  opposite 
the  window — a  queer,  old  gray- eyed  general,  in  an  oval 
frame — seemed  to  wink  and  doze  as  the  light  decayed,  and 
at  length,  when  the  last  faint  glimmmering  speck  of  day 
went  out,  to  shut  its  eyes  in  good  earnest,  and  fall  sound 
asleep.  There  was  such  a  hush  and  mystery  about  every 
thing,  that  Joe  could  not  help  following  its  example  ;  and 
so  went  off  into  a  slumber  likewise,  and  dreamed  of  Dolly, 
till  the  clock  of  Chigwell  church  struck  two. 

Still  nobody  came.  The  distant  noises  in  the  house  had 
ceased,  and  out  of  doors  all  was  quiet  too  ;  save  for  the  occa- 
sional barking  of  some  deep-mouthed  dog,  and  the  shaking 
of  the  branches  by  the  night  wind.  He  gazed  mournfully 
out  of  window  at  each  well-known  object  as  it  lay  sleeping 
in  the  dim  light  of  the  moon  ;  and  creeping  back  to  his 
former  seat,  tliought  about  the  late  uproar,  until,  with  long 
thinking  of,  it  seemed  to  have  occurred  a  month  ago.  Thus, 
between  dozing,  and  thinking,  and  walking  to  the  window 
and  looking  out,  the  night  wore  away  ;  the  grim  old  screen, 
and  the  kindred  chairs  and  tables,  began  slowly  to  reveal 
themselves  in  their  accustomed  forms  ;  the  gray-eyed  general 
seemed  to  wink  and  yawn  and  rouse  himself  ;  and  at  last  he 
was  broad  awake  again,  and  very  uncomfortable  and  cold 
and  haggard  he  looked,  in  the  dull  gray  light  of  morning. 

The  sun  had  begun  to  peep  above  the  forest  trees,  and  al- 
ready flung  across  the  curling  mist  bright  bars  of  gold,  when 
Joe  dropped  from  his  window  on  the  ground  below  a  little 
bundle  and  his  trusty  stick,  and  prepared  to  descend  him- 
self. 

It  was  not  a  very  difficult  task  ;  for  there  were  so  many 
projections   and  gable  ends  i^  the  way,  that  they  formed  a 


BARN  A  BY    RUDGE.  2;?r 

series  of  clumsy  steps,  with  no  greater  obstacle  than  a  jump 
of  some  few  feet  at  last.  Joe,  with  his  stick  and  bundle  on 
his  shoulder,  quickly  stood  on  the  firm  earth,  and  looked  up 
at  the  old  Maypole,  it  might  be  for  the  last  time. 

He  didn't  apostrophize  it,  for  he  was  no  great  scholar. 
He  didn't  curse  it,  for  he  had  little  ill-will  to  give  to  any 
thing  on  earth.  He  felt  more  affectionate  and  kind  to  it 
than  ever  he  had  done  in  all  his  life  before,  so  said  with  all 
his  heart,  ''  God  bless  you  !  "  as  a  parting  wish,  and  turned 
away. 

He  walked  along  at  a  brisk  pace,  big  with  great  thoughts 
of  going  for  a  soldier  and  dying  in  some  foreign-  country 
where  it  was  very  hot  and  sandy,  and  leaving  God  knows 
what  unheard-of  wealth  in  prize-money  to  Dolly,  who  would 
be  very  much  affected  when  she  came  to  know  of  it  ;  and 
full  of  such  youthful  visions  which  were  sometimes  sanguine 
and  sometimes  melancholy,  but  always  had  her  for  their 
main  point  and  center,  pushed  on  vigorously  until  the  noise 
of  London  sounded  in  his  ears,  and  the  Black  Lion  hove  in 
sight. 

It  was  only  eight  o'clock  then,  and  very  much  astonished 
the  Black  Lion  was,  to  see  him  come  walking  in  with  dust 
upon  his  feet  at  that  early  hour,  with  no  gray  mare  to  bear 
him  company.  But  as  he  ordered  breakfast  to  be  got  ready 
with  all  speed,  and  on  its  being  set  before  him  gave  indis- 
putable tokens  of  a  hearty  appetite,  the  Lion  received  him, 
as  usual,  with  a  hospitable  welcom.e  ;  and  treated  him  with 
those  marks  of  distinction,  which,  as  a  regular  customer,  and 
one  within  the  freemasonry  of  the  trade,  he  had  a  right  to 
claim. 

This  Lion  or  landlord — for  he  was  called  both  man  and 
beast,  by  reason  of  his  having  instructed  the  artist  who 
painted  his  sign,  to  convey  into  the  features  of  the  lordly 
brute  whose  effigy  it  bore,  as  near  a  counterpart  of  his  own 
face  as  his  skill  could  compass  and  devise — was  a  gentleman 
almost  as  quick  of  apprehension,  and  of  almost  as  subtle  a 
wit,  as  the  mighty  John  himself.  But  the  difference  between 
them  lay  in  this  ;  that  whereas  Mr.  Willet's  extreme  sagacity 
and  acuteness  were  the  efforts  of  unassisted  nature,  the  Lion 
stood  indebted,  in  no  small  amount,  to  beer  ;  of  which  he 
swigged  such  copious  draughts,  that  most  of  his  faculties 
were  utterly  drowned  and  washed  away,  except  the  one 
great  faculty  of  sleep,  which  he  retained  in  surprising  perfec- 
tion.    The  creaking  Lion  over  the  house-door  was,   there- 


±^2  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

fore,  to  say  the  truth,  rather  a  drowsy,  tame,  and  feeble  lion  ; 
and  as  these  social  representatives  of  a  savage  class  are 
usually  of  a  conventional  character  (being  depicted,  for  the 
most  part,  in  impossible  attitudes  and  of  unearthly  colors) 
he  was  frequently  supposed  by  the  more  ignorant  and  unin- 
formed among  the  neighbors,  to  be  the  veritable  portrait  of 
the  host  as  he  appeared  on  the  occasion  of  some  great 
funeral  ceremony  or  public  mourning. 

"  What  noisy  fellow  is  that  in  the  next  room  ? "  said  Joe, 
when  he  had  disposed  of  his  breakfast,  and  had  washed  and 
brushed  himself, 

"  A  recruiting  sergeant,"  replied  the  Lion. 

Joe  started  involuntarily.  Here  was  the  very  thing  he  had 
been  dreaming  of,  all  the  way  along. 

"  And  I  wish,"  said  the  Lion,  "  he  was  anywhere  else  but 
here.  The  party  make  noise  enough,  but  don't  call  for 
much.  There's  great  cry  there,  Mr.  Willet,  but  very  little 
wool.     Your  father  wouldn't  like  'em,  /  know." 

Perhaps  not  much  under  any  circumstances.  Perhaps  if 
he  could  have  known  what  was  passing  at  that  moment  in 
Joe's  mind,  he  would  have  liked  them  still  less. 

"  Is  he  recruiting  for  a — for  a  fine  regiment  ?"  said  Joe 
glancing  at  a  little  round  mirror  that  hung  in  the  bar. 

"  I  believe  he  is,"  replied  the  host,  "  It's  much  the  same 
thing,  whatever  regiment  he's  recruiting  for.  I'm  told  there 
an't  a  deal  of  difference  between  a  fine  man  and  another  one, 
when  they're  shot -through  and  through." 

''They're  not  all  shot,"  said  Joe. 

*'  No,"  the  Lion  answered,  *'  not  all.  Those  that  are 
— supposing  it's  done  easy — are  the  best  off  in  my  opinion." 

"  Ah  !  "  retorted  Joe,  *'  but  you  don't  care  for  glory." 

*'  For  what  ?"  said  the  Lion. 

"  Glory." 

"  No,"  returned  the  Lion,  with  supreme  indifference.  "  I 
don't.  You're  right  in  that,  Mr.  Willet.  When  Glory 
comes  here,  and  calls  for  any  thing  to  drink  and  changes  a 
guinea  to  pay  for  it,  I'll  give  it  him  for  nothing.  It's  my 
belief,  sir,  that  the  Glory's  arms  wouldn't  do  a  very  strong 
business." 

These  remarks  were  not  at  all  comforting.  Joe  walked 
out,  stopped  at  the  door  of  the  next  room,  and  listened. 
The  sergeant  was  describing  a  military  life.  It  was  all  drink- 
ing, he  said,  except  that  there  were  frequent  intervals  of  eat- 
ing and  love-making.     A  battle  was  the  finest   thing  in  the 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  233 

world — when  your  side  won  it — and  Englishmen  always  did 
that.  "  Supposing  you  should  be  killed,  sir  ?"  said  a  timid 
voice  in  one  corner.  "  Well,  sir,  supposing  you  should  be," 
said  the  sergeant,  "  what  then  ?  Your  country  loves  you, 
sir  ;  his  majesty  King  George  the  Third  loves  you  ;  your 
memory  is  honored,  revered,  respected  ;  every  body's  fond 
of  you,  and  grateful  to  you  ;  your  name's  wrote  down  at  full 
length  in  a  book  in  the  war-office.  Damme,  gentlemen,  we 
must  all  die  sometime,  or  other,  eh  ?  " 

The  voice  coughed,  and  said  no  more. 

Joe  walked  into  the  room.  A  group  of  half-a-dozen  fel- 
lows had  gathered  together  in  the  tap-room,  and  were  listen- 
ing with  greedy  ears.  One  of  them,  a  carter  in  a  smock- 
frock,  seemed  wavering  and  disposed  to  enlist.  The  rest, 
who  were  by  no  means  disposed,  strongly  urged  him  to  do 
so  (according  to  the  custom  of  mankmd),  backed  the  ser- 
geant's arguments,  and  grinned  among  themselves.  '*  I  say 
nothing,  boys,"  said  the  sergeant,  who  sat  a  little  apart, 
drinking  his  liquor.  "  For  lads  of  spirit  " — here  he  cast  an 
eye  on  Joe — "  this  is  the  time.  I  don't  want  to  inveigle 
you.  The  king's  not  come  to  that,  I  hope.  Brisk  young 
blood  is  what  we  want  ;  not  milk  and  water.  Won't  take 
five  men  out  of  six.  We  want  top-sawyers,  we  do.  I'm  not 
a-going  to  tell  tales  out  of  school,  but,  damme,  if  every  gen- 
tleman's son  that  carries  arms  in  our  corps,  through  being 
under  a  cloud  and  having  little  differences  with  his  relations, 
was  counted  up  " — here  his  eye  fell  on  Joe  again,  and  so 
good-naturedly,  that  Joe  beckoned  him  out.  He  came 
directly. 

"You're  a  gentleman,  by  G — !  "  was  the  first  remark,  as 
he  slapped  him  on  the  back.  "You're  a  gentleman  in  dis- 
guise.    So  am  I.     Let's  swear  friendship." 

Joe  didn't  exactly  do  that,  but  he  shook  hands  with  him, 
and  thanked  him  for  his  good  opinion. 

"You  want  to  serve,"  said  his  new  friend.  "You  shall. 
You  were  made  for  it.  You're  one  of  us  by  nature.  What'U 
you  take  to  drink  ?  " 

"  Nothing  just  now,"  replied  Joe,  smiling  faintly,  "  I 
haven't  quite  made  up  my  mind." 

"  A  mettlesome  fellow  like  you,  and  not  made  up  his 
mind  !  "  cried  the  sergeant.  "  Here— let  me  give  the  bell 
a  pull,  and  you'll  make  up  your  mind  in  half  a  minute,  I 
know." 

"  You're  riahtso  far "— ansvv^ered  Joe,  "  for  if  you  pull  the 


234  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

bell  here,  where  I'm  known,  there'll  be  an  end  of  my  soldier- 
ing inclinations  in  no  time.  Look  in  my  face.  You  see  me, 
do  you  ?  " 

**  I  do,"  replied  the  sergeant,  with  an  oath,  "  and  a  finer 
young  fellow  or  one  better  qualified  to  serve  his  king  and 
country  I  never  set  my — "  he  used  an  adjective  in  this  place 
— "  eye  on." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Joe,  "  I  didn't  ask  you  for  want  of  a 
compliment,  but  thank  you  all  the  same.  Do  I  look  like  a 
sneaking  fellow  or  a  liar  ?  " 

The  sergeant  rejoined  with  many  choice  asseverations 
that  he  didn't  ;  and  that  if  his  (the  sergeant's)  own  father 
were  to  say  he  did,  he  would  run  the  old  gentleman  through 
the  body  cheerfully,  and  consider  it  a  meritorious  action. 

Joe  expressed  his  obligations,  and  continued,  "  You  can 
trust  me  then,  and  credit  what  I  say.  I  believe  I  shall  enlist 
in  your  regiment  to-night.  The  reason  I  don't  do  so  now  is 
because  I  don't  want  until  to-night,  to  do  what  I  can't  re- 
call.    Where  shall  I  find  you,  this  evening  ? " 

His  friend  replied  with  some  unwillingness,  and  after 
much  ineffectual  entreaty,  having  for  its  object  the  immedi- 
ate settlement  of  the  business,  that  the  quarters  would  be  at 
the  Crooked  Billet  in  Tower  Street ;  where  he  would  be 
found  waking  until  midnight,  and  sleeping  until  breakfast 
time  to-morrow. 

"And  if  I  do  come — which  it's  a  million  to  one,  I  shall — 
when  will  you  take  me  out  of  London  ? "  demanded  Joe. 

"To-morrow  morning,  at  half  after  eight  o'clock,"  replied 
the  sergeant.  "  You'll  go  abroad — a  country  where  it's  all 
sunshine  and  plunder — the  finest  climate  in  the  world." 

"  To  go  abroad,"  said  Joe,  shaking  hands  with  him,  "  is  the 
very  thing  I  want.     You  may  expect  me." 

"  You're  the  kind  of  lad  for  us,"  cried  the  sergeant,  hold- 
ing Joe's  hand  in  his,  in  the  excess  of  his  admiration.  "  You're 
the  boy  to  push  your  fortune.  I  don't  say  it  because  I  bear 
you  any  envy,  or  Avould  take  away  from  the  credit  of  the  rise 
you'll  make,  but  if  I  had  been  bred  and  taught  like  you,  I'd 
have  been  a  colonel  by  this  time." 

"  Tush,  man  I  "  said  Joe,  "  I'm  not  so  young  as  that.  Need>^ 
must  when  the  devil  drives  ;  and  the  devil  that  drives  n.e 
is  an  empty  pocket  and  an  unhappy  home.  For  the  present, 
good-by." 

"Forking  and  country  !  "  cried  the  sergeant,  flourishing 
his  cap 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  235 

"  For  bread' and  meat  !  "  cried  Joe,  snapping  his  fingers. 
And  so  they  parted. 

He  had  very  little  money  in  his  pocket ;  so  little  indeed, 
that  after  paying  for  his  breakfast  (which  he  was  too  honest 
and  perhaps  too  proud  to  score  up  to  his  father's  charge)  he 
had  but  a  penny  left.  He  had  courage,  notwithstanding,  to 
resist  all  the  affectionate  importunities  of  the  sergeant,  who 
waylaid  him  at  the  door  with  many  protestations  of  eternal 
friendship,  and  did  in  particular  request  that  he  would  do 
him  the  favor  to  accept  of  only  one  shilling  as  a  temporary 
accommodation.  Rejecting  his  offers  both  of  cash  and 
credit,  Joe  walked  away  with  stick  and  bundle  as  before,  bent 
upon  getting  through  the  day  as  he  best  could,  and  going 
down  to  the  locksmith's  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening  ;  for  it 
should  go  hard,  he  had  resolved,  but  he  would  have  a  part- 
ing word  with  charming   Dolly  Varden. 

He  went  out  by  Islington  and  so  on  to  Highgatc,  and  sat 
on  many  stones  and  gates,  but  there  were  no  voices  in  the 
bells  to  bid  him  turn.  Since  the  time  of  noble  Whitting- 
ton,  fair  flower  of  merchants,  bells  have  come  to  have 
less  sympathy  with  humankind.  They  only  ring  for  money 
and  on  state  occasions.  Wanderers  have  increased  in  num- 
bers ;  ships  leave  the  Thames  for  distant  regions,  carrying 
from  stem  to  stern  no  other  cargo  ;  the  bells  are  silent ;  they 
ring  out  no  entreaties  or  regrets  ;  they  are  used  to  it  and 
have  grown  worldly. 

Joe  bought  a  roll,  and  reduced  his  purse  to  the  condition 
(with  a  difference)  of  that  celebrated  purse  of  Fortunatus, 
which,  whatever  were  its  favored  owner's  necessities,  had 
one  unvarying  amount  in  it.  In  these  real  times,  when  all 
the  fairies  are  dead  and  buried,  there  are  still  a  great  many 
purses  which  possess  that  quality.  The  sum  total  they  con- 
tain is  expressed  in  arithmetic  by  a  circle,  and  whether  it  be 
added  to  or  multiplied  by  its  own  amount,  the  result  of  the 
problem  is  more  easily  stated  than  any  known  in  figures. 

Evening  drew  on  at  last.  With  the  desolate  and  solitary 
feeling  of  one  who  had  no  home  or  shelter,  and  was  alone 
utterly  in  the  world  for  the  first  time,  he  bent  his  steps  to- 
ward the  locksmith's  house.  He  had  delayed  till  now,  know- 
ing that  Mrs.  Varden  sometimes  went  out  alone,  or  with 
Miggs  for  her  sole  attendant,  to  lectures  in  the  evening  ;  and 
devoutly  hoping  that  this  might  be  one  of  her  nights  of 
moral  culture. 

He  had  walked  up  and  down  before  the  house,  on  the  op- 


236  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

posite  side  of  the  way,  two  or  three  times,  when  as  he  re- 
turned to  it  again,  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  a  fluttering  skirt 
at  the  door.  It  was  Dolly's — to  whom  else  could  it  belong  ? 
no  dress  but  hers  had  such  a  flow  as  that.  He  plucked  up 
his  spirits,  and  followed  it  into  the  workshop  of  the  Golden 
Key. 

His  darkening  the  door  caused  her  to  look  round.  Oh 
that  face  !  "If  it  hadn't  been  for  that,"  thought  Joe,  "  I 
should  never  have  walked  into  poor  Tom  Cobb.  She's 
twenty  times  handsomer  than  ever.  She  might  marry  a 
lord  !  " 

He  didn't  say  this.  He  only  thought  it — perhaps  looked 
it  also.  Dolly  was  glad  to  see  him,  and  was  so  sorry  her 
father  and  mother  were  away  from  home.  Joe  begged  she 
wouldn't  mention  it  on  any  account. 

Dolly  hesitated  to  lead  the  way  into  the  parlor,  for  there  it 
was  nearly  dark  ;  at  the  same  time  she  hesitated  to  stand 
talking  in  the  workshop,  which  was  yet  light  and  open  to  the 
street.  They  had  got  by  some  means,  too,  before  the  little 
forge  ;  and  Joe  having  her  hand  in  his  (which  he  had  no 
right  to  have,  for  Dolly  only  gave  it  him  to  shake),  it  was  so 
like  standing  before  some  homely  altar  being  married,  that 
it  was  the  most  embarrassing  state  of  things  in  the  world. 

''  I  have  come,"  said  Joe,  "  to  say  good-by — to  say  good- 
by,  for  I  don't  know  how  many  years  ;  perhaps  forever.  I  am 
going  abroad." 

Now  this  was  exactly  what  he  should  not  have  said.  Here 
he  was,  talking  like  a  gentleman  at  large  who.  was  free  to 
come  and  go  and  roam  about  the  world  at  pleasure,  when 
that  gallant  coach-maker  had  vowed  but  the  night  before  that 
Miss  Varden  held  him  bound  in  adamantine  chains  ;  and 
had  positively  stated  in  so  many  words  that  she  was  killing 
him  by  inches,  and  that  in  a  fortnight  more  or  thereabouts 
he  expected  to  make  a  decent  end  and  leave  the  business  to 
his  mother. 

Dolly  released  her  hand  and  said  "  Indeed  !  "  She  re- 
marked in  the  same  breath  that  it  was  a  fine  night,  and  in 
short,  betrayed  no  more  emotion  than  the  forge  itself. 

"I  couldn't  go,"  said  Joe,  "without  coming  to  see  you. 
I  hadn't  the  heart  to." 

Dolly  was  more  sorry  than  she  could  tell,  that  he  should 
have  taken  so  much  trouble.  It  was  such  a  long  way,  and 
he  must  have  such  a  deal  to  do.  "  And  how  was  Mr.  Willet 
— ihat  dear  old  gentleman — " 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  237 

"  Is  this  all  you  say  !  "  cried  Joe. 

All  !  Good  gracious,  what  did  the  man  expect !  She 
was  obliged  to  take  her  apron  in  her  hand  and  run  her  eyes 
along  the  hem  from  corner  to  corner,  to  keep  herself  from 
laughing  in  his  face  ;— not  because  his  gaze  confused  her — 
not  at  all. 

Joe  had  small  experience  in  love  affairs,  and  had  no 
notion  how  different  young  ladies  are  at  different  times  ;  he 
had  expected  to  take  Dolly  up  again  at  the  very  point  where 
he  had  left  her  after  that  delicious  evening  ride,  and  was  no 
more  prepared  for  such  an  alteration  than  to  see  the  sun 
and  moon  change  places.  He  had  buoyed  hnnself  up  all 
day  with  an  indistinct  idea  that  she  would  certainly  say 
"  Don't  go,"  or  "  Don't  leave  us,"  or  "  Why  do  you  go  ?  "  or 
**  Why  do  you  leave  us  ? "  or  would  give  him  seme  little 
encouragement  of  that  sort  ;  he  had  even  entertained  the 
possibility  of  her  bursting  into  tears,  of  her  throwing  herself 
into  his  arms,  of  falling  down  in  a  fainting  fit  without  pre- 
vious word  or  sign  ;  but  any  approach  to  such  a  line  of  con- 
duct as  this,  had  been  so  far  from  his  thoughts  that  he  could 
only  look  at  her  in  silent  wonder. 

Dolly,  in  the  meanwhile,  turned  to  the  corners  of  her  apron, 
and  measured  the  sides,  and  smoothed  out  the  wrinkles,  and 
was  as  silent  as  he.  At  last  after  a  long  pause,  Joe  said 
good-by.  "  Good-by  " — said  Dolly — with  as  pleasant  a  smile 
as  if  he  were  going  into  the  next  street,  and  were  coming 
back  to  supper  ;  "  good-by." 

"Come,"  said  Joe,  putting  out  both  hands,  ''Dolly,  dear 
Dolly,  don't  let  us  part  like  this.  I  love  you  dearly,  with  all 
my  heart  and  soul  ;  with  as  much  truth  and  earnestness  as 
ever  man  loved  woman  in  this  world,  I  do  believe.  I  am  a 
poor  fellow,  as  you  know — poorer  now  than  ever,  for  I  have  fled 
from  home,  not  being  able  to  bear  it  any  longer,  and  must 
fight  my  own  way  without  help.  You  are  beautiful,  admired, 
are  loved  by  every  body,  are  well  off  and  happy  ;  and  may 
you  ever  be  so  !  Heaven  forbid  I  should  ever  make  you 
otherwise  ;  but  give  me  a  word  of  comfort.  Say  something 
kind  to  me.  I  have  no  right  to  expect  it  of  you,  I  know, 
but  I  ask  it  because  I  love  you,  and  shall  treasure  the 
slightest  word  from  you  all  through  my  life.  Dolly,  dearest, 
have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me  ?  " 

No.  Nothing.  Dolly  was  a  coquette  by  nature,  and  a 
spoiled  child.  She  had  no  notion  of  being  carried  by  storm 
in  this  way.     The  coach-maker  would  have  been  dissolved  in 


238  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

tears,  and  would  have  kneeled  down,  and  called  himself  names, 
and  clasped  his  hands,  and  beat  his  breast,  and  tugged 
wildly  at  his  cravat,  and  done  all  kinds  of  poetry.  Joe  had 
no  business  to  be  going  abroad.  He  had  no  right  to  be 
able  to  do  it.    If  he  was  in   adamantine   chains,  he  couldn't. 

"  I  have  said  good-by,"  said  Dolly,  ^'  twice.  Take  your 
arm  away  directly,  Mr.  Joseph,  or  1 11. call  Miggs." 

'*  I'll  not  reproach  you,"  answered  Joe,  "  it's  my  fault,  no 
doubt.  I  have  thought  sometimes  that  you  didn't  quite 
despise  me,  but  I  was  a  fool  to  think  so.  Every  one  must, 
who  has  seen*  the  life  I  have  led — you  most  of  all.  God 
bless  you  !  " 

He  was  gone,  actually  gone.  Dolly  waited  a  little  while, 
thinking  he  would  return,  peeped  out  at  the  door,  looked  up 
the  street  and  down  as  well  as  the  increasing  darkness  would 
allow,  came  in  again,  waited  a  little  longer,  went  up-stairs 
humming  a  tune,  bolted  herself  in,  laid  her  head  down  on 
her  bed,  and  cried  as  if  her  heart  would  break.  And  yet 
such  natures  are  made  up  of  so  many  contradictions,  that 
if  Joe  Willet  had  come  back  that  night,  next  day,  next 
week,  next  month,  the  odds  are  a  hundred  to  one  she  would 
have  treated  him  in  the  very  same  manner,  and  have  wept 
for  it  afterward  with  the  very  same  distress. 

She  had  no  sooner  left  the  work-shop  than  there  cautiously 
peered  out  from  behind  the  chimney  of  the  forge,  a  face 
which  had  already  emerged  from  the  same  concealment 
twice  or  thrice,  unseen,  and  which,  after  satisfying  itself 
that  it  was  now  alone,  was  followed  by  a  leg,  a  shoulder, 
and  so  on  by  degrees,  until  the  form  of  Mr.  Tappertit  stood 
confessed,  with  a  brown-paper  cap  stuck  negligently  on  one 
side  of  its  head,  and  its  arms  very  much  akimbo. 

''Have  my  ears  deceived  me,"  said  the  'prentice,  **or 
do  I  dream  !  am  I  to  thank  thee,  fortun',  or  to  cus  thee — 
which  ? " 

He  gravely  descended  from  his  elevation,  took  down  his 
piece  of  looking-glass,  planted  it  against  the  wall  upon  the 
usual  bench,  twisted  his  head  round,  and  looked  closely  at 
his  legs. 

"  If  they're  a  dream,"  said  Sim,  "let  sculptures  have  such 
wisions,  and  chisel  'em  out  when  they  wake.  This  is  reality. 
Sleep  has  no  such  limbs  as  them.  Tremble,  Willet,  and  de- 
spair.    She's  mine  !     She's  mine  !  " 

With  these  triumphant  expressions,  he  seized  a  hammer 
and  dealt  a  heavy  blow  at  a  vice,  which  in  his  mind's  eye 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  239 

represented  the  sconce  or  head  of  Joseph  Wiiiet.  That  done 
he  burst  into  a  peal  of  laughter  which  startled  Miss  Miggs 
even  in  her  distant  kitchen,  and  dipping  his  head  into  a  bowl 
of  water,  had  recourse  to  a  jack-towel  inside  the  closet  door, 
which  served  the  double  purpose  of  smothering  his  feelings 
and  drying  his  face. 

Joe,  disconsolate  and  down-hearted,  but  full  of  courage 
too,  on  leaving  the  locksmith's  house  made  the  best  of  his 
was  to  the  Crooked  Billet,  and  there  inquired  for  his  friend 
the  sergeant,  who,  expecting  no  man  less,  received  him  with 
open  arms.  In  the  course  of  five  minutes  after  his  arrival  at 
that  house  of  entertainment,  he  was  enrolled  among  the  gal- 
lant defenders  of  his  native  land  ;  and  within  half  an  hour 
was  regaled  with  a  steamWg  supper  of  boiled  tripe  and 
onions,  prepared,  as  his  friend  assured  him  more  than 
once,  at  the  express  command  of  his  most  sacred  majesty 
the  king.  To  this  meal,  which  tasted  very  savory  after 
his  long  fasting,  he  did  ample  justice  ;  and  when  he  had 
followed  it  up,  or  down,  with  a  variety  of  loyal  and  patriotic 
boasts,  he  was  conducted  to  a  straw  mattress  in  a  loft  over 
the  stable,  and  locked  in  there  for  the  night. 

The  next  morning  he  found  that  the  obliging  care  of  his 
martial  friend  had  decorated  his  hat  with  sundry  party-col- 
ored streamers,  which  made  a  very  lively  appearance  ;  and 
in  company  with  that  officer,  and  three  other  military  gen- 
tlemen newly  enrolled,  who  were  under  a  cloud  so  dense 
that  it  only  left  three  shoes,  a  boot,  a  coat  and  a  half  visible 
among  them,  repaired  to  the  river-side.  Here  they  were 
joined  by  a  corporal  and  four  more  heroes,  of  whom  two 
were  drunk  and  daring,  and  two  sober  and  penitent,  but 
each  of  whom,  like  Joe,  had  his  dusty  stick  and  bundle. 
The  party  embarked  in  a  passage-boat  bound  for 
Gravesend,  whence  they  were  to  proceed  on  foot  to  Chat- 
ham ;  the  wind  was  in  their  favor,  and  they  soon  left  Lon- 
don behind  them,  a  mere  dark  mist — a  giant  phantom  in 
the  air. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

Misfortunes,  saith  the  adage,  never  come  singly.  There 
is  little  doubt  that  troubles  are  exceedingly  gregarious  in 
their  nature,  and  flying  in  flocks,  are  apt  to  perch  capri- 
ciously ;  crowding  on  the  heads  of  some  poor  wights   until 


240  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

there  is  not  an  inch  of  room  left  on  their  unlucky  crowns, 
and  taking  no  more  notice  of  others  wlio  offer  as  good  rest- 
ing-places for  the  soles  of  their  feet,  than  if  they  had  no  ex- 
istence. It  may  have  happened  that  a  flight  of  troubles 
brooding  over  London,  and  looking  out  for  Joseph  Willet, 
whom  they  couldn't  find,  darted  down  haphazard  on  the 
first  young  man  that  caught  their  fancy,  and  settled  on  him 
instead.  However  this  may  be,  certain  it  is  that  on  the 
very  day  of  Joe's  departure  they  swarmed  about  the  ears  of 
Edward  Chester  and  did  so  buzz  and  flap  their  wings,  and 
persecute  him,  that  he  was  most  profoundly  wretched. 

It  was  evening,  and  just  eight  o'clock,  when  he  and  his 
father,  having  wine  and  dessert  set  before  them,  were  left 
to  themselves  for  the  first  time  that  day.  They  had  dined 
together,  but  a  third  person  had  been  present  during  the 
meal,  and  until  they  had  met  at  table  they  had  not  seen 
each  other  since  the  previous  night. 

Edward  was  reserved  and  silent,  Mr.  Chester  was  more 
than  usually  gay  ;  but  not  caring,  as  it  seemed,  to  open  a 
conversation  with  one  whose  humor  was  so  different,  he 
vented  the  lightness  of  his  spirit  in  smiles  and  sparkling 
looks,  and  made  no  effort  to  awaken  his  attention.  So  they 
remained  for  some  time  ;  the  father  lying  on  a  sofa  with  his 
accustomed  air  of  graceful  negligence  ;  the  son  seated  oppo- 
site him  with  downcast  eyes,  busied,  it  was  plain,  with  pain- 
ful and  uneasy  thoughts. 

"  My  dear  Edward,"  said  Mr.  Chester  at  length,  with  a 
most  engaging  laugh,  "  do  not  extend  your  drowsy  influence 
to  the  decanter.  Suffer  that  to  circulate,  let  your  spirits  be 
never  so  stagnant." 

Edward  begged  his  pardon,  passed  it,  and  relapsed  into 
his  former  state. 

"  You  do  wrong  not  to  fill  your  glass,"  said  Mr.  Chester, 
holding  up  his  own  before  the  light.  ''  Wine  in  moderation — 
not  in  excess,  for  that  makes  men  ugly — has  a  thousand 
pleasant  influences.  It  brightens  the  eye,  improves  the  voice, 
imparts  a  new  vivacity  to  one's  thoughts  and  conversation  : 
you  should  try  it,  Ned." 

"Ah,  father  !  "  cried  his  son,  'Sf " 

*'  My  good  fellow,"  interposed  the  parent  hastily,  as  he  set 
down  his  glass,  and  raised  iiis  eyebrows  with  a  startled  and 
horrified  expression,  "for  heaven's  sake  don't  call  me  by 
that  obsolete  and  ancient  name.  Have  some  regard  for 
delicacy.     Am  I  gray,  or  wrinkled,  do  I  go  on  crutches,  have 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  241 

I   lost  my  teeth,  that   you  adopt  such  a  mode  of  address  ? 
Good  God,  how  very  coarse  ! " 

"  I  was  about  to  speak  to  you  from  my  heart,  sir,"  returned 
Edward,  ''  in  the  confidence  which  should  subsist  between 
us  ;  and  vou  check  me  in  the  outset." 

"Now^/(^,  Ned,  do  not,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  raising  his  del- 
icate hand  imploringly,  "  talk  in  that  monstrous  manner. 
About  to  speak  from  your  heart.  Don't  you  know  that  the 
heart  is  an  ingenious  part  of  our  formation — the  center  of 
the  bloodvessels  and  all  that  sort  of  thing — which  has  no 
more  to  do  with  what  you  say  or  think  than  your  knees  have  ? 
How  can  you  be  so  very  vulgar  and  absurd  ?  These  anatom- 
ical allusions  should  be  left  to  gentlemen  of  the  medical 
profession.  They  are  really  not  agreeable  in  society.  You 
quite  surprise  me,  Ned." 

"Well!  there  are  no  such  things  to  wound,  or  heal,  or 
have  regard  for.  I  know  your  creed,  sir,  and  will  say  no 
more,"  returned  his  son. 

"  There  again,"  said  Mr.  Chester,  sipping  his  wine,  ''  you 
are  wrong.  I  distinctly  say  there  are  such  things.  We  know 
there  are.  The  hearts  of  animals— of  bullocks,  sheep,  and 
so  forth — are  cooked  and  devoured,  as  I  am  told,  by  the 
iower  classes,  with  avast  deal  of  relish.  Men  are  sometimes 
stabbed  to  the  heart,  shot  to  the  heart  ;  but  as  to  speaking 
from  the  heart,  or  to  the  heart,  or  being  warm-hearted,  or 
cold-hearted,  or  broken-hearted,  or  being  all  heart,  or  having 
no  heart — pah  !  these  things  are  nonsense,  Ned." 

"  No  doubt,  sir,"  returned  his  son,  seeing  that  he  paused 
for  him  to  speak.     "  No  doubt." 

''  There's  Haredale's  niece,  your  late  flame,"  said  Mr. 
Chester,  as  a  careless  illustration  of  his  meaning.  "No 
doubt  in  your  mind  she  was  all  heart  once.  Now  she  has 
none  at  all.     Yet  she  is  the  same  person,  Ned,  exactly." 

"  She  is  a  changed  person,  sir,"  cried  Edward,  reddening  ; 
"and  changed  by  vile  means,  I  believe." 

"You  have  had  a  cool  dismissal,  have  you  ?"  said  his 
father.  "  Poor  Ned  !  I  told  you  last  night  what  would  hap- 
pen— May  I  ask  you  for  the  nut-crackers  ?  " 

"  She  has  been  tampered  with,  and  most  treacherously  de- 
ceived," cried  Edward,  rising  from  his  seat.  "  I  never  will 
believe  that  the  knowledge  of  my  real  position,  given  her  by 
myself,  has  worked  this  change.  I  know  she  is  beset  and 
tortured.  But  though  our  contract  is  at  an  end,  and  broken 
oast   all   redemption  ;  though   I   charge  upon   her  want  of 


242  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

iirmness  and  want  of  truth,  both  to  herself  and  me  ;  I  do 
not  now,  and  never  will  believe,  that  any  sordid  motive,  or 
her  own   unbiased  will  has  led  her  to  this  course — never  !  " 

"  You  make  me  blush,"  returned  his  father  gayly,  *'  for  the 
folly  of  your  nature,  in  which — but  we  never  know  ourselves 
— I  devoutly  hope  there  is  no  reflection  of  my  own.  With 
regard  to  the  young  lady  herself,  she  has  done  what  is  very 
natural  and  proper,  my  dear  fellow  ;  what  you  yourself  pro- 
posed, as  I  learn  from  Haredale  ;  and  what  I  predicted — 
with  no  great  exercise  of  sagacity — she  would  do.  She  sup- 
posed you  to  be  rich,  or  at  least  quite  rich  enough  ;  and 
found  you  poor.  Marriage  is  a  civil  contract  ;  people  marry 
to  better  their  worldly  condition  and  improve  appearances  ; 
it  is  an  affair  of  house  and  furniture,  of  liveries,  servants, 
equipage,  and  so  forth.  The  lady  being  poor  and  you  poor 
also,  there  is  an  end  of  the  matter.  You  can  not  enter  upon 
these  considerations,  and  have  no  manner  of  business  with 
the  ceremony.  I  drink  her  health  in  this  glass,  and  respect 
and  honor  her  for  her  extreme  good  sense.  It  is  a  lesson  to 
you.     Fill  yours,  Ned." 

"  It  is  a  lesson,"  returned  his  son,  '*  by  which  I  hope  I  may 
never  profit,  and  if  years  and  experience  impress  it  on " 

"  Don't  say  on  the  heart,"  interposed  his  father. 

**  On  men  whom  the  world  and  its  hypocrisy  have  spoiled," 
said  Edward  warmly;  "  heaven  keep  me  from  its  knowl- 
edge." 

"  Come,  sir,"  returned  his  father,  raising  himself  a  little 
on  the  sofa,  and  looking  straight  toward  him  ;  *'  we  have 
had  enough  of  this.  Remember,  if  you  please,  your  interest," 
)'our  duty,  your  moral  obligations,  your  filial  affections,  and 
all  that  sort  of  thing,  which  it  is  so  very  delightful  and 
charming  to  reflect  upon  ;  or  you  will  repent  it." 

"  I  shall  never  repent  the  preservation  of  my  self-respect, 
sir,"  said  Edward.  "  Forgive  me  if  1  say  that  1  will  not 
sacrifice  it  at  your  bidding,  and  that  I  will  not  pursue  the 
track  which  you  would  have  made  me  take,  and  to  which  the 
secret  share  you  have  had  in  this  late  separation  tends." 

His  father  rose  a  little  higher  still,  and  looking  at  him  as 
though  curious  to  know  if  he  were  quite  resolved  and  earn- 
est, dropped  gently  down  again,  and  said  in  the  calmest 
voice — eating  his  nuts  meanwhile  : 

"  Edward,  my  father  had  a  son,  who  being  a  fool  like  you, 
and,  like  you,  entertaining  low  and  disobedient  sentiments, 
he  disinherited  and  cursed   one  mornini2f  after  breakfastc 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  243 

The  circumstance  occurs  to  me  with  a  singuhir  clearness  of 
recollection  this  evening.  I  remember  eating  muffins  at  the 
time,  with  marmalade.  He  led  a  miserable  life  (the  son,  I 
mean)  and  died  early  ;  it  was  a  happy  release  on  all  ac- 
counts ;  he  degraded  the  family  very  much.  It  is  a  sad  cir- 
cumstance, Edward,  when  a  father  finds  it  necessary  to  re- 
sort to  such  strong  measures." 

^'  It  is,"  replied  Edward,  "  and  it  is  sad  when  a  son,  prof- 
fering him  his  love  and  duty  in  their  best  and  truest  sense, 
finds  himself  repelled  at  every  turn,  and  forced  to  disobey. 
Dear  father,"  he  added,  more  earnestly,  though  in  a  gentler 
tone, ''  I  have  reflected  many  times  on  what  occurred  between 
us  when  we  first  discussed  this  subject.  Let  there  be  a  con- 
fidence between  us  ;  not  in  terms,  but  truth.  Hear  what  I 
have  to  say." 

"  As  I  anticipate  what  it  is,  and  can  not  fail  to  do  so,  Ed- 
ward," returned  his  father  coldly,  "  I  decline.  I  couldn't 
possibly.  I  am  sure  it  would  put  me  out  of  temper,  which 
is  a  state  of  mind  I  can't  endure.  If  you  intend  to  mar  my 
plans  for  your  establishment  in  life,  and  the  preservation  of 
that  gentility  and  becoming  pride  which  our  family  have  so 
long  sustained — if,  in  short,  you  are  resolved  to  take  your 
own  course,  you  must  take  it,  and  my  curse  with  it.  I  am 
very  sorry,  but  there's  really  no  alternative." 

"  The  curse  may  pass  your  lips,"  said  Edward,  "  but  it 
will  be  but  empty  breath.  I  do  not  believe  that  any  man 
on  earth  has  greater  power  to  call  one  down  upon  his  fellow 
— least  of  all,  upon  his  own  child — than  he  has  to  make  one 
drop  of  rain  or  flake  of  snow  fall  from  the  clouds  above  us 
at  his  impious  bidding.     Beware,  sir,  what  you  do." 

"  You  are  so  very  irreligious,  so  exceedingly  undutif ul,  so 
horribly  profane,"  rejoined  his  father,  turning  his  face  lazily 
toward  him,  and  cracking  another  nut,  "  that  I  positively 
must  interrupt  you  here.  It  is  quite  impossible  we  can  con- 
tinue to  go  on,  upon  such  terms  as  these.  If  you  will  do  me 
the  favor  to  ring  the  bell,  the  servant  will  shov/  you  to  the 
door.  Return  to  this  roof  no  more,  I  beg  you.  Go,  sir, 
since  you  have  no  moral  sense  remaining  ;  and  go  to  the 
devil,  at  my  express  desire.     Good-day." 

Edward  left  the  room  without  another  word  or  look,  and 
turned  his  back  upon  the  house  forever. 

The  father's  face  was  slightly  flushed  and  heated,  but  his 
manner  was  quite  unchanged,  as  he  rang  the  bell  again,  and 
addressed  the  servant  on  his  entrance. 


244  BARNABY  RUDCxE. 

''  Peak — if  that  gentleman  who  has  just  gone  out — " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  Mr.  Edward  ?  " 

''  Were  there  more  than  one,  dolt,  that  you  asked  the  ques- 
tion ?  If  that  gentleman  should  send  here  for  his  wardrobe, 
let  him  have  it,  do  you  hear  ?  If  he  should  call  himself  at 
any  time,  I'm  not  at  home.  You'll  tell  him  so,  and  shut  the 
door." 

So,  it  soon  got  whispered  about,  that  Mr.  Chester  was  very 
unfortunate  in  his  son,  who  had  occasioned  him  great  grief 
and  sorrow.  And  the  good  people  who  heard  this  and  told 
it  again,  marveled  the  more  at  his  equanimity  and  even  tem- 
per, and  said  what  an  amiable  nature  that  man  must  have, 
who,  having  undergone  so  much,  could  be  so  placid  and  so 
calm.  And  when  Edward's  name  was  spoken,  society  shook 
its  head,  and  laid  its  finger  on  its  lip,  and  sighed,  and  looked 
very  grave  ;  and  those  wlio  had  sons  about  his  age,  waxed 
wrathful  and  indignant,  and  hoped,  for  virtue's  sake,  that  he 
was  dead.  And  the  world  went  on  turning  round,  as  usual, 
for  five  years,  concerning  which  this  narrative  is  silent. 


CHAPTER    XXXIII. 

One  wintry  evening,  early  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  one 
thousand  seven  hundred  and  eighty,  a  keen  north  wind  arose 
as  it  grew  dark,  and  night  came  on  with  black  and  dismal 
looks.  A  bitter  storm  of  sleet,  dense,  and  icy-cold,  swept 
the  wet  streets,  and  rattled  on  the  trenibling  windows.  Sign- 
boards, shaken  past  endurance  in  their  creaking  frames,  fell 
crashing  on  the  pavement  ;  old  tottering  chimneys  reeled 
and  staggered  in  the  blast  ;  and  many  a  steeple  rocked  again 
that  night,  as  though  the  earth  were  troubled. 

It  was  not  a  time  for  those  who  could  by  any  means  get 
light  and  warmth,  to  brave  the  fury  of  the  weather.  In  coffee- 
houses of  the  better  sort,  guests  crowded  round  the  fire,  forgot 
to  be  political,  and  told  each  other  with  a  secret  gladness  that 
the  blast  grew  fiercer  every  minute.  Each  humble  tavern  by 
the  water-side  had  its  group  of  uncouth  figures  round  the 
hearth,  who  talked  of  vessels  foundering  at  sea,  and  all  the 
hands  lost  ;  related  many  a  dismal  tale  of  shipwreck  and 
drowned  men,  and  hoped  that  some  they  knew  were  safe, 
and  shook  their  heads  in  doubt.  In  private  dwellings,  chil- 
dren clustered  near  the  blaze  ;  listening  with  timid  pleasure 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  245 

to  tales  of  ghosts  and  goblins,  and  tail  figures  clad  in  white 
standing  by  bedsides,  and  people  who  had  gone  to  sleep  in 
old  churches  and  being  overlooked  had  found  themselves 
alone  there  at  the  dead  hour  of  the  night  ;  until  they  shud- 
dered at  the  thought  of  the  dark  rooms  up-stairs,  yet  loved 
to  hear  the  wind  moan  too,  and  hoped  it  would  continue 
bravely.  From  time  to  time  these  happy  in-door  people 
stopped  to  listen,  or  one  held  up  his  finger  and  cried 
"  Hark  !  "  and  then  above  the  rumbling  in  the  chimney,  and 
the  fast  pattering  on  the  glass,  was  heard  a  wailing,  rushing 
sound,  which  shook  the  walls  as  though  a  giant's  hand  were 
on  them  ;  then  a  hoarse  roar  as  if  the  sea  had  risen  ;  then 
such  a  whirl  and  tumult  that  the  air  seemed  mad  ;  and  then, 
with  a  lengthened  howl,  the  waves  of  wind  swept  on,  and 
left  a  moment's  interval  of  rest. 

Cheerily,  though  there  were  none  abroad  to  see  it,  shone 
the  Maypole  light  that  evening.  Blessings  on  the  red- 
deep,  ruby  glowing  red — old  curtain  of  the  window  ;  blend- 
ing into  one  rich  stream  of  brightness,  fire  and  candle,  meat, 
drink,  and  company,  and  gleaming  like  a  jovial  eye  upon  the 
bleak  waste  out  of  doors  !  Within,  what  carpet  like  its 
crunching  sand,  what  music  merry  as  its  crackling  logs, 
what  perfume  like  its  kitchen's  dainty  breath,  what  weather 
genial  as  its  hearty  warmth  !  Blessings  on  the  old  house, 
how  sturdily  it  stood  !  How  did  the  vexed  wind  chafe  and 
roar  about  its  stalwart  roof ;  how  did  it  pant  and  strive  wath 
its  wide  chimneys,  which  still  poured  forth  from  their  hos- 
pitable throats,  great  clouds  of  smoke,  and  puffed  defiance 
in  its  face  ;  how,  above  all,  did  it  drive  and  rattle  at  the 
casement,  emulous  to  extinguish  that  cheerful  glow,  which 
would  not  be  put  down  and  seemed  the  brighter  for  the  con- 
flict. 

The  profusion  too,  the  rich  and  lavish  bounty,  of  that 
goodly  tavern  !  It  was  not  enough  that  one  fire  roared  and 
sparkled  on  its  spacious  hearth  ;  in  the  tiles  which  paved 
and  compassed  it,  five  hundred  flickering  fires  burned 
brightly  also.  It  was  not  enough  that  one  red  curtain  shut 
the  wild  night  out,  and  shed  its  cheerful  influence  on  the 
room.  In  every  saucepan  lid,  and  candlestick,  and  vessel 
of  copper,  brass,  or  tin  that  hung  upon  the  walls,  were  count- 
less ruddy  hangings,  flashing  and  gleaming  wnth  every  mo- 
tion of  the  blaze,  and  offering,  let  the  eye  wander  where  it 
might,  interminable  vistas  of  the  same  rich  color.  The  old 
oak  wainscoting,  the  beams,  the  chairs,  the  seats,  reflected  it 


246  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

in  a  deep  dull  glimmer.  There  were  fires  and  red  curtains 
in  the  very  eyes  of  the  drinkers,  in  their  buttons,  in  their 
liquor,  in  the  pipes  they  smoked. 

Mr.  Willet  sat  in  what  had  been  his  accustomed  place  five 
years  before,  with  his  eyes  on  the  eternal  boiler  ;  and  had 
sat  there  since  the  clock  struck  eight,  giving  no  other  signs 
of  life  than  breathing  with  a  loud  and  constant  snore  (though 
he  was  wide  awake),  and  from  time  to  time  putting  his 
glass  to  his  lips,  or  knocking  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  and 
filling  it  anew.  It  was  now  half-past  ten.  Mr.  Cobb  and 
long  Phil  Parkes  were  his  companions,  as  of  old,  and  for  two 
mortal  hours  and  a  half,  none  of  the  company  had  pro- 
nounced one  word. 

Whether  people,  by  dint  of  sitting  together  in  the  same 
place  and  the  same  relative  positions,  and  doing  exactly  the 
same  things  for  a  great  many  years,  acquire  a  sixth  sense,  or 
some  unknown  power  of  influencing  each  other  which  serves 
them  in  its  stead,  is  a  question  for  philosophy  to  settle.  But 
certain  it  is  that  old  John  Willet,  Mr.  Parkes,  and  Mr.  Cobb, 
were  one  and  all  firmly  of  opinion  that  they  were  very  jolly 
companions — rather  choice  spirits  than  otherwise  ;  that  they 
looked  at  each  other  every  now  and  then  as  if  there  were  a 
perpetual  interchange  of  ideas  going  on  among  them  ;  that 
no  man  considered  himself  or  his  neighbor  by  any  means 
silent  ;  and  that  each  of  them  nodded  occasionally  when  he 
caught  the  eye  of  another,  as  if  he  would  say,  "  You  have 
expressed  yourself  extremely  well,  sir,  in  relation  to  that  sen- 
timent, and  1  quite  agree  with  you." 

The  room  was  so  very  warm,  the  tobacco  so  very  good, 
and  the  fire  so  very  soothing,  that  Mr.  Willet  by  degrees  be- 
gan to  doze  ;  but  as  he  had  perfectly  acquired,  by  dint  of 
long  habit,  the  art  of  smoking  in  his  sleep,  and  as  his 
breathing  was  pretty  much  the  same,  awake  or  asleep,  sav- 
ing that  in  the  latter  case  he  sometimes  experienced  a 
slight  difficulty  in  respiration  (such  as  a  carpenter  meets 
with  when  he  is  planing  and  comes  to  a  knot),  neither  of  his 
companions  was  aware  -of  the  circumstance,  until  he  met 
with  one  of  these  impediments  and  was  obliged  to  try  again. 

'*  Johnny's  dropped  off,"  said  Mr.  Parkes  in  a  whisper. 

"  Fast  as  a  top,"  said  Mr.  Cobb. 

Neither  of  them  said  any  more  until  Mr.  Willet  came  to  an- 
other knot — one  of  surprising  obduracy — which  bade  fair  to 
throw  him  into  convulsions,  but  Avhich  he  got  over  at  last 
without  waking,  by  an  effort  quite  superhuman. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  247 

"  He  sleeps  uncommon  hard,"  said  Mr.  Cobb. 

Mr.  Parkes,  who  was  possibly  a  hard  sleeper  himself,  re- 
l)lied  with  some  disdain  "  Not  a  bit  on  it  ;"  and  directed  his 
eyes  toward  a  hand-bill  pasted  over  the  chimney-piece,  which 
was  decorated  at  the  top  with  a  wood-cut  representing  a  youth 
of  tender  years  running  away  very  fast,  with  a  bundle  over 
his  shoulder  at  the  end  of  a  stick,  and — to  carry  out  the 
idea — a  finger-post  and  a  mile  stone  beside  him.  Mr.  Cobb 
likewise  turned  his  eyes  in  the  same  direction,  and  surveyed 
the  placard  as  if  that  were  the  first  time  he  had  ever  beheld 
it.  Now,  this  was  a  document  which  Mr.  Willet  had  him- 
self indited  on  the  disappearance  of  his  son  Joseph,  ac- 
quainting the  nobility  and  gentry  and  the  public  in  general 
with  the  circumstances  of  his  having  left  his  home  ;  describ- 
ing his  dress  and  appearance  ;  and  offering  a  reward  of  five 
pounds  to  any  person  or  persons  who  would  pack  him  up 
and  return  him  safely  to  the  Maypole  at  Chigwell,  or  lodge 
him  in  any  of  his  majesty's  jails  until  such  time  as  his  father 
should  come  and  claim  him.  In  this  advertisement  Mr. 
Willet  had  obstinately  persisted,  despite  the  advice  and  en- 
treaties of  his  friends,  in  describing  his  son  as  a ''young 
boy  ;  "  and  furthermore  as  being  from  eighteen  inches  to  a 
couple  of  feet  shorter  than  he  really  was  ;  two  circumstances 
which  perhaps  accounted,  in  some  degree,  for  its  never 
having  been  productive  of  any  other  effect  than  the  trans- 
mission to  Chigwell  at  various  times  and  at  a  vast  expense, 
of  some  five-and-forty  runaways  varying  from  six  years  old 
to  twelve. 

Mr.  Cobb  and  Mr.  Parkes  looked  mysteriously  at  this 
composition,  at  each  other,  and  at  old  John.  From  the 
time  he  had  pasted  it  up  with  his  own  hands,  Mr.  Willet  had 
never  by  word  or  sign  alluded  to  the  subject,  or  encouraged 
any  one  else  to  do  so.  Nobody  had  the  least  notion  what 
his  thoughts  or  opinions  were,  connected  with  it  ;  whether 
he  remembered  it  or  forgot  it  ;  whether  he  had  any  idea  that 
such  an  event  had  ever  taken  place.  Therefore,  even  while 
he  slept,  no  one  ventured  to  refer  to  it  in  his  presence  ;  and 
for  such  sufficient  reasons,  these  his  chosen  friends  were 
silent  now. 

Mr.  Willet  had  got  by  this  time  into  such  a  complication 
of  knots  that  it  was  perfectly  clear  he  must  wake  or  die.  He 
chose  the  former  alternative,  and  opened  his  eyes. 

"  If  he  don't  come  in  five  minutes,"  said  John,  "  I  shall 
have  supper  without  him." 


24S  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

The  antecedent  of  this  pronoun  had  been  mentioned  for 
the  last  time  at  eight  o'clock.  Messrs.  Parkes  and  Cobb 
being  used  to  this  style  of  conversation,  replied  without  diffi- 
culty that  to  be  sure  Solomon  was  very  late,  and  they  won- 
dered what  had  happened  to  detain  him. 

"  He  an't  blown  away,  I  suppose,"  said  Parkes.  "  It's 
enough  to  carry  a  man  of  his  figure  off  his  legs,  and  easy 
too.  Do  you  hear  it  ?  It  blows  great  guns,  indeed.  There'll 
be  many  a  crash  in  the  Forest  to-night,  I  reckon^  and  many 
a  broken  branch  upon  the  ground  to  morrow." 

"  It  won't  break  any  thing  in  the  Maypole,  I  take  it,  sir," 
returned  old  John.  ''Let  it  try.  I  give  it  leave— what's 
that?" 

"  The  wind,"  cried  Parkes.  "  It's  howling  like  a  Christian, 
and  has  been  all  night  long." 

"  Did  you  ever,  sir,"  asked  John,  after  a  minute's  contem- 
plation, "  hear  the  wind  say  '  Maypole  ? '  " 
''Why,  what  man  ever  did  ?"  said  Parkes. 
"  Nor  '  ahoy,'  perhaps  ?  "  added  John. 
"  No.     Nor  that  either." 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Willet,  perfectly  unmoved  ; 
"then,  if  that  was  the  wind  just  now,  and  you'll  wait  a 
little  time  without  speaking,  you'll  hear  it  say  both  words 
very  plain." 

Mr.  Willet  was  right.  After  listening  for  a  few  moments, 
they  could  clearly  hear,  above  the  roar  and  tumult  out  of 
doors,  this  shout  repeated  ;  and  that  with  a  shrillness  arid 
energy  which  denoted  that  it  came  from  some  person  in 
great  distress  or  terror.  They  looked  at  each  other,  turned 
pale,  and  held  their  breath.     No  man  stirred. 

It  was  in  this  emergency  that  Mr.  Willet  displayed  some- 
thing of  that  strength  of  mind  and  plenitude  of  mental  re- 
source which  rendered  him  the  admiration  of  all  his  friends 
and  neighbors.  After  looking  at  Messrs.  Parkes  and  Cobb 
for  some  time  in  silence,  he  clapped  his  two  hands  to  his 
cheeks,  and  sent  forth  a  roar  which  made  the  glasses  dance 
and  rafters  ring — a  long-sustained,  discordant  bellow,  that 
rolled  onward  with  the  wind,  and  startling  every  echo,  made 
the  night  a  hundred  times  more  boisterous — a  deep,  loud, 
dismal  bray,  that  sounded  like  a  human  gong.  Then,  with 
every  vein  in  his  head  and  face  swollen  with  the  great  exer- 
tion, and  his  countenance  suffused  with  a  lively  purple,  he 
drew  a  little  nearer  to  the  fire,  and  turning  his  back  upon  it, 
said  with  digni  v  - 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  249 

"  If  that's  any  comfort  to  any  body,  they're  welcome  to  it. 
If  it  an't,  I  am  sorry  for  'em.  If  either  of  you  two  gentle- 
men likes  to  go  out  and  see  what's  the  matter,  you  can.  I'm 
not  curious,  myself." 

While  he  spoke  the  cry  drew  nearer  and  nearer,  footsteps 
passed  the  window,  the  latch  of  the  door  was  raised,  it  opened, 
was  violently  shut  again,  and  Solomon  Daisy,  with  a  lighted 
lantern  in  his  hand,  and  the  rain  streaming  from  his  dis- 
ordered dress,  dashed  into  the  room. 

A  more  complete  picture  of  terror  than  the  little  man  pre- 
sented, it  would  be  difficult  to  imagine.  The  perspiration 
stood  in  beads  upon  his  face,  his  knees  knocked  together, 
his  every  limb  trembled,  the  power  of  articulation  was  quite 
gone  ;  and  there  he  stood,  panting  for  breath,  gazing  on 
them  with  such  livid  ashy  looks,  that  they  were  infected  with 
his  fear,  though  ignorant  of  its  occasion,  and,  reflecting  his 
dismayed  and  horror-stricken  visage,  stared  back  again 
without  venturing  to  question  him  ;  until  old  John  Willet, 
in  a  fit  of  temporary  insanity,  made  a  dive  at  his  cravat,  and, 
seizing  him  by  that  portion  of  his  dress,  shook  him  to 
and  fro  until  his  very  teeth  appeared  to  rattle  in  his  head. 

"Tell  us  what's  the  matter,  sir,"  said  John,  "  or  I'll  kill 
you.  Tell  us  what's  the  matter,  sir,  or  in  another  second 
I'll  have  your  head  under  the  biler.  How  dare  you  look 
like  that  ?  Is  any  body  a-following  of  you  ?  What  do  you 
mean  ?  Say  something  or  I'll  be  the  death  of  you,  I 
will." 

Mr.  Willet,  in  his  frenzy,  was  so  near  keeping  his  word  to 
the  very  letter  (Solomon  Daisy's  eyes,  already  beginning  to 
roll  in  an  alarming  manner,  and  certain  guttural  sounds,  as 
of  a  choking  man,  to  issue  from  his  throat),  that  the  two  by- 
standers, recovering  in  some  degree,  plucked  him  off  his  vic- 
tim by  main  force,  and  placed  the  little  clerk  of  Chigwell  in 
a  chair.  Directing  a  fearful  gaze  all  round  the  room,  he 
implored  them  in  a  faint  voice  to  give  him  some  drink  ;  and 
above  all  to  lock  the  house-door  and  close  and  bar  the  shut- 
ters of  the  room  without  a  moment's  loss  of  time.  The  lat- 
ter request  did  not  tend  to  re-assure  his  hearers,  or  to  fill 
them  with  the  most  comfortable  sensations  ;  they  complied 
with  it,  however,  with  the  greatest  expedition  ;  and  having 
handed  him  a  bumper  of  brandy-and-water,  nearly  boiling 
hot,  waited  to  hear  what  he  might  have  to  tell  them. 

"  Oh,  Johnny,"  said  Solomon,  shaking  him  by  the  hand. 
**  Oh,  Parkes.     Oh,  Tommy  Cobb.     Why  did   I  leave  this 


250  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

house  to-night  !  On  the  nineteenth  of  March — of  all  nights 
in  the  year,  on  the  nineteenth  of  March  !  " 

They  all  drew  closer  to  the  fire.  Parkes,  who  was  nearest 
to  the  door,  started  and  looked  over  his  shoulder.  Mr.  Willet, 
with  great  indignation,  inquired  what  the  devil  he  meant  by 
that — and  then  said,  "  God  forgive  me,"  and  glanced  over 
his  own  shoulder,  and  came  a  little  nearer. 

"  When  I  left  here  to-night,"  said  Solomon  Daisy,  "  I  lit- 
tle thought  what  day  of  the  month  it  was.  I  have  never 
gone  alone  into  the  church  after  dark  on  this  day  for  seven- 
and-twenty  years.  I  have  heard  it  said  that  as  we  keep  our 
birthdays  when  we  are  alive,  so  the  ghosts  of  dead  people, 
who  are  not  easy  in  their  graves,  keep  the  day  they  died 
upon.     How  the  wind  roars  !  " 

Nobody  spoke.     All  eyes  were  fastened  on  Solomon. 

*'  I  might  have  known,"  he  said,  "  what  night  it  was,  by 
the  foul  weather.  There's  no  such  night  in  the  w^hole  year 
round  as  this  is,  always,  I  never  sleep  quietly  in  my  bed  on 
the  nineteenth  of  March." 

**  Go  on,"  said  Tom  Cobb,  in  a  low  voice.  *'  Nor  I 
neither." 

Solomon  Daisy  raised  his  glass  to  his  lips  ;  put  it  down 
upon  the  floor  with  such  a  trembling  hand  that  the  spoon 
tinkled  in  it  like  a  little  bell  ;  and  continued  thus  : 

"  Have  I  ever  said  that  we  are  always  brought  back  to 
this  subject  in  some  strange  way,  when  the  nineteenth  of 
this  month  comes  round  ?  Do  you  suppose  it  was  by  acci- 
dent, I  forgot  to  wind  up  the  church  clock  ?  I  never  forgot 
it  at  any  other  time,  though  it's  such  a  clumsy  thing  that  it 
has  to  be  wound  up  every  day.  Why  should  it  escape  my 
memory  on  this  day  of  all  others  ? 

"  I  made  as  much  haste  down  there  as  I  could  when  I 
went  from  here,  but  I  had  to  go  home  first  for  the  keys  ; 
and  the  v»^ind  and  rain  being  dead  against  me  all  the  way,  it 
was  pretty  well  as  much  as  I  could  do  at  times  to  keep 
my  legs.  I  got  there  at  last,  opened  the  church  door,  and 
went  in.  I  had  not  met  a  soul  all  the  way,  and  you  may 
judge  whether  it  was  dull  or  not.  Neither  of  you  would  bear 
me  company.  If  you  could  have  known  what  was  to  come, 
you'd  have  been  in  the  right. 

"  The  wind  was  so  strong,  that  it  was  as  much  as  I  could 
do  to  shut  the  church  door  by  putting  my  whole  weight 
against  it  ;  and  even  as  it  was  it  burst  wide  open  twice,  with 
such  strength  that  any  of  you  would  have  sworn  if  you  had 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  251 

been  leannig  against  it,  as  I  was,  that  somebody  was  pushing 
on  the  other  side.  However  I  got  the  key  turned,  and  went 
into  the  belfry  and  wound  up  the  clock — which  was  very 
near  run  down,  and  would  have  sCood  stock-still  in  half  an 
hour. 

"  As  I  took  up  my  lantern  again  to  leave  the  church,  it 
came  upon  me  all  at  once  that  this  was  the  nineteenth  of 
March.  It  came  upon  me  with  a  kind  of  shock,  as  if  a  hand 
had  struck  the  thought  upon  my  forehead  ;  at  that  very 
same  moment,  I  heard  a  voice  outside  the  tower — rising 
from  among  the  graves." 

Here  old  John  precipitately  interrupted  the  speaker,  and 
begged  that  if  Mr.  Parkes  (who  was  seated  opposite  to  him 
and  was  staring  directly  over  his  head)  saw  any  thing,  he 
would  have  the  goodness  to  mention  it.  Mr.  Parkes  apolo- 
gized, and  remarked  that  he  was  only  listening  ;  to  which  Mr. 
VVillet  angrily  retorted,  that  his  listening  with  that  kind  of 
expression  in  his  face  was  not  agreeable,  and  that  if  he 
couldn't  look  like  other  people,  he  had  better  put  his  pocket 
handkerchief  over  his  head.  Mr.  Parkes  with  great  sub- 
mission pledged  himself  to  do  so,  if  again  required,  and  John 
Willet,  turning  to  Solomon,  desired  him  to  proceed.  After 
waiting  until  a  violent  gust  of  wind  and  rain,  which  seemed 
to  shake  even  that  sturdy  house  to  its  foundation,  had 
passed  away,  the  little  man  complied  : 

"  Never  tell  me  that  it  was  my  fancy,  or  that  it  was  any 
other  sound  which  I  mistook  for  that  I  tell  you  of.  I  heard 
the  wind  whistle  through  the  arches  of  the  church.  I  heard 
the  steeple  strain  and  creak.  I  heard  the  rain  as  it  came 
driving  against  the  walls.  1  felt  the  bells  shake.  I  saw  the 
ropes  sway  to  and  fro.     And  I  heard  that  voice." 

"  What  did  it  say  1  "  asked  Tom  Cobb, 

"  I  don't  know  what  ;  I  don't  know  that  it  spoke.  It  gave 
a  kind  of  cry,  as  any  one  of  us  might  do,  if  something  dread- 
ful followed  us  in  a  dream,  and  came  upon  us  unawares  ; 
and  then  it  died  off  :  seeming  to  pass  quite  round  the 
church." 

"  I  don't  see  much  in  that,"  said  John,  drawing  a  long 
breath,  and  looking  round  him  like  a  man  who  felt  relieved. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  returned  his  friend,  "  but  that's  not  all." 

"  What  more  do  you  mean  to  say,  sir,  is  to  come  ?  "  asked 
John,  pausing  in  the  act  of  wiping  his  face  upon  his  apron. 
'  What  are  you  a-going  to  tell  us  of  next  ?  " 

"  What  I  saw." 


252  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  Saw  !  "  echoed  all  three,  bending  forward. 

"  When  I  opened  the  church-door  to  come  out,"  said  the 
little  man,  with  an  expression  of  face  which  bore  ample  testi- 
mony to  the  sincerity  of  his  conviction,  "  when  I  opened  the 
church-door  to  come  out,  which  I  did  suddenly,  for  I  wanted 
to  get  it  shut  again  before  another  gust  of  wind  came  up, 
there  crossed  me — so  close,  that  by  stretching  out  my  finger 
I  could  have  touched  it — something  in  the  likeness  of  a  man. 
It  was  bare-headed  to  the  storm.  It  turned  its  face  without 
stopping,  and  fixed  its  eyes  on  mine.  It  was  a  ghost — a 
spirit." 

"Whose  ?  "  they  all  three  cried  together. 

In  the  excess  of  bis  emotion  (for  befell  back  trembling  in 
his  chair,  and  waved  his  hand  as  if  entreating  them  to  ques- 
tion him  no  further),  his  answer  was  lost  on  all  but  old  John 
Willet,  who  happened  to  be  seated  close  beside  him. 

"  Who  ?  "  cried  Parkes  ard  Tom  Cobb,  looking  eagerly  by 
turns  at  Solomon  Daisy  and  at  Mr.  Wiliet.     "  Who  was  it  ? " 

"Gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Wallet,  after  a  long  pause,  "you 
needn't  ask.  The  likeness  of  a  murdered  man.  This  is  the 
nineteenth  of  March." 

A  profound  silence  ensued. 

"  If  you'll  take  my  advice,"  said  John, "  we  had  better, 
one  and  all,  keep  this  a  secret.  Such  tales  would  not  be  liked 
at  the  Warren.  Let  us  keep  it  to  ourselves  for  the  present  time 
at  all  events,  or  we  may  get  into  trouble,  and  Solomon  may 
lose  his  place.  Whether  it  was  really  as  he  says,  or  whether 
it  wasn't,  is  no  matter.  Right  or  wrong,  nobody  would 
believe  him.  As  to  the  probabilities,  I  don't  myself  think," 
said  Mr.  Willet,  eying  the  corners  of  the  room  in  a  manner 
which  showed  that,  like  some  other  philosophers,  he  was  not 
quite  easy  in  his  theory,  "  that  a  ghost  as  had  been  a  man  of 
sense  in  his  lifetime,  would  be  out  a-walking  in  such  weather 
— I  only  know  that  /  wouldn't,  if  I  was  one." 

But  this  heretical  doctrine  was  strongly  opposed  by  the 
other  three,  who  quoted  a  great  many  precedents  to  show 
that  bad  weather  was  the  very  time  for  such  appearance  ;  and 
Mr.  Parkes  (who  had  had  a  ghost  in  his  family,  by  the 
mother's  side)  argued  the  matter  with  so  much  ingenuity 
and  force  of  illustration,  that  John  was  only  saved  from  hav- 
ing to  retract  his  opinion  by  the  opportune  appearance  of 
supper,  to  which  they  applied  themselves  with  a  dreadful 
relish.  Even  Solomon  Daisy  himself,  by  dint  of  the  elevat- 
ing influences  of  fire,  light,  brandy,  and  good   company,   so 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  253 

far  recovered  as  to  handle  his  knife  and  fork  in  a  highly 
creditable  manner,  and  to  display  a  capacity  both  of  eating 
and  drinking,  such  as  banished  all  fear  of  his  having  sus- 
tained any  lasting  injury  from  his  fright. 

Supper  done,  they  crowded  round  the  fire  again,  and,  as  is 
common  on  such  occasions,  propounded  all  manner  of  leading 
questions  calculated  to  surround  the  story  with  new  horrors 
and  surprises.  But  Solomon  Daisy,  notwithstanding  these 
temptations,  adhered  so  steadily  to  his  original  account,  and 
repeated  it  so  often,  with  such  slight  variation,  and  such  sol- 
emn asseverations  of  its  truth  and  reality  that  his  hearers  were 
(with  good  reason)  more  astonished  than  at  first.  As  he  took 
John  Willet's  view  of  the  matter  in  regard  to  the  propriety 
of  not  bruiting  the  tale  abroad,  unless  the  spirit  should  appear 
to  him  again,  in  which  case  it  would  be  necessary  to  take 
immediate  counsel  with  the  clergyman,  it  was  solemnly  re- 
solved that  it  should  be  hushed  up  and  kept  quiet.  And  as 
most  men  like  to  have  a  secret  to  tell  which  may  exalt  their 
own  importance,  they  arrived  at  this  conclusion  with  perfect 
unanimity. 

As  it  was  by  this  time  growing  late,  and  was  long  past 
their  usual  hour  of  separating,  the  cronies  parted  for  the 
night.  Solomon  Daisy,  with  a  fresh  candle  in  his  lantern, 
repaired  homeward  under  the  escort  of  long  Phil  Parkes 
and  Mr.  Cobb,  who  were  rather  more  nervous  than  him- 
self, Mr.  Willet,  after  seeing  them  to  the  door,  returned  to 
collect  his  thoughts  with  the  assistance  of  the  boiler,  and  to 
listen  to  the  storm  of  wind  and  rain,  which  had  not  yet 
abated  one  jot  of  its  fury. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

Before  old  John  had  looked  at  the  boiler  quite  twenty 
minutes,  he  got  his  ideas  into  a  focus,  and  brought  them  to 
bear  upon  Solomon  Daisy's  story.  The  more  he  thought  of 
it  the  more  impressed  he  became  with  a  sense  of  his  own 
wisdom,  and  a  desire  that  Mr.  Haredale  should  be  impressed 
with  it  likewise.  At  length  to  the  end  that  he  might  sus- 
tain a  principal  and  important  character  in  the  affair  ;  and 
might  have  the  start  of  Solomon  and  his  two  friends,  througli 
whose  means  he  knew  the  adventure,  with  a  variety  of  ex- 
aggerations, would  be  known  to  at  least  a  score  of  people, 
and  most  likely  to  Mr.  Haredale  liimself,  by  breakfast-time 


2S4  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

to-morrow  ;  he  determined  to  repair  to  the  Warren  before 
going  to  bed. 

"  He's  my  landlord,"  thought  John,  as  he  took  a  candle  in 
his  hand,  and  setting  it  down  in  a  corner  out  of  the  wind's 
way,  opened  a  casement  in  the  rear  of  the  house,  looking 
toward  the  stables,  "  We  haven't  met  of  late  years  so  often 
as  we  used  to  do — changes  are  taking  place  in  the  family — 
it's  desirable  that  I  should  stand  as  well  with  them,  in  a  point 
of  dignity,  as  possible — the  whispering  about  of  this  here 
taie  will  anger  him — it's  good  to  have  confidences  with  a 
gentleman  of  his  natur',  and  set  one's  self  right  besides.  Hal- 
loa there  !     Hugh — Hugh  !     Hal-loa  !  " 

When  he  had  repeated  this  shout  a  dozen  times,  and 
started  every  pigeon  from  its  slumbers,  a  door  in  one  of  the 
ruinous  old  buildings  opened,  and  a  rough  voice  demanded 
what  was  amiss  now,  that  a  man  couldn't  even  have  his 
sleep  in  quiet, 

"  What,  haven't  you  sleep  enough,  growler,  that  you're 
not  to  be  knocked  up  for  once  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  the  voice,  as  the  speaker  yawned  and  shook 
himself.     "  Not  half  enough." 

"  I  don't  know  how  you  can  sleep,  with  the  wind  a-bellow- 
ing  and  roaring  about  you,  making  the  tiles  fly  like  a  pack 
of  cards,"  said  John  ;  "but  no  matter  for  that.  Wrap  your- 
self up  in  something  or  another,  and  come  here,  for  you 
must  go  as  far  as  the  Warren  with  me.  And  look  sharp 
about  it." 

Hugh,  with  much  low  growling  and  muttering,  went  back 
into  his  lair  ;  and  presently  re-appeared,  carrying  a  lantern 
and  a  cudgel,  and  enveloped  from  head  to  foot  in  an  old, 
frousy,  slouclrlng  house-cloth.  Mr.  Willet  received  this  fig- 
ure at  the  back-door,  and  ushered  him  into  the  bar,  while 
he  wrapped  himself  in  sundry  great-coats  and  capes,  and  so 
tied  and  knotted  his  face  in  shawls  and  handkerchiefs,  that 
how  he  breathed  was  a  mystery. 

"  You  don't  take  a  man  out  of  doors  at  near  midnight  in 
such  weather,  without  putting  some  heart  into  him,  do  you, 
master  ?  "  said  Hugh. 

"  Yes  I  do,  sir,'  returned  Mr.  Willet.  "I  put  the  heart 
(as  you  call  it)  into  him  when  he  has  brought  me  safe  home 
again,  and  his  standing  steady  on  his  legs  an't  of  so  much 
consequence.  So  hold  that  light  up,  if  you  please,  and  go 
on  a  step  or  two  before,  to  show  the  way." 

Hugh  obeyed  with  a  very  in  different  grace,  and  a  longing 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  255 

glance  at  the  bottles.  Old  John,  laying  strict  injunctions  on 
his  cook  to  keep  the  doors  locked  in  his  absence,  and  to 
open  to  nobody  but  himself  on  pain  of  dismissal,  followed 
him  into  the  blustering  darkness  out  of  doors. 

The  way  was  wet  and  dismal,  and  the  night  so  black, 
that  if  Mr.  Willet  had  been  his  own  pilot,  he  would 
have  walked  into  a  deep  horse-pond  within  a  few  hun- 
dred yards  of  his  own  house,  and  would  certainly  have 
terminated  his  career  in  that  ignoble  sphere  of  action. 
But  Hugh,  who  had  a  sight  as  keen  as  any  hawk's,  and  apart 
from  that  endowment,  could  have  found  his  way  blindfold 
to  any  place  within  a  dozen  miles,  dragged  old  John 
along,  quite  deaf  to  his  remonstrances,  and  took  his 
own  course  without  the  slightest  reference  to,  or  notice  of, 
his  master.  So  they  made  head  against  the  wind  as  they 
best  could  ;  Hugh,  crushing  the  wet  grass  beneath  his  heavy 
tread,  and  stalking  on  after  his  ordinary  savage  fashion  ; 
John  Willet  following  at  arm's-length,  picking  his  steps,  and 
looking  about  him,  now  for  bogs  and  ditches,  and  now  for 
such  stray  ghosts  as  might  be  wandering  abroad,  wi-h  looks 
of  as  much  dismay  and  uneasiness  as  his  immovable  face  was 
capable  of  expressing. 

At  length  they  stood  upon  the  broad  gravel-walk  before 
the  Warren  House.  The  budding  was  profoundly  dark,  and 
none  were  moving  near  it  save  themselves."  From  one  soli- 
tary turret-chamber,  however,  there  shone  a  ray  of  light ; 
and  toward  this  speck  of  comfort  in  the  cold,  cheerless, 
silent  scene,  Mr.  Willet  made  his  pilot  lead  him. 

"  The  old  room,"  said  John,  looking  timidly  upward  : 
"  Mr.  Reuben's  own  apartment,  God  be  with  us  !  I  wonder 
his  brother  likes  to  sit  there,  so  late  at  night— on  this  night 
too." 

*'  Why,  where  else  should  he  sit  ?  "  asked  Hugh,  holding 
the  lantern  to  his  breast,  to  keep  the  candle  from  the  wind, 
while  he  trimmed  it  with  his  fingers.  "  It's  snug  enough, 
ain't  it  ? " 

"  Snug  !  "  said  John  indignantly.  "  You  have  a  comfort- 
able idea  of  snugness,  you  have,  sir.  Do  you  know  what 
was  done  in  that  room,  you  ruffian  ?  " 

''  Why,  what  is  it  the  worse  for  that !  "  cried  Hugh,  look- 
ing into  John's  face.  "  Does  it  keep  out  the  rain,  and  snow, 
and  wind,  the  less  for  that  ?  Is  it  less  warm  or  dry,  because 
a  man  was  killed  there  ?  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Never  believe  it, 
master.     One  man's  no  such  matter  as  that  comes  to." 


256  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

Mr.  Willet  fixed  his  dull  eyes  on  his  follower,  and  began^  . 
by  a  species  of  inspiration — to  think  it  just  barely  possible 
that  he  was  something  of  a  dangerous  character,  and  that 
it  might  be  advisable  to  get  rid  of  him  one  of  these  days. 
He  was  too  prudent  to  say  any  thing,  with  the  journey  home 
before  him  ;  and  therefore  turned  to  the  iron  gate  before 
which  this  brief  dialogue  had  passed,  and  pulled  the  handle 
of  the  bell  that  hung  beside  it.  The  turret  at  which  the 
light  appeared  being  at  one  corner  of  the  building,  and  only 
divided  from  the  path  by  one  of  the  garden-walks,  upon 
which  this  gate  opened,  Mr.  Haredale  threw  up  the  window 
directly,  and  demanded  who  was  there. 

"  Begging  pardon,  sir,"  said  John,  "  I  knew  you  sat  up 
late,  and  made  bold  to  come  round,  having  a  word  to  say  to 
you." 

"  Willet— is  it  not  ?  " 

"  Of  the  Maypole — at  your  service,  sir." 

Mr.  Haredale  closed  the  window,  and  withdrew.  He 
presently  appeared  at  a  door  in  the  bottom  of  the  turret, 
and  coming  across  the  garden-walk,  unlocked  the  gate  and 
let  them  in. 

"  You  are  a  late  visitor,  Willet.     What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

^'  Nothing  to  speak  of,  sir,"  said  John  ;  "an  idle  tale,  I 
thought  you  ought  to  know  of  ;  nothing  more." 

'*  Let  your  man  go  forward  with  the  lantern,  and  give  me 
your  hand.  The  stairs  are  crooked  and  narrow.  Gently  with 
your  light,  friend.     You  swing  it  like  a  censer." 

Hugh,  who  had  already  reached  the  turret,  held  it  more 
steadily,  and  ascended  first,  turning  round  from  time  to  time 
to  shed  his  light  downward  on  the  steps.  Mr.  Haredale  fol- 
lowing next,  eyed  his  lowering  face  with  no  great  favor  ;  and 
Hugh,  looking  down  on  him,  returned  his  glances  with  in- 
terest, as  they  climbed  the  winding  stairs. 

It  terminated  in  a  little  ante-room  adjoining  that  from 
which  they  had  seen  the  light.  Mr.  Haredale  entered  first, 
and  led  the  way  through  it  into  the  latter  chamber,  where 
he  seated  himself  at  a  writing-table  from  which  he  had  risen 
when  they  had  rung  the  bell. 

"  Come  in,"  he  said,  beckoning  to  old  John,  who  re- 
mained bovvnng  at  the  door.  "Not  you,  friend,"  he  added 
hastily  to  Hugh,  who  entered  also.  "  Willet,  why  do  you 
bring  that  fellow  here  ?  " 

"  Why,  sir,"  returned  John,  elevating  his  eyebrows,  and 
lowering  his  voice  to  the  tone  in  which  the  question  had 
been  asked  him,  "  he's  a  good  guard,  vou  see." 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  ^57 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  of  that,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  looking 
toward  him  as  he  spoke.  "  I  doubt  it.  He  has  an  evil 
eye." 

"  There's  no  imagination  in  his  eye,"  returned  Mr.  Willet, 
glancing  over  his  shoulder  at  the  organ  in  question,  "  cer- 
tainly." 

"  There  is  no  good  there,  be  assured,"  said  Mr.  Haredale. 
"  Wait  in  that  little  room,  friend,  and  close  the  door  between 

us." 

Hugh  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  with  a  disdainful  look, 
which  showed,  either  that  he  had  overheard,  or  that  he 
guessed  the  purport  of  their  whispering,  did  as  he  was  told. 
When  he  was  shut  out,  Mr.  Haredale  turned  to  John,  and 
bade  him  go  on  with  what  he  had  to  say,  but  not  to  speak 
too  loud,  for  there  were  quick  ears  yonder. 

Thus  cautioned,  Mr.  Willet,  in  an  oily  whisper,  recited  all 
that  he  had  heard  and  said  that  night  ;  laying  particular  stress 
upon  his  own  sagacity,  upon  his  great  regard  for  the  family, 
and  upon  his  solicitude  for  their  peace  of  mind  and  happiness. 
The  story  moved  his  auditor  much  more  than  he  had  ex- 
pected. Mr.  Haredale  often  changed  his  attitude,  rose  and 
paced  the  room,  returned  again,  desired  him  to  repeat,  as 
nearly  as  he  could,  the  very  words  that  Solomon  had  used, 
and  gave  so  many  other  signs  of  being  disturbed  and  ill  at 
ease,  that  even  Mr.  Willet  was  surprised. 

"You  did  quite  right,"  he  said,  at  the  end  of  a  long  con- 
versation, "  to  bid  them  keep  this  story  secret.  It  is  a  fool- 
ish fancy  on  the  part  of  this  weak-brained  man,  bred  in  his 
fears  and  superstition.  But  Miss  Haredale,  though  she  v^-ould 
know  it  to  be  so,  would  be  disturbed  by  it  if  it  reached  her 
ears  ;  it  is  too  nearly  connected  with  a  subject  very  painful 
to  us  all,  to  be  heard  with  indifference.  You  were  most  pru- 
dent, and  have  laid  me  under  a  great  obligation.  I  thank 
you  very  much." 

This  was  equal  to  John's  most  sanguine  expectations  ;  but 
he  would  have  preferred  Mr.  Haredale's  looking  at  him  when 
he  spoke,  as  if  he  really  did  thank  him,  to  his  walking  up  and 
down,  speaking  by  fits  and  starts,  often  stopping  with  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  ground,  moving  hurriedly  on  again,  like 
one  distracted,  and  seeming  almost  unconscious  of  what  he 
said  or  did. 

This,  however,  was  his  manner  ;  and  it  was  so  embarrass- 
ing to  John  that  he  sat  quite  passive  for  a  long  time,  not 
knowing  what  to  do.     At  length  he  rose.     Mr.  Haredale 


258  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

stared  at  him  for  a  moment  as  though  he  had  quite  forgotten 
his  being  present,  then  shook  hands  with  him,  and  opened 
the  door.  Hugh,  who  was,  or  feigned  to  be,  fast  asleep  on 
the  ante-chamber  floor,  sprung  up  on  their  entrance,  and 
throwing  his  cloak  about  him,  grasped  his  stick  and  lantern, 
and  prepared  to  descend  the  stairs. 

"  Stay,"  said  Mr.  Haredale.     ''  Will  this  man  drink  ?  " 

"  Drink  !  He'd  drink  the  Thames  up,  if  it  was  strong 
enough,  sir,"  replied  John  Willet.  "  He'll  have  something 
when  he  gets  home.     He's  better  without  it,  now,  sir." 

"Nay.  Half  the  distance  is  done,"  said  Hugh.  "What 
a  hard  master  you  are  !  I  shall  go  home  the  better  for  one 
glassful,  half-way.     Come  !  " 

As  John  made  no  reply,  Mr.  Haredale  brought  out  a 
glass  of  liquor,  and  gave  it  to  Hugh,  who,  as  he  took  it  in 
his  hand,  threw  part  of  it  upon  the  floor. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  splashing  your  drink  about  a  gen- 
tleman's house,  sir?"  said  John. 

"I'm  drinking  a  toast,"  Hugh  rejoined,  holding  the  glass 
above  his  head,  and  fixing  his  eyes  on  Mr.  Haredale's  face  ; 
"a  toast  to  this  house  and  its  master."  With  that  he  mut- 
tered something  to  himself,  and  drank  the  rest,  and  setting 
down  the  glass,  preceded  them  without  another  Avord. 

John  was  a  good  deal  scandalized  by  this  observance,  but 
seeing  that  Mr.  Haredale  took  little  heed  of  what  Hugh  said 
or  did,  and  that  his  thoughts  were  otherwise  employed,  he 
offered  no  apology,  and  went  in  silence  down  the  stairs, 
across  the  walk,  and  through  the  garden  gate.  They  stopped 
upon  the  outer  side  for  Hugh  to  hold  the  light  while  Mr.  Hare- 
dale locked  it  on  the  inner  ;  and  then  John  saw  with  wonder 
(as  he  often  afterward  related),  that  he  was  very  pale,  and 
that  his  face  had  changed  so  much  and  grown  so  haggard 
since  their  entrance  that  he  almost  seemed  another  man. 

They  were  in  the  open  road  again,  and  John  Willet  was 
walking  on  behind  his  escort,  as  he  had  come,  thinking  very 
steadily  of  what  he  had  just  now  seen,  when  Hugh  drew  him 
suddenly  aside,  and  almost  at  the  same  instant  three  horse- 
men swept  past — the  nearest  brushed  his  shoulder  even  then 
— who,  checking  their  steeds  as  suddenly  as  they  could,  stood 
still,  and  waited  for  their  coming  up. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  259 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

When  John  Willet  saw  that  the  horsemen  wheeled  smartly 
round,  and  drew  up  three  abreast  in  the  narrow  road,  wait- 
ing for  him  and  his  man  to  join  them,  it  occurred  to  him  with 
unusual  precipitation  that  they  must  be  highwaymen  ; 
and  had  Hugh  been  armed  with  a  blunderbuss,  in  place  of 
his  stout  cudgel,  he  would  certainly  have  ordered  him  to 
fire  it  off  at  a  venture,  and  would,  while  the  word  of  com- 
mand was  obeyed,  have  consulted  his  own  personal  safety 
in  immediate  flight.  Under  the  circumstances  of  disadvan- 
tage, however,  in  which  he  and  his  guard  were  placed,  he 
deemed  it  prudent  to  adopt  a  different  style  of  generalship, 
and  therefore  whispered  his  attendant  to  address  them  in 
the  most  peaceable  and  courteous  terms.  By  way  of  act- 
ing up  to  the  spirit  and  letter  of  this  instruction,  Hugh 
stepped  forward,  and  flourishing  his  staff  before  the  very 
eyes  of  the  rider  nearest  to  him,  demanded  roughly 
what  he  and  his  fellows  meant  by  so  nearly  galloping  over 
them,  and  why  they  scoured  the  king's  highway  at  that  late 
hour  of  night. 

The  man  whom  he  addressed  was  beginning  an  angry 
reply  in  the  same  strain,  when  he  was  checked  by  the  horse- 
man in  the  centgr,  who,  interposing  with  an  air  of  authority, 
inquired  in  a  somewhat  loud  but  not  harsh  or  unpleasant 
voice  : 

"  Pray,  is  this  the  London  road  ?  " 

"  If  you  follow  it  straight,  it  is,"  replied  Hugh  roughly. 

"Nay,  brother,"  said  the  same  person,  "you're  but  a 
churlish  Englishman,  if  Englishman  you  be — which  I  should 
much  doubt  but  for  your  tongue.  Your  companion,  I  am 
sure,  will  answer  me  more  civilly.     How  say  you,  friend  ?" 

"  I  say  it  is  the  London  road,  sir,"  answered  John.  "  And 
I  wish,"  he  added  in  a  subdued  voice,  as  he  turned  to  Hugh, 
"  that  you  was  in  any  other  road,  you  vagabond.  Are  you 
tired  of  your  life,  sir,  that  you  go  a-trying  to  provoke  three 
great  neck-or-nothing  chaps,  that  could  keep  on  running 
over  us,  back'ard  and  for'ard,  till  we  was  dead,  and  then 
take  our  bodies  up  behind  'em,  and  drown  us  ten  miles  off  ?  " 

"  How  far  is  it  to  London  ?  "    inquired  the  same  speaker. 

"  Why,  from  here,  sir,"  answered  John,  persuasively,  "it's 
thirteen  very  easy  mile." 

The  adjective  was  thrown  in,  as  an  inducement  to  the 


26o  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

travelers  to  ride  away  with  all  speed  ;  but  instead  of 
having  the  desired  effect,  it  elicited  from  the  same  person, 
the  remark,  *'  Thirteen  miles  !  That's  a  long  distance  !  " 
which  was  followed  by  a  short  pause  of  indecision. 

"  Pray,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  are  there  any  inns  here- 
abouts ? " 

At  the  word  "  inns,"  John  plucked  up  his  spirit  in  a  sur- 
prising manner  ;  his  fears  rolled  off  like  smoke  ;  all  the 
landlord  stirred  within  him. 

"  Tl^iCre  are  no  inns,"  rejoined  Mr.  Willet,  with  a  strong 
emphasis  on  the  plural  number  ;  "  but  there's  a  inn — one 
inn — the  Maypole  *Inn.  That's  a  inn  indeed.  You  won't 
see  the  like  of  that  inn  often." 

'*  You  keep  it,  perhaps  ?  "    said  the  horseman,  smiling. 

"  I  do,  sir,"  replied  John,  greatly  wondering  how  he  had 
found  this  out. 

*'  And  how  far  is  the  Maypole  from  here  ?  " 

"  About  a  mile  " — John  was  going  to  add  that  it  was  the 
easiest  mile  in  all  the  world,  when  the  third  rider,  who  had 
hitherto  kept  a  little  in  the  rear,  suddenly  interposed- 

''  And  have  you  one  excellent  bed,  landlord  ?  Hem  !  A 
bed  that  you  can  recommend — a  bed  that  you  are  sure  is 
well  aired — a  bed  that  has  been  slept  in  by  some  perfectly 
respectable  and  unexceptionable  person  ?  " 

"  We  don't  take  in  no  tagrag  and  bobtail  at  our  house, 
sir,"  answered  John.     **  And  as  to  the  bed  itself — " 

"  Say,  as  to  three  beds."  interposed  the  gentleman  who 
had  spoken  before  ;  ''  for  we  shall  want  three  if  we  stay, 
though  my  friend  only  speaks  of  one." 

*'  No,  no,  my  lord  ;  you  are  too  good,  you  are  too  kind  ; 
but  your  life  is  of  far  too  much  importance  to  the  nation  in 
these  portentous  times,  to  be  placed  upon  a  level  with  one 
so  useless  and  so  poor  as  mine.  A  great  cause,  my  lord,  a 
mighty  cause,  depends  on  you.  You  are  its  leader  and  its 
champion,  its  advanced  guard  and  its  van.  It  is  the  cause 
of  our  altars  and  our  homes,  our  country  and  our  faith. 
Let  tne  sleep  on  a  chair — the  carpet — anywhere.  No  one 
will  repine  if  /  take  cold  or  fever.  Let  John  Grucby  pass 
the  night  beneath  the  open  sky — no  one  will  pine  for  //////. 
But  forty  thousand  men  of  this  our  island  in  the  wave 
(ex(  iusive  of  women  and  children)  rivet  tlieir  eyes  and 
thojghts  on  Lord  George  Gordon  ;  and  every  day,  from 
the  rising  up  of  the  sun  to  the  going  down  of  the  same,  pray 
/'w  his  health  and  vigor.     My  lord,"  said  the  speaker,  rising 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  261 

in  his  stirrups,  "it  is  a  glorious  cause,  and  must  not  be  for- 
gotten. My  lord,  it  is  a  mighty  cause,  and  must  not  be 
endangered.  My  lord,  it  is  a  holy  cause,  and  must  not  be 
deserted." 

"  It  is  a  holy  cause,"  exclaimed  his  lordship,  lifting  up 
his  hat  with  great  solemnity.     "  Amen." 

"  John  Grueby,"  said  the  long-winded  gentleman,  in  a 
tone  of  mild  reproof,  "  his  lordship  said  Amen." 

**  I  heard  my  lord,  sir,"  said  the  man,  sitting  like  a  statue 
on  his  horse. 

"  And  do  not  you  say  Amen,  likewise  ?  " 

To  v/hich  John  Grueby  made  no  reply  at  all,  but  sat 
looking  straight  before  him. 

"  You  surprise  me,  Grueby,"  said  the  gentleman.  "  At  a 
crisis  like  the  present,  when  Queen  Elizabeth,  that  maiden 
monarch,  weeps  within  her  tomb,  and  Bloody  Mary,  with  a 
brow  of  gloom  and  shadow,  stalks  triumphant — " 

"  Oh  sir,"  cried  the  man,  gruffly,  "  where's  the  use  of 
talking  of  Bloody  Mary,  under  such  circumstances  as  the 
present,  when  my  lord's  wet  through,  and  tired  with  hard 
riding  ?  Let's  either  go  on  to  London,  sir,  or  put  up  at  once  ; 
or  that  unfort'nate  Bloody  Mary  will  have  more  to  answer 
for — and  she's  done  a  deal  more  harm  in  her  grave  than  she 
ever  did  in  her  lifetime,  I  believe." 

By  this  time  Mr.  Willet,  who  had  never  heard  so  many 
words  spoken  together  at  one  time,  or  delivered  with  such 
volubility  and  emphasis  as  by  the  long-winded  gentleman  ; 
and  whose  brain,  being  wholly  unable  to  sustain  or  compass 
them,  had  quite  given  itself  up  for  lost  ;  recovered  so  far  as 
to  observe  that  there  was  ample  accommodation  at  the  May- 
pole for  all  the  party  ;  good  beds  ;  neat  wines  ;  excellent 
entertainment  for  man  and  beast ;  private  rooms  for  large 
and  small  parties  ;  dinners  dressed  upon  the  shortest  no- 
tice ;  choice  stabling  and  a  lock-up  coach-house  ;  and,  in 
short,  to  run  over  such  recommendatory  scraps  of  language 
as  were  painted  up  on  various  portions  of  the  building,  and 
which  in  the  course  of  some  forty  years  he  had  learned  to  re- 
peat with  tolerable  correctness.  He  was  considering  whether 
it  was  at  all  possible  to  insert  any  novel  sentences  to  the 
same  purpose,  when  the  gentleman  who  had  spoken  first, 
turning  to  him  of  the  long  wind  exclaimed,  "  What  say  you, 
Gashford  ?  Shall  we  tarry  at  this  house  he  speaks  of,  or 
press  forward  ?     You  shall  decide." 

"  I  would  submit,  my  lord,  then,"  returned  the  person  he 


«62  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

appealed  to  in  a  silky  tone,  "  that  your  health  and  spirits, 
so  important,  under  Providence,  to  our  great  cause,  our  true 
and  truthful  cause  " — here  his  lordship  pulled  off  his  hat 
again,  though  it  was  raining  hard — "  require  refreshment  and 
repose." 

"Go  on  before,  landlord,  and  show  the  way,"  said  Lord 
George  Gordon  ;  we  will  follow  at  a  footpace." 

"  If  you'll  give  me  leave,  my  lord,"  said  John  Grueby,  in 
a  low  voice,  "  I'll  change  my  proper  place,  and  ride  before 
you.  The  looks  of  the  landlord's  friend  are  not  over  honest, 
and  it  may  be  as  well  to  be  cautious  with  him." 

"  John  Grueby  is  quite  right,"  interposed  Mr.  Gashford, 
falling  back  hastily.  "  My  lord,  a  life  so  precious  as  yours 
must  not  be  put  in  peril.  Go  forward,  John,  by  all  means.  If 
you  have  reason  to  suspect  the  fellow,  blow  his  brains  out." 

John  made  no  answer,  but  looking  straight  before  him,  as 
his  custom  seemed  to  be  when  the  secretary  spoke,  bade 
Hugh  push  on,  and  followed  close  behind  him.  Then  came 
his  lordship,  with  Mr.  Willet  at  his  bridle  rein  ;  and,  last  of 
all,  his  lordship's  secretary — for  that,  it  seemed,  was  Gash- 
ford's  office. 

Hugh  strode  briskly  on,  often  looking  back  at  the  serv- 
ant, whose  horse  was  close  upon  his  heels,  and  glancing 
with  a  leer  at  his  holster-case  of  pistols,  by  which  he  seemed 
to  set  great  store.  He  was  a  square-built,  strong-made,  bull- 
necked  fellow,  of  the  true  English  breed  ;  and  as  Hugh 
measured  him  with  his  eye,  he  measured  Hugh,  regarding 
him  meanwhile  with  a  look  of  bluff  disdain.  He  was  much 
older  than  the  Maypole  man,  being  to  all  appearance  five- 
and-forty  ;  but  was  one  of  those  self-possessed,  hard-headed, 
imperturbable  fellows,  who,  if  they  are  ever  beaten  at  jfisty- 
cuffs,  or  other  kind  of  warfare,  never  know  it,  and  go  on 
coolly  till  they  win. 

"  If  I  led  you  wrong  now,"  said  Hugh,  tauntingly,  "  you'd 
— ha,  ha,  ha  ! — you'd  shoot  me  through  the  head,  I  sup- 
pose." 

John  Grueby  took  no  more  notice  of  this  remark  than  if 
he  had  been  deaf  and  Hugh  dumb  ;  but  kept  riding  on  quite 
comfortably,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  horizon. 

"  Did  you  ever  try  a  fall  with  a  man  when  you  were  young, 
master  ? "  said  Hugh.  *'  Can  you  make  any  play  at  single- 
stick !  " 

John  Grueby  looked  at  him  sideways,  with  the  same  con- 
tented air,  but  deigned  not  a  word  in  answer. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  263 

"  — Like  this  ? "  said  Hugh,  giving  his  cudgel  one  of  those 
skillful  flourishes  in  which  the  rustic  of  that  time  delighted. 
"  Whoop  !  " 

'* — Or  that,"  returned  John  Grueby,  beating  down  his 
guard  with  his  whip,  and  striking  him  on  the  head  with  its 
butt  end.  *'  Yes,  I  played  a  little  once.  You  wear  your 
hair  too  long  ;  I  should  have  cracked  your  crown  if  it  had 
been  a  little  shorter." 

It  was  a  pretty  smart,  loud-sounding  rap  as  it  was,  and 
evidently  astonished  Hugh  ;  who,  for  the  moment,  seemed 
disposed  to  drag  his  new  acquaintance  from  the  saddle.  But 
his  face  betokened  neither  malice,  triumph,  rage,  nor  any 
lingering  idea  that  he  had  given  him  offense  ;  his  eyes  gaz- 
ing steadily  in  the  old  direction,  and  his  manner  being  as 
careless  and  composed  as  if  he  had  merely  brushed  away  a 
fly  ;  Hugh  was  so  puzzled  and  so  disposed  to  look  upon  him 
as  a  customer  of  almost  supernatural  toughness  that  he 
merely  laughed,  and  cried  "  Well  done  !  "  then,  sheering  off 
a  little,  led  the  way  in  silence. 

Before  the  lapse  of  many  minutes  the  pa-rty  halted  at  the 
Maypole  door  ;  Lord  George  and  his  secretary  quickly  dis- 
mounting, gave  their  horses  to  their  servant,  who,  under  the 
guidance  of  Hugh,  repaired  to  the  stables.  Right  glad  to 
escape  from  the  inclemency  of  the  night,  they  followed  Mr. 
Willet  into  the  common  room,  and  stood  warming  them- 
selves and  drying  their  clothes  before  the  cheerful  fire,  while 
he  busied  himself  with  such  orders  and  preparations  as  his 
guest's  high  quality  required. 

As  he  bustled  in  and  out  of  the  room  intent  on  these  ar- 
rangements, he  had  an  opportunity  of  observing  the  two 
travelers,  of  whom,  as  yet  he  knew  nothing  b«t  the  voice. 
The  lord,  the  great  personage  who  did  the  Maypole  so  much 
honor,  was  about  the  middle  height,  of  a  slender  make,  and 
sallow  complexion,  with  an  aquiline  nose,  and  long  hair  of 
reddish  brown,  combed  perfectly  straight  and  smooth  about 
his  ears,  and  slightly  powdered,  but  without  the  faintest  ves- 
tige of  a  curl.  He  was  attired  under  his  great-coat,  in  a 
full  suit  of  black,  quite  free  from  any  ornament,  and  of  the 
most  precise  and  sober  cut.  The  gravity  of  his  dress,  to- 
gether with  a  certain  lankness  of  cheek  and  stiffness  of  de- 
portment, added  nearly  ten  years  to  his  age,  but  his  figure 
was  that  of  one  not  yet  past  thirty.  As  he  stood  musing  in 
the  red  glow  of  the  fire,  it  was  striking  to  observe  his  very 
bright  large  eye,  which  betrayed  a  restlessness  of  thought 


264  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

and  purpose,  singularly  at  variance  with  the  studied  compos- 
ure and  sobriety  of  his  mien,  and  with  his  quaint  and  sad 
apparel.  It  had  nothing  harsh  or  cruel  in  its  expression  ; 
neither  had  his  face,  which  was  thin  and  mild,  and  wore  an 
air  of  melancholy  ;  but  it  was  suggestive  of  an  air  of  inde- 
finable uneasiness,  which  infected  those  who  looked  upon 
him,  and  filled  them  with  a  kind  of  pity  for  the  man  ; 
though  why  it  did  so,  they  would  have  had  some  trouble  to 
explain. 

Gashford,  the  secretary,  was  taller,  angularly  made,  high- 
shouldered,  bony  and  ungraceful,  demure  and  staid  in  the  ex- 
treme ;  his  manner,  formal  and  constrained.  This  gentleman 
had  an  overhanging  brow,  great  hands  and  feet  and  ears,  and 
a  pair  of  eyes  that  seemed  to  have  made  unnatural  retreat  into 
his  head,  and  to  have  dug  themselves  a  cave  to  hide  in.  His 
manner  was  smooth  and  humble,  but  very  sly  and  slinking. 
He  wore  the  aspect  of  a  man  who  was  always  lying  in  wait 
for  something  that  ivouldiit  come  to  pass  ;  but  he  looked 
patient — very  patient — and  fawned  like  a  spaniel  dog.  Even 
now,  while  he  warmed  and  rubbed  his  hands  before  the 
blaze,  he  had  the  air  of  one  who  only  presumed  to  enjoy  it 
in  his  degree  as  a  commoner  ;  and  though  he  knew  his  lord 
was  not  regarding  him,  he  looked  into  his  face  from  time  to 
time,  and  wi';h  a  meek  and  deferential  manner,  smiled  as  if 
for  practice. 

Such  were  the  guests  whom  old  John  Willet,  with  a  fixed 
and  leaden  eye,  surveyed  a  hundred  times,  and  to  whom  he 
now  advanced  with  a  state  candlestick  in  each  hand,  be- 
seeching them  to  follow  him  into  a  worthier  chamber.  "  For, 
my  lord,"  said  John — it  is  odd  enough,  but  certain  people 
seem  to  have. as  great  a  pleasure  in  pronouncing  titles  as 
their  owners  have  in  wearing  them — "  this  room,  my  lord, 
••sn't  at  all  the  sort  of  place  for  your  lordship,  and  I  have  to 
beg  your  lordship's  pardon  for  keeping  you  here,  my  lord, 
one  minute." 

With  this  address,  John  ushered  them  up-stairs  into  the 
state  apartment,  which,  like  many  other  things  of  state,  was 
cold  and  comfortless.  Their  own  footsteps,  reverberating 
through  the  spacious  room,  struck  upon  their  hearing  with  a 
hollow  sound  ;  and  its  damp  and  chilly  atmosphere  was  ren- 
dered doubly  cheerless  by  contrast  with  the  homely  warmth 
they  had  deserted 

It  was  of  no  use,  however,  to  propose  a  return  to  the  place 
they  had  quitted,  for  the  preparations  went  on  so  briskly  that 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  265 

there  was  no  time  to  stop  them.  John  with  the  tall  candle- 
sticks in  his  hands,  bowed  them  up  to  the  fire-place  ;  Hugh, 
striding  in  with  a  lighted  brand  and  pile  of  fire-wood, 
cast  it  down  upon  the  hearth,  and  set  it  in  a  blaze  ;  John 
Grueby  (who  had  a  great  blue  cockade  in  his  hat  which  he 
appeared  to  despise  mightily)  brought  in  the  portmanteau 
he  had  carried  on  his  horse,  and  placed  it  on  the  floor  ;  and 
presently  all  three  were  busily  engaged  in  drawing  out  the 
screen,  laying  the  cloth,  inspecting  the  beds,  lighting  fires  in 
the  bedrooms,  expediting  the  supper,  and  making  every 
thing  as  cozy  and  as  snug  as  might  be,  on  so  short  a  notice. 
In  less  than  an  hour's  time,  supper  had  been  served,  and  ate, 
and  cleared  away  ;  and  Lord  George  and  his  secretary,  with 
slippered  feet,  and  legs  stretched  out  before  the  fire,  sat  over 
some  hot  mulled  wine  together. 

"  So  ends,  my  lord,"  said  Gashford,  filling  his  glass  with 
great  complacency,  "  the  blessed  work  of  a  most  blessed 
day." 

"  And  of  a  blessed  yesterday,"  said  his  lordship,  raising  his 
head. 

'*  Ah  !  " — and  here  the  secretary  clasped  his  hands — '*  a 
blessed  yesterday  indeed  !  The  Protestants  of  Suffolk  are 
godly  men  and  true.  Though  others  of  our  countrymen  have 
lost  their  way  in  darkness,  even  as  we,  my  lord,  did  lose  our 
road  to-night,  theirs  is  the  light  and  glory." 

"  Did  I  move  them,  Gashford  ? "  said  Lord  George. 

"  Move  them,  my  lord  !  Move  them  !  They  cried  to  be 
led  on  against  the  Papists,  they  vowed  a  dreadful  vengeance 
on  their  heads,  they  roared  like  men  possessed —  " 

"  But  not  by  devils,"  said  his  lord. 

"  By  devils  !  my  lord  !     By  angels." 

"  Yes— oh,  surely — by  angels,  no  doubt,"  said  Lord  George, 
thrusting  his  hands  into  his  pockets,  taking  them  out  again 
to  bite  his  nails,  and  looking  uncomfortably  at  the  fire.  '*  Of 
course  by  angels — .^h,  Gashford  ?  " 

"  You  do  not  doubt  it,  my  lord  ?  "  said  the  secretary. 

"  No — no,"  returned  his  lord.  "  No.  Why  should  I  ?  I 
suppose  it  would  be  decidedly  irreligious  to  doubt  it — 
wouldn't  it,  Gashford  ?  Though  there  certainly  were,"  he 
added  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  "  some  plaguy  ill-look- 
ing characters  among  them." 

"  When  you  warmed,"  said  the  secretary,  looking  sharply 
at  the  other's  downcast  eyes,  which  brightened  slowly  as  he 
spoke  ;  "when  you  warmed  into  that  noble  outbreak  ;  when 


266  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

you  told  them  that  you  were  never  of  the  lukewarm  or  timid 
tribe,  and  bade  them  take  heed  that  they  were  prepared  to 
follow  one  who  had  led  them  on,  though  to  the  very  death  ; 
when  you  spoke  of  a  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  men  across 
the  Scottish  border  who  would  take  their  own  redress  at  any 
time,  if  it  were  not  conceded  ;  when  you  cried  '  Perish  the 
Pope  and  all  his  base  adherents  ;  the  penal  lav%'s  against  them 
shall  never  be  repealed  while  Englishmen  have  hearts  and 
hands' — and  waved  your  own  and  touched  your  sword  ;  and 
when  they  cried  '  No  Popery  !  '  and  you  cried  '  No  ;  not  even 
if  we  wade  in  blood,'  and  they  threw  up  their  hats  and  cried 
'  Hurrah  !  not  even  if  we  wade  in  blood  ;  No  Popery  !  Lord 
George  !  Down  with  the  Papists — Vengeance  on  their  heads: ' 
when  this  was  said  and  done,  and  a  word  from  you,  my  lord, 
could  rise  or  still  the  tumult — ah  !  then  I  felt  what  greatness 
was  indeed,  and  thought,  when  was  there  ever  power  like  this 
of  Lord  George  Gordon's  !  " 

**  It's  a  great  power.  You're  right.  It  is  a  great  power  !  " 
he  cried,  with  sparkling  eyes.  "  But— dear  Gashford — did 
I  really  say  all  that  ?  " 

"  And  how  much  more  !  "  cried  the  secretary,  looking  up- 
ward.    "  Ah  !  how  much  more  !  " 

''  And  I  told  them  what  you  say,  about  the  one  hundred  and 
forty  thousand  men  in  Scotland,  did  I  ? "  he  asked  with  evi- 
dent delight.     "  That  was  bold  !  " 

*'  Our  cause  is  boldness.     Truth  is  always  bold." 

*'  Certainly.     So  is  religion.     She's  bold,  Gashford  ?  " 

"The  true  religion  is,  my  lord." 

"  And  that's  ours,"  he  rejoined,  moving  uneasily  in  his 
seat,  and  biting  his  nails  as  though  he  would  pare  them  to 
the  quick.  ''  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  ours  being  the  true 
one.  You  feel  as  certain  of  that  as  I  do,  Gashford,  don't 
you  ?" 

"  Does  my  lord  ask  ;/?<","  whined  Gashford,  drawing  his 
chair  nearer  with  an  injured  air,  and  laying  his  broad  flat 
hand  upon  the  table  ;  *'  ;;z<f,"  he  repeated,  bending  tlie  dark 
hollows  of  his  eyes  upon  him  with  an  unwholesome  smile, 
"  who  strickened  by  the  magic  of  his  eloquence  in  Scotland 
but  a  year  ago,  abjured  the  errors  of  the  Romish  church, 
and  clung  to  him  as  one  whose  timely  hand  had  plucked  me 
from  a  pit  ?  " 

"  True.  No — No.  I — I  didn't  mean  it,"  replied  the 
other,  shaking  him  by  the  hand,  rising  from  his  seat,  and 
pacing  restlessly  about  the  room.     "  It's  a  proud  thing  to 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  267 

lead  the  people,  Gashford,"  he  added,  as  he  made  a  sudden 
halt. 

"  By  force  of  reason,  too,"  returned  the  pliant  secretary. 

''  Ay,  to  be  sure.  They  may  cough  and  jeer  and  groan  in 
parliament,  and  call  me  a  fool  and  madman,  but  which  of 
them  can  raise  this  human  sea  and  make  it  swell  and  roar  at 
pleasure  ?     Not  one." 

"  Not  one,"  repeated  Gashford. 

"  Which  of  them  can  say  for  his  honesty,  what  I  can  say 
for  mine  ;  which  of  them  has  refused  a  minister's  bribe  of 
one  thousand  pounds  a  year,  to  resign  his  seat  in  favor  of  an- 
other.    Not  one." 

"  Not  one,"  repeated  Gashford  again — taking  the  lion's 
share  of  the  mulled  wine  between  whiles. 

''  And  as  we  are  honest,  true,  and  in  a  sacred  cause,  Gash- 
ford," said  Lord  George,  with  a  he'ghtened  color  and  in  a 
louder  voice,  as  he  laid  his  fevered  hand  upon  his  shoulder, 
"  and  are  the  only  men  who  regard  the  mass  of  people 
out  of  doors,  or  are  regarded  by  them,  we  will  uphold 
them  to  the  last  ;  and  will  raise  a  cry  against  these  un- 
English  Papists  which  shall  re-echo  through  the  country, 
and  roll  with  a  noise  like  thunder.  I  will  be  worthy  of 
the  motto  on  my  coat  of  arms,  'Called  and  chosen  and 
faithful'  " 

"Called,"  said  the  secretary,  "  by  heaven." 

"  I  am." 

"  Chosen  by  the  people. 

"Yes." 

"  Faithful  to  both." 

"  To  the  block  !  " 

It  would  be  difficult  to  convey  an  adequate  idea  of  the 
excited  manner  in  which  he  gave  these  answers  to  the  sec- 
retary's promptings  ;  of  the  rapidity  of  his  utterance,  or  the 
violence  of  his  tone  and  gesture  in  which,  struggling  through 
his  Puritan's  demeanor,  was  something  wild  and  ungoverna- 
ble which  broke  through  all  restraint.  For  some  minutes 
he  walked  rapidly  up  and  down  the  room,  then  stoppmg 
suddenly,  exclaimed  : 

"  Gashford —  Vou  moved  them  yesterday  too.  Oh  yes  ! 
You  did." 

"  I  shone  with  a  reflected  light,  my  lord,"  replied  the  hum- 
ble secretary,  laying  his  hand  upon  his  heart.  "  I  did  my 
best." 

"  You  did  well,"  said  his  master,  "  and  are  a  great  and 


268  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

worthy  instrument.  If  you  will  ring  for  John  Grueby  to 
carry  the  portmanteau  into  my  room,  and  will  wait  here 
while  I  undress,  we  will  dispose  of  business  as  usual,  if 
you're  not  too  tired." 

*■  Too  tired,  my  lord  ! — But  this  is  his  consideration  ! 
Christian  from  head  to  foot."  With  which  soliloquy,  the 
secretary  tilted  the  jug,  and  looked  very  hard  into  the  mulled 
wine,  to  see  how  much  remained. 

John  Willet  and  John  Grueby  appeared  together.  The 
one  bearing  the  great  candlesticks,  and  the  other  the  port- 
manteau, showed  the  deluded  lord  into  his  chamber  ;  and 
left  the  secretary  alone,  to  yawn  and  shake  himself,  and 
finally  to  fall  asleep  before  the  fire. 

''  Now,  Mr.  Gashford,  sir,"  said  John  Grueby  in  his  ear, 
after  what  appeared  to  him  a  moment  of  unconsciousness  ; 
"  my  lord's  abed." 

"  Oh.  Very  good,  John,"  was  his  mild  reply.  "  Thank 
you,  John.     Nobody  need  sit  up.     I  know  my  room.''- 

''  I  hope  you're  not  a-going  to  trouble  your  head  to-night, 
or  my  lord's  head  neither,  with  any  thing  more  about  Bloody 
Mary,"  said  John.  *'  I  wish  the  blessed  old  creetur  had 
never  been  born." 

**  I  said  you  might  go  to  bed,  John,"  returned  the  secre- 
tary.    "  You  didn't  hear  me,  I  think." 

*'  Between  Bloody  Marys,  and  blue  cockades,  and  glorious 
Queen  Bess,  and  no  Poperys,  and  Protestant  Associations, 
and  making  of  speeches,"  pursued  John  Grueby,  looking,  as 
usual,  a  long  way  off,  and  taking  no  notice  of  this  hint,  "  my 
lord's  half  off  his  head.  When  we  go  out  o'  doors,  such  a 
set  of  ragamuffins  comes  a-shouting  after  us,  *  Gordon  for- 
ever ! '  that  I'm  ashamed  of  myself  and  don't  know  where 
to  look.  When  we're  in-doors  they  come  a- roaring  and 
screaming  about  the  house  like  so  many  devils  ;  and  my 
lord  instead  of  ordering  them  to  be  drove  away,  goes  out 
into  the  balcony  and  demeans  himself  by  making  speeches 
to  'em,  and  calls  'em  '  Men  of  England,'  and  '  Fellow- 
countrymen,'  as  if  he  was  fond  of  'em  and  thanked  'em  for 
coming.  I  can't  make  it  out,  but  they're  all  mixed  up  some- 
how or  another  with  that  unfort'nate  Bloody  Mary,  and  call 
her  name  out  till  they're  hoarse.  They're  all  Protestants 
too — every  man  and  boy  among  'em  :  and  Protestants  are 
very  fond  of  spoons  I  find,  and  silver-plate  in  general,  when- 
ever area-gates  is  left  open  accidentally.  I  wish  that  was 
the  woist  of  it,  and  that  no  more  harm  might  be  to  come  ; 


BARNABY  RUDGE  269 

but  if  you  don't  stop  these  ugly  customers  in  time,  Mr.  Gash- 
ford  (and  I  know  you  ;  you're  the  man  that  blows  the  fire), 
you'll  find  'em  grow  a  little  bit  too  strong  for  you.  One  of 
these  evenings,  when  the  weather  gets  warmer  and  Protest- 
ants are  thirsty,  they'll  be  pulling  London  down, — and  I 
never  heard  that  Bloody  Mary  went  as  far  as  that'' 

Gashford  had  vanished  long  ago,  and  these  remarks  had 
been  bestowed  on  empty  air.  Not  at  all  discomposed  by 
the  discovery,  John  Grueby  fixed  his  hat  on,  wrong  side 
foremost  that  he  might  be  unconscious  of  the  shadow  of  the 
obnoxious  cockade,  and  withdrew  to  bed  ;  shaking  his  head 
in  a  very  gloomy  and  pathetic  manner  until  he  reached  his 
chamber. 

CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

Gashford,  with  a  smiling  face,  but  still  with  looks  of  pro- 
found deference  and  humility,  betook  himself  toward  his 
master's  room,  smoothing  his  hair  down  as  he  went,  and 
humming  a  psalm  tune.  As  he  approached  Lord  George's 
door,  he  cleared  his  throat  and  hummed  more  vigorously. 

There  was  a  remarkable  contrast  between  this  man's 
occupation  at  the  moment,  and  the  expression  of  his  coun- 
tenance, which  was  singularly  repulsive  and  malicious. 
His  beetling  brow  almost  obscured  his  eyes  ;  his  lip  was 
curled  contemptuously  ;  his  very  shoulders  seemed  to  sneer 
in  stealthy  whisperings  with  his  great  flapped  ears. 

*'  Hush  !  "  he  muttered  softly,  as  he  peeped  in  at  the 
chamber-door.  *'  He  seems  to  be  asleep.  Pray  heaven  he 
is  !  Too  much  watching,  too  much  care,  too  much  thought — 
ah  !  Lord  preserve  him  for  a  martyr  !  He  is  a  saint,  if  ever 
saint  drew  breath  on  this  bad  earth." 

Placing  his  light  upon  a  table,  he  walked  on  tiptoe  to  the 
fire,  and  sitting  in  a  chair  before  it  with  his  back  toward  the 
bed,  went  on  communing  with  himself  like  one  who  thought 
aloud  : 

"  The  savior  of  his  country  and  his  country's  religion, 
the  friend  of  his  poor  countrymen,  the  enemy  of  the  proud  and 
harsh  ;  beloved  of  the  rejected  and  oppressed,  adored  by 
forty  thousand  bold  and  loyal  English  hearts — what  happy 
slumbers  his  should  be  !  "  And  here  he  sighed,  and  warmed 
his  hands,  and  shook  his  head  as  men  do  when  their  hearts 
are  full,  and  heaved  another  sigh,  and  warmed  his  hands 
again. 


270  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  Why,  Gashfcrd  ? "  said  Lord  George,  who  was  lying 
broad  awake,  upon  his  side,  and  had  been  staring  at  him 
from  his  entrance. 

"  My — my  lord,"  said  Gashford,  starting  and  looking 
round  as  though  in  great  surprise.    "  I  have  disturbed  you  !  " 

**  1  have  not  been  sleeping." 

"  Not  sleeping  !  "  he  repeated,  with  assumed  confusion. 
*'  What  can  I  say  for  having  in  your  presence  given  utter- 
ance to  thoughts — but  they  were  sincere — they  were  sin- 
cere !  "  exclaimed  the  secretary,  drawing  his  sleeve  in  a 
hasty  way  across  his  eyes  ;  "  and  why  should  I  regret  your 
having  heard  them  ?" 

"  Gashford,"  said  the  poor  lord,  stretching  out  his  hand 
with  manifest  emotion.  ''  Do  not  regret  it.  You  love  me 
well,  I  know — too  well.     I  don't  deserve  such  homage." 

Gashford  made  no  reply,  but  grasped  the  hand  and  pressed 
it  to  his  lips.  Then  rising,  and  taking  from  the  trunk  a 
little  desk,  he  placed  it  on  the  table  near  the  fire,  unlocked 
it  with  a  key  he  carried  in  his  pocket,  sat  down  before  it, 
took  out  a  pen,  and,  before  dipping  it  in  the  inkstand, 
sucked  it — to  compose  the  fashion  of  his  mouth  perhaps,  on 
which  a  smile  was  hovering  yet. 

"  How  do  our  numbers  stand  since  last  enrolling-night  ?  " 
inquired  Lord  George.  "Are  we  really  forty  "thousand 
strong,  or  do  we  still  speak  in  round  numbers  when  we  take 
the  association  at  that  amount  ?  " 

"  Our  total  now  exceeds  that  number  by  a  score  and 
three."     Gashford  replied,  casting  his  eyes  upon  his  papers. 

''  The  funds  !  " 

"  Not  very  improving  ;  but  there  is  some  manna  in  tlie  wil- 
derness, my  lord.  Hem  !  On  Friday  night  the  widows' 
mites  dropped  in.  *  Forty  scavengers,  three  and  fourpence. 
An  aged  pew-opener  of  St.  Martin's  parish,  sixpence.  A 
bell-ringer  of  the  established  church,  sixpence.  A  Protest- 
ant infant,  newly  born,  one  halfpenny.  The  United  Link 
Boys,  three  shillings — one  bad.  The  anti-Popish  prisoners 
in  Newgate,  five  and  four-pence.  A  friend  in  Bedlam,  half 
a  crown.     Dennis  the  hangman,  one  shilling." 

"  That  Dennis,"  said  his  lordship,  "  is  an  earnest  man.  I 
marked  him  in  the  crowd  in  Welbeck  Street,  last  Friday." 

"  A  good  man,"  rejoined  the  secretary,  "  a  staunch,  sincere, 
and  truly  zealous  man." 

"  He  should  be  encouraged,"  said  Lord  George.  "  Make 
a  note  of  Dennis.     I'll  talk  with  him." 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  271 

Gashford  obeyed,  and  went  on  reading  from  his  list  : 

"  '  The  Friends  of  Reason,  half  a  guinea.  The  Friends 
of  Liberty,  half  a  guinea.  The  Friends  of  Peace,  half  a 
guinea.  The  Friends  of  Charity,  half  a  guinea.  The 
Friends  of  Mercy,  half  a  guinea.  The  Associated  Remem- 
berers of  Bloody  Mary,  half  a  guinea.  The  United  Bull- 
dogs, half  a  guinea.'  " 

*'  The  United  Bull-dogs,"  said  Lord  George,  biting  his 
nails  most  horribly,  "  are  a  new  society,  are  they  not }  " 

"  Formerly  the  'Prentice  Knights,  my  lord.  The  indent- 
ures of  the  old  members  expiring  by  degrees,  they  changed 
their  name,  it  seems,  though  they  still  have  'prentices  among 
them,  as  well  as  workmen." 

**  What  is  their  president's  name  ?  "  inquired  Lord  George. 

"  President,"  said  Gashford,  reading,  "  Mr.  Simon  Tap- 
pertit." 

"  I  remember  him.  The  little  man,  who  sometimes  brings 
an  elderly  sister  to  our  meetings,  and  sometimes  another 
female  too,  who  is  conscientious,  I  have  no  doubt,  but  not 
well-favored  ?  " 

"  The  very  same,  my  lord." 

"  Tappertit  is  an  earnest  man,"  said  Lord  George,  thought- 
fully.    "  Eh,  Gashford  ?  " 

"  One  of  the  foremost  among  them  all,  my  lord.  He 
snuffs  the  battle  from  afar,  like  the  war-horse.  He  throws 
his  hat  up  in  the  street  as  if  he  were  inspired,  and  makes 
most  stirring  speeches  from  the  shoulders  of  his  friends." 

*'  Make  a  note  of  Tappertit,"  said  Lord  George  Gordon. 
*'  We  may  advance  him  to  a  place  of  trust." 

*'  That,"  rejoined  the  secretary,  doing  as  he  was  told,  "  is 
all — except  Airs.  Varden's  box  (fourteenth  time  of  opening), 
seven  shillings  and  sixpence  in  silver  and  copper,  and  a  half- 
a-guinea  in  gold  ;  and  Miggs  (being  the  saving  of  a  quarter's 
wages),  one  and  threepence." 

*  Miggs,"  said  Lord  George.     **  Is  that  a  man  ?  " 

"  The  name  is  entered  on  the  list  as  a  woman,"  replied 
the  secretary.  "  I  think  she  is  the  tall  spare  female  of 
whom  you  spoke  just  now,  my  lord,  as  not  being  well-fav- 
ored, who  sometimes  comes  to  hear  the  speeches — along  with 
Tappertit  and  Mrs.  Varden." 

"  Mrs.  Varden  is  the  elderly  lady  then,  is  she  ?  " 

The  secretary  nodded,  and  rubbed  the  bridge  of  his  nose 
with  the  feather  of  his  pen. 

"She  is  a  zealous  sister,"  said  Lord  George.     "Her  col- 


272  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

lection  goes  on  prosperously,  and  is  pursued  with  fervor. 
Has  her  husband  joined  ?  " 

"  A  malignant,"  returned  the  secretary,  folding  up  his 
papers.  "  Unworthy  of  such  a  wife.  He  remains  in  outer 
darkness  and  steadily  refuses." 

"  The  consequences  be  upon  his  own  head  ! — Gashford!  " 

"  My  lord  !  " 

"  You  don't  think,"  he  turned  restlessly  in  his  bed  as  he 
spoke,  "  these  people  will  desert  me,  when  the  hour  arrives  ? 
I  have  spoken  boldly  for  them,  ventured  much,  suppressed 
nothing.     They'll  not  fall  off,  will  they  ?  " 

"  No  fear  of  that,  my  lord,"  said  Gashford,  with  a  mean- 
ing look,  which  was  rather  the  involuntary  expression  of  his 
own  thoughts  than  intended  as  any  confirmation  of  his 
words,  for  the  other's  face  was  turned  away.  "  Be  sure 
there  is  no  fear  of  that." 

**  Nor,"  he  said  with  a  more  restless  motion  than  before, 
"  of  their — but  they  can  sustain  no  harm  from  leaguing  for 
this  purpose.  Right  is  on  our  side,  though  might  may  be 
against  us.   You  feel  as  sure  of  that  as  I — honestly,  you  do  ?  " 

The  secretary  was  beginning  with  "You  do  not  doubt," 
when  the  other  interrupted  him,  and  impatiently  rejoined  : 

"  Doubt.  No.  Who  says  I  doubt  ?  If  I  doubted  should 
I  cast  away  relatives,  friends,  every  thing,  for  this  unhappy 
country's  sake  ;  this  unhappy  country,"  he  cried,  springing 
up  in  bed,  after  repeating  the  phrase  "  unhappy  country's 
sake  "  to  himself,  at  least  a  dozen  times,  "  forsaken  of  God 
and  man,  delivered  over  to  a  dangerous  confederacy  of 
Popish  powers  ;  the  prey  of  corruption,  idolatry,  and  des- 
potism !  Who  says  I  doubt  ?  Am  I  called  and  chosen 
and  faithful  ?     Tell  me.     Am  I,  or  am  I  not  ?  " 

*'  To  God,  the  country,  and  yourself,"  cried  Gashford. 

"  I  am.  1  will  be.  I  say  again,  I  will  be  :  to  the  block. 
Who  says  as  much  ?     Do  you  ?  Does  any  man  alive  ?  " 

The  secretary  drooped  his  head  with  an  expression  of  per- 
fect acquiescence  in  any  thing  that  had  been  said  or  might 
be  ;  and  Lord  George  gradually  sinking  down  upon  his  pil- 
low, fell  asleep. 

Although  there  was  something  very  ludicrous  in  his  vehe- 
ment manner,  taken  in  conjunction  with  his  meager  aspect 
and  ungraceful  presence,  it  would  scarcely  have  provoked  a 
smile  in  any  man  of  kindly  feelings  ;  or  even  if  it  had,  he 
would  have  felt  sorry  and  almost  angry  with  himself  next 
moment^  for  yielding  to  the  io7 pulse.     *  his  lord  was  sincere 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  273 

in  his  violence  and  in  his  wavering.  A  nature  prone  to  false 
enthusiasm,  and  the  vanity  of  being  a  leader,  were  the  worst 
qualities  apparent  in  his  composition.  All  the  rest  was 
weakness — sheer  weakness  ;  and  it  is  the  unhappy  lot  of 
thouroughly  weak  men,  that  their  very  sympathies,  affections, 
confidences — all  the  qualities  which  in  better  constituted 
minds,  are  virtues — dwindle  into  foibles,  or  turn  into  down- 
right vices. 

Gashford,  with  many  a  sly  look  toward  the  bed,  sat 
chuckling  at  his  master's  folly,  until  his  deep  and  heavy 
breathing  warned  him  that  he  might  retire.  Locking  his 
desk,  and  replacing  it  within  the  trunk  (but  not  before  he 
had  taken  from  a  secret  lining  two  printed  handbills),  he 
cautiously  withdrew  ;  looking  back,  as  he  went,  at  the  pale 
face  of  the  slumbering  man,  above  whose  head  the  dusty 
plumes  that  crowned  the  Maypole  couch,  waved  drearily  and 
sadly  as  though  it  were  a  bier. 

Stopping  on  the  staircase  to  listen  that  all  was  quiet,  and 
to  take  off  his  shoes  lest  his  footsteps  should  alarm  any 
light  sleeper  who  might  be  near  at  hand,  he  descended  to  the 
ground-floor,  and  thrust  one  of  his  bills  beneath  the  great 
door  of  the  house.  That  done,  he  crept  softly  back  to  his 
own  chamber,  and  from  the  window  let  another  fall — care- 
fully wrapped  round  a  stone  to  save  it  from  the  wind — into 
the  yard  below. 

They  were  addressed  on  the  back  "  To  every  Protestant 
into  whose  hands  this  shall  come,"  and  bore  within  what  fol- 
lows : 

"  Men  and  brethren.  Whoever  shall  find  this  letter,  will 
take  it  as  a  warning  to  join,  without  delay,  the  friends  of 
Lord  George  Gordon.  There  are  great  events  at  hand  ; 
and  the  times  are  dangerous  and  troubled.  Read  this  care- 
fully, keep  it  clean,  and  drop  it  somewhere  else.  For  King 
and  Country.     Union." 

'*  More  seed,  more  seed,"  said  Gashford,  as  he  closed  the 
window.     "  When  will  the  harvest  come  !  " 


CHAPTER  XXXVn. 

To  surround  any  thing,  however  monstrous  or  ridiculous, 
with  an  air  of  mystery,  is  to  invest  it  with  a  secret  charm, 
and  power  of  attraction  which  to  the  crowd  is  irresistible. 
False  priests,  false  prophets,  false  doctors,  false  patriots, 


2  74  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

false  prodigies  of  every  kind,  veiling  their  proceedings  in 
mystery,  have  always  addressed  themselves  at  an  immense 
advantage  to  the  popular  credulity,  and  have  been,  perhaps, 
more  indebted  to  that  resource  in  gaining  and  keeping  for 
a  time  the  upper  hand  of  truth  and  common  sense,  than  to 
any  half-dozen  items  in  the  whole  catalogue  of  imposture. 
Curiosity  is,  and  has  been  from  the  creation  of  the  world,  a 
master  passion.  To  awaken  it,  to  gratify  it  by  slight  degrees, 
and  yet  leave  something  always  in  suspense,  is  to  establish 
the  surest  hold  that  can  be  had,  in  wrong,  on  the  unthinking 
portion  of  mankind. 

If  a  man  had  stood  on  London  Bridge,  calling  till  he  was 
hoarse,  upon  the  passers-by,  to  join  with  Lord  George  Gor- 
don, although  for  an  object  which  no  man  understood,  and 
which  in  that  very  incident  had  a  charm  of  its  own — the 
probability  is,  that  he  might  have  influenced  a  score  of  peo- 
ple in  a  month.  If  all  zealous  Protestants  had  been  pub- 
licly urged  to  join  an  association  for  the  avowed  purpose  of 
singing  a  hymn  or  two  occasionally,  and  hearing  some  in- 
different speeches  made,  and  ultimately  of  petitioning  parlia- 
ment not  to  pass  an  act  for  abolishing  the  penal  laws  against 
Roman  Catholic  priests,  the  penalty  of  perpetual  imprison- 
ment denounced  against  those  who  educated  children  in  that 
persuasion,  and  the  disqualification  of  all  members  of  the 
Romish  church  to  inherit  real  property  in  the  United  King- 
dom by  the  right  of  purchase  or  descent — matters  so  far 
removed  from  the  business  and  bosoms  of  the  mass,  might 
perhaps  have  called  together  a  hundred  people.  But  when 
vague  rumors  got  abroad  that  in  this  Protestant  association 
a  secret  power  was  mustering  against  the  government  for 
undefined  and  mighty  purposes  ;  when  the  air  was  filled  with 
whispers  of  a  confederacy  among  the  Popish  powers  to  de- 
grade and  enslave  England,  establish  an  inquisition  in  Lon- 
don, and  turn  the  pens  of  Smithfield  market  into  stakes  and 
caldrons  ;  when  terrors  and  alarms  which  no  man  under- 
stood were  perpetually  broached,  both  in  and  out  of  parlia- 
ment, by  one  enthusiast,  who  did  not  understand  himself, 
and  by-gone  bugbears  which  had  lain  quietly  in  their  graves 
for  centuries,  were  raised  again  to  haunt  the  ignorant  and 
credulous  ;  when  all  this  was  done,  as  it  were,  in  the  dark, 
and  secret  invitations  to  join  the  Great  Protestant  Associa- 
tion in  defense  of  religion,  life,  and  liberty,  were  dropped  in 
the  public  ways,  thrust  under  the  house-doors,  tossed  in  at 
windows,  and  pressed  into  the  hands  of  tliose  who  trod  chg 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  275 

streets  by  night  ;  when  they  glared  from  every  wall,  and 
shone  on  every  post  and  pillar,  so  that  stocks  and  stones  ap- 
peared infected  with  the  common  fear,  urging  all  men  to 
join  together  blindfold  in  resistance  of  they  knew  not  what, 
they  knew  not  why  ; — then  the  mania  spread  indeed,  and  the 
body,  still  increasing  every  day,  grew  forty  thousand  strong. 

So  said,  at  least,  in  this  month  of  March,  17  So,  Lord 
George  Gordon,  the  association's  president.  Whether  it 
was  the  fact  or  otherwise,  few  men  knew  or  cared  to  ascer- 
tain. It  had  never  made  any  public  demonstration  ;  had 
scarcely  ever  been  heard  of,  save  through  him  ;  had  never 
been  seen  ;  and  was  supposed  by  many  to  be  the  mere  creat- 
ure of  his  disordered  brain.  He  was  accustomed  to  talk 
largely  about  numbers  of  men — stimulated,  as  it  was  inferred, 
by  certain  successful  disturbances,  arising  out  of  the  same 
subject,  which  had  occurred  in  Scotland  in  the  previous  year  ; 
was  looked  upon  as  a  cracked-brained.member  of  the  lower 
House,  who  attacked  all  parties  and  sided  with  none,  and  was 
very  little  regarded.  It  was  known  that  there  was  discon- 
tent abroad — there  always  is  ;  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
address  the  people  by  placard,  speech,  and  pamphlet,  upon 
other  questions  ;  nothing  had  come,  in  England,  of  his  past 
exertions,  and  nothing  was  apprehended  from  his  present. 
Just  as  he  has  come  upon  the  reader,  he  had  come,  from  time 
to  time,  upon  the  public,  and  been  forgotten  in  a  day  ;  as 
suddenly  as  he  appears  in  these  pages,  after  a  blank  of  five 
long  years,  did  he  and  his  proceedings  begin  to  force  them- 
selves, about  this  period,  upon  the  notice  of  thousands  of  peo- 
ple, who  had  mingled  in  active  life  during  the  whole  interval, 
and  who,  without  being  deaf  or  blind  to  passing  events,  had 
scarcely  ever  thought  of  him  before. 

*'  My  lord,"  said  Gashford  in  his  ear,  as  he  drew  the  cur- 
tains of  his  bed  betimes  ;  "  my  lord  !  " 

"  Yes— vv^ho's  that  ?     What  is  it?" 

"  The  clock  has  struck  nine,"  returned  the  secretary,  with 
meekly  folded  hands.  "  You  have  slept  well  ?  I  hope  you 
have  slept  well  ?  If  my  prayers  are  heard,  you  are  refreshed 
indeed." 

"  To  say  the  truth,  I  have  slept  so  soundly,"  said  Lord 
George,  rubbing  his  eyes  and  looking  round  the  room,  "  that 
I  don't  remember  quite — what  place  is  this?" 

'*  My  lord  !  "  cried  Gashford,  with  a  smile. 

"  Oh  !  "  returned  his  superior.  "  Yes.  You're  not  a  Jew 
then?" 


276  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  A  Jew  !  "  exclaimed  the  pious  secretary,  recoiling. 

"  I  dreamed  that  we  were  Jews,  Gashford.  You  and  I — 
both  of  us — Jews  with  long  beards." 

**  Heaven  forbid,  my  lord  !     We  might  as  well  be  Papists." 

"  I  suppose  we  might,"  returned  the  other,  very  quickly. 
*'  Eh  ?     You  really  think  so,  Gashford  ?  " 

"  Surely  I  do,"  the  secretary  cried,  with  looks  of  great 
surprise. 

"  Humph  !  "  he  muttered.     *'  Yes,  that  seems  reasonable." 

"  I  hope,  my  lord "  the  secretary  began. 

"Hope!"  he  echoed,  interrupting  him.  "  Why  do  you 
say  you  hope  ?     There's  no  harm  in  thinking  of  such  things." 

''  Not  in  dreams,"  returned  the  secretary. 

"In  dreams  !     No,  nor  waking  either." 

— "  *  Called,  and  chosen,  and  faithful,'  "  said  Gashford, 
taking  up  Lord  George's  watch  which  lay  upon  a  chair,  and 
seeming  to  read  the  inscription  on  the  seal,  abstractedly. 

It  was  the  slightest  action  possible,  not  obtruded  on  his 
notice,  and  apparently  the  result  of  a  moment's  absence  of 
mind,  not  worth  remark.  But  as  the  words  were  uttered, 
Lord  George,  who  had  been  going  on  impetuously,  stopped 
short,  reddened,  and  was  silent.  Apparently  quite  uncon- 
scious of  this  change  in  his  demeanor,  the  wily  secretary 
stepped  a  little  apart,  under  pretense  of  pulling  up  the 
window-blind,  and  returning  when  the  other  had  had  time 
to  recover,  said  : 

"  The  holy  cause  goes  bravely  on,  my  lord.  I  was  not 
idle,  even  last  night.  I  dropped  two  of  the  handbills  before 
I  went  to  bed,  and  both  are  gone  this  morning.  Nobody  in 
the  house  has  mentioned  the  circumstance  of  finding  them, 
though  I  have  been  down  stairs  full  half  an  hour.  One  or 
two  recruits  will  be  their  first  fruit,  I  predict  ;  and  who  shall 
say  how  many  more,  with  heaven's  blessing  on  your  inspired 
exertions  !  " 

"  It  was  a  famous  device  in  the  beginning,"  replied  Lord 
George  ;  "  an  excellent  device,  and  did  good  service  in  Scot- 
land. It  was  quite  worthy  of  you.  You  remind  me  not  to  be 
a  sluggard,  Gashford,  when  the  vineyard  is  menaced  with  de- 
struction, and  may  be  trodden  down  by  Papist  feet.  Let  the 
horses  be  saddled  in  half  an  hour.  W^e  must  be  up  and 
doing  ! " 

He  said  this  with  a  heightened  color,  and  in  a  tone  of  such 
enthusiasm,  that  the  secretary  deemed  all  further  prompting 
needless,  and  withdrew. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  277 

— "  Dreamed  he  was  a  Jew,"  he  said  thoughtfully,  as  he 
closed  the  bedroom  door.  "  He  may  come  to  that  before  he 
dies.  It's  like  enough.  Well  !  After  a  time,  and  provided 
I  lost  nothing  by  it,  I  don't  see  why  that  religion  shouldn't 
suit  me  as  well  as  any  other.  There  are  rich  men  among  the 
Jews  ;  shaving  is  very  troublesome  ; — yes,  it  would  suit  me 
well  enough.  For  the  present,  though,  we  must  be  Christian 
to  the  core.  Our  prophetic  motto  will  suit  all  creeds  in  their 
turn,  that's  a  comfort."  Reflecting  on  the  source  of  con- 
solation, he  reached  the  sitting-room,  and  rang  the  bell  for 
breakfast. 

Lord  George  was  quickly  dressed  (for  his  plain  toilet  was 
easily  made),  and  as  he  was  no  less  frugal  in  his  repasts  than 
in  his  Puritan  attire,  his  share  of  the  meal  was  soon  dis- 
patched. The  secretary,  however,  more  devoted  to  the  good 
things  of  this  world,  or  more  intent  on  sustaining  his  strength 
and  spirits  for  the  sake  of  the  Protestant  cause,  ate  and 
drank  to  the  last  minute,  and  required  indeed  some  three  or 
four  reminders  from  John  Grueby,  before  he  could  resolve 
to  tear  himself  away  from  Mr.  Willet's  plentiful  providing. 

At  length  he  came  down  stairs,  wiping  his  greasy  mouth, 
and  having  paid  John  Willet's  bill,  climbed  into  his  saddle. 
Lord  George,  who  had  been  walking  up  and  down  before  the 
house  talking  to  himself  with  earnest  gestures,  mounted  his 
horse  ;  and  returning  old  John  Willet's  stately  bow,  as  well 
as  the  parting  salutation  of  a  dozen  idlers  whom  the  rumor 
of  a  live  lord  being  about  to  leave  the  Maypole  had  gathered 
round  the  porch,  they  rode  away,  with  stout  John  Grueby  in 
the  rear. 

If  Lord  George  Gordon  had  appeared  in  the  eyes  of  Mr. 
Willet,  overnight,  a  nobleman  of  somewhat  quaint  and  odd 
exterior,  the  impression  was  confirmed  this  morning,  and 
increased  a  hundred-fold.  Sitting  bolt  upright  upon  his  bony 
steed,  with  his  long,  straight  hair  dangling  about  his  face  and 
fluttering  in  the  wind  ;  his  limbs  all  angular  and  rigid,  his 
elbows  stuck  out  on  either  side  ungracefully,  and  his  whole 
frame  jogged  and  shaken  at  every  motion  of  his  horse's  feet  ; 
a  more  grotesque  or  more  ungainly  figure  can  hardly  be  con- 
ceived. In  lieu  of  whip,  he  carried  in  his  hand  a  great  gold- 
headed  cane,  as  large  as  any  footman  carries  in  these  days  ; 
and  his  various  modes  of  holding  this  unwieldy  weapon — 
now  upright  before  his  face  like  the  saber  of  a  horse 
soldier,  now  over  his  shoulder  like  a  musket,  now  between 
his  finger  and  thumb,  but  always  in  some   uncouth  and 


278  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

awkward  fashion — contributed  in  no  small  degree  to  the 
absurdity  of  his  appearance.  Stiff,  lank,  and  solemn, 
dressed  in  an  unusual  manner,  and  ostentatiously  exhib- 
iting— whether  by  design  or  accident — all  his  peculiarities 
of  carriage,  gesture,  and  conduct,  all  the  qualities,  natural 
and  artificial,  in  which  he  differed  from  other  men  ;  he 
might  have  moved  the  sternest  looker-on  to  laughter,  and 
fully  provoked  the  smiles  and  whispered  jests  which  greeted 
his  departure  from  the  Maypole  Inn. 

Quite  unconscious,  however,  of  the  effect  he  produced, 
he  trotted  on  beside  his  secretary,  talking  to  himself 
nearly  all  the  way,  until  they  came  within  a  mile  or  two  of 
London,  when  now  and  then  some  passenger  went  by  who 
knew  him  by  sight,  and  pointed  him  out  to  some  one 
else,  and  perhaps  stood  looking  after  him,  and  cried  in  jest 
or  in  earnest  as  might  be,  "  Hurrah,  Geordie  !  No 
Popery  !  "  At  which  he  would  gravely  pull  off  his  hat 
and  bow.  When  they  reached  the  town  and  rode  along 
the  streets,  these  notices  became  more  frequent ;  some 
laughed,  some  hissed,  some  turned  their  heads  and  smiled, 
some  wondered  who  he  was,  some  ran  along  the  pavement 
by  his  side  and  cheered.  When  this  happened  in  a  crush  of 
carts  and  chairs  and  coaches,  he  would  make  a  dead  stop, 
and  pulling  off  his  hat,  cry,  "Gentlemen,  No  Popery  !  "  to 
which  the  gentlemen  would  respond  with  lusty  voices,  and 
with  three  times  three  ;  and  then,  on  he  would  go  again 
with  a  score  or  so  of  the  raggedest,  following  at  his  horse's 
heels,  and  shouting  till  their  throats  were  parched. 

The  old  ladies  too — there  were  a  great  many  old  ladies  in 
the  streets,  and  these  all  knew  him.  Some  of  them — not 
those  of  the  higliest  rank,  but  such  as  sold  fruit  from  bas- 
kets and  carried  burdens — clapped  their  shriveled  hands, 
raised  a  weazen,  piping,  shrill  "  Hurrah,  my  lord."  Others 
waved  their  hands  or  handkerchiefs,  or  shook  their  fans  or 
parasols,  or  threw  up  windows  and  called  in  haste  to  those 
within,  to  come  and  see.  All  these  marks  of  popular 
esteem,  he  received  with  profound  gravity  and  respect ; 
bowing  very  low,  and  so  frequently  that  his  hat  was  more 
off  his  head  than  on  ;  and  looking  up  at  the  houses  as  he 
passed  along,  with  the  air  of  one  who  was  making  a  public 
entry,  and  yet  was  not  puffed  up  or  proud. 

So  they  rode  (to  the  deep  and  unspeakable  disgust  of 
John  Grueby)  the  whole  length  of  Whitechapel,  Leaden- 
hall  Street,  and  Clieapside,  and  into  St.  Paul's  church-yard. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  279 

Arriving  close  to  the  cathedral,  he  halted  ;  spoke  to  Gash- 
ford  ;  and  looking  upward  at  its  lofty  dome,  shook  his  head, 
as  though  he  said  "  The  Church  in  Danger  !  "  Then  to  be 
sure  the  bystanders  stretched  their  throats  indeed  ;  and  he 
went  on  again  with  mighty  acclamations  from  the  mob,  and 
lower  bows  than  ever. 

So  along  the  Strand,  up  Swallow  Street,  into  the  Oxford 
Road,  and  thence  to  his  house  in  Welbeck  Street,  near  Cav- 
endish Square,  whither  he  was  attended  by  a  few  dozen 
idlers  ;  of  whom  he  took  leave  on  the  steps  with  this  brief 
parting,  "  Gentlemen,  No  Popery.  Good-day.  God  bless 
you."  This  being  rather  a  shorter  address  than  they 
expected,  was  received  with  some  displeasure,  and  cries  of 
"  A  speech  !  a  speech  !  "  which  might  have  been  complied 
with,  but  that  John  Grueby,  making  a  mad  charge  upon 
them  with  all  three  horses,  on  his  way  to  the  stables, 
caused  them  to  disperse  into  the  adjoining  fields,  where 
they  presently  fell  to  pitch  and  toss,  chuck-farthing,  odd  or 
even,  dog-fighting,  and  other  Protestant  recreations. 

In  the  afternoon  Lord  George  came  forth  again,  dressed 
in  a  black  velvet  coat,  and  trowsers  and  waistcoat  of  the 
Gordon  plaid,  all  of  the  same  Quaker  cut  ;  and  in  this  cos- 
tume, which  made  him  look  a  dozen  times  more  strange  and 
singular  than  before,  went  down  on  foot  to  Westminster. 
Gashford,  meanwhile,  bestirred  himself  in  business  matters  ; 
with  which  he  was  still  engaged  when,  shortly  after  dusk, 
John  Grueby  entered  and  announced  a  visitoro 

"  Let  him  come  in,"  said  Gashford. 

"Here  !  come  in  !  "  growled  John  to  somebody  without : 
"  you're  a  Protestant,  an't  you  ?  " 

"  /  should  think  so,"  replied  a  deep  gruff  voice. 

"You've  the  looks  of  it,"  said  John  Grueby,  "  I'd  have 
known  you  for  one,  anywhere."  With  which  remark  he 
gave  the  visitor  admission,  retired,  and  shut  the  door. 

The  man  who  now  confronted  Gashford,  was  a  squat, 
thick-set  personage,  with  a  low  retreating  forehead,  a  coarse 
shock  head  of  hair,  and  eyes  so  small  and  near  together  that 
his  broken  nose  alone  seemed  to  prevent  their  meeting  and 
fusing  into  one  of  the  usual  size.  A  dingy  handkerchief 
twisted  like  a  cord  about  his  neck,  left  its  great  veins  ex- 
posed to  view,  and  they  were  swollen  and  starting,  as  though 
with  gulping  down  strong  passions,  malice,  and  ill-will.  His 
dress  was  of  threadbare  velveteen — a  faded,  rusty,  whitened 
black,  like  the  ashes  of  a  pipe  or  coal  fire  after  a  day's 


28o  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

extinction  ;  discolored  with  the  soils  of  many  a  debauch, 
and  reeking  yet  with  pot-house  odors.  In  lieu  of  buckles 
at  his  knees,  he  wore  unequal  loops  of  pack-thread  ;  and  in 
his  grimy  hands  he  held  a  knotted  stick,  the  knob  of  which 
was  carved  into  a  rough  likeness  of  his  own  vile  face.  Such 
was  the  visitor  who  doffed  his  three-cornered  hat  in  Gash- 
ford's  presence,  and  waited,  leering,  for  his  notice. 

''Ah  !     Dennis  !  "  cried  the  secretary.     "  Sit  down." 

**  I  see  my  lord  down  yonder — "  cried  the  man,  with  a 
jerk  of  his  thumb  toward  the  quarter  that  he  spoke  of, "  and 
he  says  to  me,  says  my  lord,  '  if  you've  nothing  to  do, 
Dennis,  go  up  to  my  house  and  talk  with  Muster  Gashford.' 
Of  course  I've  nothing  to  do,  you  know.  These  an't  my 
working  hours.  Ha,  ha  !  I  was  a-taking  the  air  when  I 
see  my  lord,  that's  what  I  was  doing.  I  takes  the  air  by 
night,  as  the  howls  does,  Muster  Gashford." 

"And  sometimes  in  the  daytime,  eh.^"  said  the  secretary 
— "  when  you  go  out  in  state,  you  know." 

"  Ha,  ha  ! "  roared  the  fellow,  smiting  his  leg;  "for  a 
gentleman  as  'ull  say  a  pleasant  thing  in  a  pleasant  way, 
give  me  Muster  Gashford  agin'  all  London  an' Westminster  ! 
My  lord  an't  a  bad  'un  at  that,  but  he's  a  fool  to  you.  Ah 
to  be  sure — when  I  go  out  in  state." 

"  And  have  your  carriage,"  said  the  secretary  ;  "  and  your 
chaplain,  eh  ?  and  ail  the  rest  of  it  ? " 

"  You'll  be  the  death  of  me,"  cried  Dennis,  with  another 
roar,  "you  will.  But  what's  in  the  wind  now,  Muster  Gash- 
ford," he  asked  hoarsely,  "  eh  ?  Are  we  to  be  under  orders 
to  pull  down  one  of  them  Popish  chapels — or  what  ?  " 

"  Hush  !  "  said  the  secretary,  suffering  the  faintest  smile 
to  play  upon  his  face.  "  Hush  !  God  bless  me,  Dennis  ! 
We  associate,  you  know,  for  strictly  peaceable  and  lawful 
purposes." 

"/  know,  bless  you,"  returned  the  man,  thrusting  his 
tongue  into  his  cheek,  "  I  entered  a'  purpose,  didn't  I  !  " 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Gashford,  smiling  as  before.  And  when 
he  said  so,  Dennis  roared  again,  and  smote  his  leg  still 
harder,  and,  falling  into  fits  of  laughter,  wiped  his  eyes  with 
the  corner  of  his  neckerchief,  and  cried  "  Muster  Gashford 
agin'  all  England  hollow  !  " 

"  Lord  George  and  I  were  talking  of  you  last  night,"  said 
Gashford,  after  a  pause.  "  He  says  you  are  a  very  earnest 
fellow." 

"So  I  am,"  returned  the  hangman. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  281 

"  And  that  you  truly  hate  the  Papists." 

"  So  I  do,"  and  he  confirmed  it  with  a  good  round  oath. 
"Lookye  here,  Muster  Gasiiford,"  said  the  fellow,  laying 
his  hat  and  stick  upon  the  floor,  and  slowly  beating  the  palm 
of  one  hand  with  the  fingers  of  the  other  ;  "  Ob-serve.  I'm 
a  constitutional  officer  that  works  for  my  living,  and  does 
my  work  creditable.     Do  I,  or  do  I  not  ? " 

"  Unquestionably." 

"  Very  good.  Stop  a  minute.  My  work  is  sound,  Protest- 
ant, constitutional,  English  work.     Is  it,  or  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  No  man  alive  can  doubt  it." 

"  Nor  dead  neither.  Parliament  says  this  here — says 
parliament,  '  If  any  man,  woman,  or  child,  does  any  thing 
which  goes  again  a  certain  number  of  our  acts' — how  many 
hanging  lav/s  may  there  be  at  this  present  time,  Muster 
Gashford  ?     Fifty  ?  " 

"  I  don't  exactly  know  how  many,"  replied  Gashford, 
leaning  back  in  his  chair  and  yawning  ;  "  a  great  number 
though." 

*'  Well,  say  fifty.  Parliament  says  *  If  any  man,  woman, 
or  child,  does  any  thing  again  any  one  of  them  fifty  acts, 
that  man,  woman,  or  child,  shall  be  worked  off  by  Dennis.' 
George  the  Third  steps  in  when  they  number  very  strong  at 
the  end  of  a  sessions,  and  says  '  These  are  too  many  for 
Dennis.  I'll  have  half  for  myseU  and  Dennis  shall  have 
half  for  /ii/me\(  ;  and  sometimes  he  throws  me  in  one  over 
that  I  don't  expect,  as  he  did  three  year  ago,  when  I  got 
Mary  Jones,  a  young  woman  of  nineteen  who  come  up  to 
Tyburn  with  a  infant  at  her  breast,  and  was  worked  off  for 
taking  a  piece  of  cloth  off  the  counter  of  a  shop  in  Ludgate 
Hill,  and  putting  it  down  again  when  the  shopman  see  her  ; 
and  who  had  never  done  harm  before,  and  only  tried  to  do 
that,  in  consequence  of  her  husband  having  been  pressed 
three  weeks  previous,  and  she  being  left  to  beg,  with  two 
young  childien — as  was  proved  upon  the  trial.  Ha,  ha  ! — 
Well  !  That  being  the  law  and  the  practice  of  England,  is 
the  glory  of  England,  an't  it.  Muster  Gashford  ?" 

"Certainly,"  said  the  secretary. 

"And  in  times  to  come,"  pursued  the  hangman,  "if  our 
grandsons  should  think  of  their  grandfathers'  times,  and 
find  these  things  altered,  they'll  say  *  Those  were  days 
indeed,  and  we've  been  going  down  hill  ever  since.'  Won't 
they,  Muster  Gashford  ? " 

"I  have  no  doubt  they  will,"  said  the  secretary. 


282  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  Well  then,  look  here,"  said  the  hangman.  "  If  these  Papists 
gets  into  power,  and  begins  to  boil  and  roast  instead  of  hang, 
what  becomes  of  my  work  ?  If  they  touch  my  work  that's  a 
part  of  so  many  laws,  what  becomes  of  the  laws  in  general, 
what  becomes  of  the  religion,  what  becomes  of  the  country  ! 
— Did  you  ever  go  to  church,  Muster  Gashford  ?  ' 

*' Ever? "  repeated  the  secretary  with  some  indignation; 
"of  course." 

*'  Well,"  said  the  ruffian,  "  I've  been  once — twice,  count- 
ing the  time  I  was  christened — and  when  I  heard  the  parlia- 
ment prayed  for,  and  thought  how  many  new  hanging  laws 
they  made  every  session,  I  considered  that  /  was  prayed 
for.  Now  mind,  Muster  Gashford,"  said  the  fellow,  taking 
up  his  stick  and  shaking  it  with  a  ferocious  air,  "  I  mustn't 
have  my  Protestant  work  touched,  nor  this  here  Protestant 
state  of  things  altered  in  no  degree,  if  I  can  help  it ;  -I 
mustn't  have  no  Papists  interfering  with  me,  unless  they 
come  to  be  worked  off  in  course  of  law  ;  I  mustn't  have  no 
biling,  no  roasting,  no  frying — nothing  but  hanging.  My 
lord  may  well  call  me  an  earnest  fellow.  In  support  of  the 
great  Protestant  principle  of  having  plenty  of  that,  I'll," 
and  here  he  beat  his  club  upon  the  ground,  "  burn,  fight,  kill 
■ — do  any  thing  you  bid  me,  so  that  it's  bold  and  devilisn — 
though  the  end  of  it  was,  that  I  got  hung  myself.  There, 
Muster  Gashford  !  " 

He  appropriately  followed  up  this  frequent  prostitution  of 
a  noble  word  to  the  rilest  purpose,  by  pouring  out  in  a  kind 
of  ecstasy  at  least  a  score  of  tremendous  oaths  ;  then  wiped 
his  heated  face  upon  his  neckerchief,  and  cried,  *'  No  Popery  ! 
I'm  a  religious  man,  by  G —  !  " 

Gashford  had  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  regarding  him  with 
eyes  so  sunken,  and  so  shadowed  by  his  heavy  brows,  that 
for  aught  the  hangman  saw  of  them,  he  might  have  been 
stone-blind.  He  remained  smiling  in  silence  for  a  short  time 
longer,  and  then  said  slowly  and  distinctly  : 

"You  are  indeed  an  earnest  fellow,  Dennis — a  most  valu- 
able fellow — the  staunchest  man  I  know  of  in  our  ranks. 
But  you  must  calm  yourself  ;  you  must  be  peaceful,  lawful, 
mild  as  any  lamb.     I  am  sure  you  will  be  though." 

"Ay,  ay,  we  shall  see,  Muster  Gashford,  we  shall  see. 
You  won't  have  to  complain  of  me,"  returned  the  other, 
shaking  his  head. 

"  I  am  sure  I  shall  not,"  said  the  secretary,  in  the  same 
mild  tone,  and  with  the  same  emphasis.     "  We  shall  have. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  283 

we  til  ink,  about  next  month,  or  May,  when  this  Papist  relief 
Bill  comes  before  the  House,  to  convene  our  whole  body  for 
the  first  time.  My  lord  has  thoughts  of  our  walking  in  pro- 
cession through  the  streets — just  as  an  innocent  display  of 
strength — and  accompanying  our  petition  down  to  the  door 
of  the  House  of  Commons." 

"  The  sooner  the  better,"  said  Dennis,  with  another  oath. 

"  We  shall  have  to  draw  up  in  divisions,  our  numbers  be- 
ing so  large  ;  and,  I  believe  I  may  venture  to  say,"  resumed 
Gashford,  affecting  not  to  hear  the  interruption,  "  though  I 
have  no  direct  instructions  to  that  effect — that  Lord  George 
has  thought  of  you  as  an  excellent  leader  for  one  of  these 
parties.     I  have  no  doubt  you  would  be  an  admirable  one." 

''  Try  me,"  said  the  fellow,  with  an  ugly  wink. 

"  You  would  be  cool,  I  know,"  pursued  the  secretary,  still 
smiling,  and  still  managing  his  eyes  so  that  he  could  watch 
him  closely,  and  really  not  be  seen  in  turn,  "  obedient  to 
orders,  and  perfectly  temperate.  You  would  lead  your  party 
into  no  danger,  I  am  certain." 

*'  I'd  lead  them.  Muster  Gashford," — the  hangman  was 
beginning  in  a  reckless  way,  when  Gashford  started  for- 
ward, laid  his  finger  on  his  lips,  and  feigned  to  write,  just  as 
the  door  was  opened  by  John  Grueby. 

"Oh!"  said  John,  looking  in  ;  "  here's  another  Protest- 
ant." 

"  Some  other  room,  John,"  cried  Gashford,  in  his  blandest 
voice.     "  I  am  engaged  just  now." 

But  John  had  brought  this  new  visitor  to  the  door,  and 
he  walked  in  unbidden,  as  the  words  were  uttered  ;  giving 
to  view  the  form  and  features,  rough  attire,  and  reckless 
air,  of  Hugh. 


CHAPTER  XXXVni. 

The  secretary  put  his  hand  before  his  eyes  to  shade  them 
from  the  glare  of  the  lamp,  and  for  some  moments  looked 
at  Hugh  with  a  frowning  brow,  as  if  he  remembered  to  have 
seen  him  lately,  but  could  not  call  to  mind  where,  or  on 
what  occasion.  His  uncertainty  was  very  brief,  for  before 
Hugh  had  spoken  a  word,  he  said,  as  his  countenance 
cleared  up  : 

"  Ay,  ay,  I  recollect.  It's  quite  right,  John,  you  needn't 
wait.     Don't  go,  Dennis." 


284  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  Your  servant,  master,"  said  Hugh,  as  Grueby  disap- 
peared. 

"  Yours,  friend,"  returned  the  secretary  in  his  smoothest 
manner,  "  What  brings  j'i7«  here  ?  We  left  nothing  behind 
us,  I  hope  ?  " 

Hugh  gave  a  short  laugh,  and  thrusting  his  hand  into  his 
breast,  produced  one  of  the  handbills,  soiled  and  dirty  from 
lying  out  of  doors  all  night,  which  he  laid  upon  the  sec- 
retary's desk  after  flattening  it  upon  his  knee,  and  smoothing 
out  the  wrinkles  with  his  heavy  palm. 

"  Nothing  but  that,  master.  It  fell  into  good  hands^  you 
see." 

"  What  is  this  !  "  said  Gashford,  turning  it  over  with  an  air 
of  perfe'^tly  natural  surprise.  "  Where  did  you  get  it  from, 
my  good  fellow  ;  what  does  it  mean  ?  I  don't  understand 
this  at  all." 

A  little  disconcerted  by  this  reception,  Hugh  looked  from 
the  secretary  to  Dennis,  who  had  risen  and  was  standing  at 
the  table  too,  observing  the  stranger  by  stealth,  and  seeming 
to  derive  the  utmost  satisfaction  from  his  manners  and  ap- 
pearance. Considering  himself  silently  appealed  to  by  this 
action,  Mr.  Dennis  shook  his  head  thrice,  as  if  to  say  of 
Gashford,  ''No.  He  don't  know  anything  at  all  about  it. 
I  know  he  don't.  I'll  take  my  oath  he  don't  ;  "  and  hiding 
his  profile  from  Hugh  with  one  long  end  of  his  frowsy  necker- 
chief, nodded  and  chuckled  behind  this  screen  in  extreme 
approval  of  the  secretary's  proceedings. 

"  It  tells  the  man  that  finds  it  to  come  here,  don't  it  ? " 
asked  Hugh.  "  I'm  no  scholar,  myself,  but  I  showed  it  to  a 
friend,  and  he  said  it  did." 

"  It  certainly  does,"  said  Gashford,  opening  his  eyes  to 
their  utmost  width  ;  "  really  this  is  the  most  remarkable  cir- 
cumstance I  hav§  ever  known.  How  did  you  come  by  this 
piece  of  paper,  my  good  friend  ? " 

**  Muster  Gashford,"  wheezed  the  hangman  under  his 
breath,  *'  ag?in'  all  Newgate  !  " 

Whether  Hugh  heard  him,  or  saw  by  his  manner  that  he 
was  being  played  upon,  or  perceived  the  secretary's  drift  of 
himself,  he  came  in  his  blunt  way  to  the  point  at  once. 

''  Here  !  "  he  said,  stretching  out  his  hand  and  taking  it 
back  ;  "  never  mind  the  bill,  or  what  it  says,  or  what  it  don't 
say.  You  don't  know  any  thing  about  it,  master — no  more 
do  I — no  more  does  he,"  glancing  at  Dennis.  "  None  of  us 
know  what  it  mears,  or  where  it  comes  from  ;  there's  an  end 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  285 

of  that.  Now  I  want  to  make  one  against  the  Catholics,  I'm 
a  No  Popery  man,  and  ready  to  be  sworn  in.  That's  what 
I've  come  here  for." 

"  Put  him  down  on  the  roll.  Muster  Gashford,"  said  Den- 
nis approvingly.  "  That's  the  way  to  go  to  work — right  to 
the  end  at  once,  and  no  palaver." 

"  What's  the  use  of  shooting  wide  of  the  mark,  eh,  old 
boy  ?  "  cried  Hugh, 

"  My  sentiments  all  over  !  "  rejoined  the  hangman.  "  This 
is  the  sort  of  chap  for  my  division,  Muster  Gashford.  Down 
with  him,  sir.  Put  him  on  the  roil.  I'd  stand  godfather  to 
him,  if  he  was  to  be  christened  in  a  bonfire,  made  of  the 
ruins  of  the  Bank  of  England." 

With  these  and  other  expressions  of  confidence  of  the 
like  flattering  kind,  Mr.  Dennis  gave  him  a  hearty  slap  on 
the  back,  which  Hugh  was  not  slow  to  return. 

**  No  Popery,  brother  !  "  cried  the  hangman. 

"  No  Property,  brother  !  "  responded  Hugh. 

"  Popery,  Popery,"  said  the  secretary  with  his  usual  mild- 
ness. 

"  It's  all  the  same  !  "  cried  Dennis.  "  It's  all  right.  Down 
with  him,  Muster  Gashford.  Down  with  every  body,  down 
with  every  thing !  Hurrah  for  the  Protestant  religion  ! 
That's  the  time  of  day.  Muster  Gashford  !  " 

The  secretary  regarded  them  both  with  a  very  favorable 
expression  of  countenance,  while  they  gave  loose  to  these 
and  other  demonstrations  of  their  patriotic  purpose  ;  and 
was  about  to  make  some  remark  aloud,  when  Dennis,  step- 
ping up  to  him,  and  shading  his  mouth  with  his  hand,  said, 
in  a  hoarse  whisper,  as  he  nudged  him  with  his  elbow  : 

*'  Don't  split  upon  a  constitutional  officer's  profession, 
Muster  Gashford.  There  are  popular  prejudices,  you  know, 
and  he  mightn't  like  it.  Wait  till  he  comes  to  be  more  inti- 
mate with  me.     He's  a  fine-built  chap,  an't  he  }  " 

**  A  powerful  fellow  indeed  !  " 

"  Did  you  ever,  Muster  Gashford,"  whispered  Dennis,  with 
a  horrible  kind  of  admiration,  such  as  that  with  which  a 
cannibal  might  regard  his  intimate  friend,  when  hungry — 
"  did  you  ever" — and  here  he  drew  still  closer  to  his  ear,  and 
fenced  his  mouth  with  both  his  open  hands — "  see  such  a 
throat  as  his  ?  Do  but  cast  your  eye  upon  it.  There's  a 
neck  for  stretching.  Muster  Gashford  I  " 

The  secretary  assented  to  this  proposition  with  the  best 
grace  he  could  assume,  it  is  difficult  to  feign  a  true  professional 


286  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

relish  which  is  eccentric  sometimes — and  after  asking  the 
candidate  a  few  unimportant  questions,  proceeded  to  enroll 
him  a  member  of  the  Great  Protestant  Association  of  England. 
if  any  thing  could  have  exceeded  Mr.  Dennis's  joy  on  the 
happy  conclusion  of  this  ceremony,  it  would  have  been  the 
rapture  with  which  he  received  the  announcement  that  the 
new  member  could  neither  read  nor  write  :  those  two  arts 
being  (as  Mr.  Dennis  swore)  the  greatest  possible  curse  a 
civilized  community  could  know,  and  militating  more  against 
thci  professional  emoluments  and  usefulness  of  the  great  con- 
stitutional office  he  had  the  honor  to  hold,  than  any  adverse 
circumstances  that  could  present  themselves  to  his  imagina- 
tion. 

The  enrolment  being  completed,  and  Hugh  having  been 
informed  byGashford,  in  his  peculiar  manner,  of  the  peace- 
ful and  strictly  lawful  objects  contemplated  by  the  body  to 
which  he  now  belonged — during  which  recital  Mr.  Dennis 
nudged  him  very  much  with  his  elbow,  and  made  divers  re- 
markable faces — the  secretary  gave  them  both  to  under- 
stand that  he  desired  to  be  alone.  Therefore  they  took  their 
leaves  without  delay,  and  came  out  of  the  house  together. 

*' Are  you  walking,  brother?  "  said  Dennis. 

"  Ay  !  "  returned  Hugh.     "  Where  you  will." 

"  That's  social,"  said  his  new  friend.  *'  Which  way  shall 
we  take  ?  Shall  we  go  and  have  a  look  at  doors  that  we  shall 
make  a  pretty  good  clattering  at,  before  long — eh,  brother  ? " 

Hugh  answering  in  the  affirmative,  they  went  slowly  down 
to  Westminster,  where  both  houses  of  parliament  were  then 
sitting.  Mingling  in  the  crowd  of  carriages,  horses,  serv- 
ants, chairmen,  link-boys,  porters,  and  idlers  of  all  kinds, 
they  lounged  about ;  while  Hugh's  new  friend  pointed  out 
to  him  significantly  the  weak  parts  of  the  building,  how  easy 
it  was  to  get  into  the  lobby,  and  so  to  the  very  door  of  the 
House  of  Commons ;  and  how  plainly  when  they  marched 
down  there  in  grand  array  their  roars  and  shouts  would  be 
heard  by  the  members  inside  ;  with  a  great  deal  more  to  the 
same  purpose,  all  of  which  Hugh  received  with  manifest 
delight. 

He  told  him,  too,  who  some  of  the  Lords  and  Commons 
were,  by  name,  as  they  came  in  and  out  ;  whether  they  were 
friendly  to  the  Papists  or  otherwise  ;  and  bade  him  take 
notice  of  their  liveries  and  equipages,  that  he  might  be  sure 
of  them,  in  case  of  need.  Sometimes  he  drew  him  close  to 
the  windows  of  a  passing  carriage,   that  he  might  see  its 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  287 

master's  face  by  the  light  of  the  lamps  ;  and,  both  in  re- 
spect of  people  and  localities,  he  showed  so  much  acquaint- 
ance with  every  thing  around,  that  it  was  plain  he  had 
often  studied  there  before  ;  as  indeed,  when  they  grew  a 
little  more  confidential,  he  confessed  he  had. 

Perhaps  the  most  striking  part  of  all  this  was,  the  number 
of  people — never  in  groups  of  more  chan  two  or  three 
together — who  seemed  to  be  skulking  about  the  crowd  for 
the  same  purpose.  To  the  greater  part  of  these,  a  slight  nod 
or  a  look  from  Hugh's  companion  was  sufficient  greeting  ; 
but,  now  and  then,  some  man  would  come  and  stand  beside 
him  in  the  throng,  and,  without  turning  his  head  or  appear- 
ing to  communicate  with  him,  would  say  a  word  or  two  in  a 
low  voice,  which  he  would  answer  in  the  same  cautious  man- 
ner. Then,  they  would  part,  like  strangers.  Some  of  these 
men  often  reappeared  again  unexpectedly  in  the  crowd  close 
to  Hugh,  and,  as  they  passed  by,  pressed  his  hand,  or  looked 
him  sternly  in  the  face  ;  but  they  never  spoke  to  him,  nor 
he  to  them  ;  no,  not  a  word. 

It  was  remarkable,  too,  that  whenever  they  happened  to 
stand  where  there  was  any  press  of  people,  and  Hugh 
chanced  to  be  looking  downward,  he  was  sure  to  see  an  arm 
stretched  out — under  his  own  perhaps,  or  perhaps  across 
him — which  thrust  some  paper  into  the  hand  or  pocket  of  a 
bystander,  and  was  so  suddenly  withdrawn  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  tell  from  whom  it  came  ;  nor  could  he  see  in  any 
face,  on  glancing  quickly  round,  the  least  confusion  or  sur- 
prise. They  often  trod  upon  a  paper  like  the  one  he  carried 
in  his  breast,  but  his  companion  whispered  him  not  to  touch 
it  or  to  take  it  up — not  even  to  look  toward  it — so  there 
they  let  them  lie,  and  passed  on. 

When  they  had  paraded  the  street  and  all  the  avenues  of 
the  building  in  this  manner  for  near  two  hours,  they  turned 
away,  and  his  friend  asked  him  what  he  thought  of  what  he 
had  seen,  and  whether  he  was  prepared  for  a  good  hot  piece 
of  work  if  it  should  come  to  that.  "  The  hotter  the  better," 
said  Hugh.  ''I  am  prepared  for  any  thing."  "So  am  I," 
said  his  friend,  "and  so  are  many  of  us  ;"  and  they  shook 
hands  upon  it  with  a  great  oath,  and  with  many  terrible  im- 
precations on  the  Papists. 

As  they  were  thirsty  by  this  time,  Dennis  proposed  that 
they  should  repair  together  to  The  Boot,  where  there  was 
good  company  and  strong  liquor.  Hugh  yielding  a  ready 
consent,  they  bent  their  steps  that  way  with  no  loss  of  time. 


288  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

This  Boot  was  a  lone  house  of  public  entertainment,  situ- 
ated in  the  fields  at  the  back  of  the  Foundling  Hospital  ;  a 
very  solitary  spot  at  that  period,  and  quite  deserted  after  dark. 
The  tavern  stood  at  some  distance  from  any  high  road  and  was 
approachable  only  by  a  dark  and  narrow  lane  ;  so  that  Hugh 
was  much  surprised  to  find  several  people  drinking  there, 
and  great  merriment  going  on.  He  was  still  more  surprised 
to  find  among  them  almost  every  face  that  had  caught  his 
attention  in  the  crowd  ;  but  his  companion  having  whis- 
pered him  outside  the  door,  that  it  was  not  considered  good 
manners  at  The  Boot  to  appear  at  all  curious  about  the 
company,  he  kept  his  own  counsel,  and  made  no  show  of 
recognition. 

Before  putting  his  lips  to  tne  liquor  which  was  brought 
for  them,  Dennis  drank  in  a  loud  voice  the  health  of  Lord 
George  Gordon,  president  of  the  Great  Protestant  Associa- 
tion ;  which  toast  Hugh  pledged  likewise,  with  correspond- 
ing enthusiasm.  A  fiddler  who  was  present,  and  who  ap- 
peared to  act  as  the  appointed  minstrel  of  the  company, 
forthwith  struck  up  a  Scoth  reel  ;  and  that  in  tones  so  in- 
vigorating, that  Hugh  and  his  friend  (who  had  both  been 
drinking  before)  rose  from  their  seats  as  by  previous  concert, 
and,  to  the  great  admiration  of  the  assembled  guests,  per- 
formed an  extemporaneous  No-Popery  Dance. 


CHAPTER    XXXIX. 

The  applause  which  the  performance  of  Hugh  and  his  new 
friend  elicited  from  the  company  at  The  Boot,  had  not  yet 
subsided,  and  the  two  dancers  were  still  panting  from  their 
exertions,  which  had  been  of  a  rather  extreme  and  violent 
character,  when  the  party  was  re-enforced  by  the  arrival  of 
some  more  guests,  who,  being  a  detachment  of  United  Bull- 
dogs, were  received  with  very  flattering  marks  of  distinction 
and  respect. 

The  leader  of  this  small  party — for,  including  himself, 
they  were  but  three  in  number — was  our  old  acquaintance, 
Mr.  Tappertit,  who  seemed,  physically  speaking,  to  have 
grown  smaller  with  years  (particularly  as  to  his  legs,  which 
were  stupendously  little,  but  who,  in  a  moral  point  of  view, 
in  personal  dignity  and  self-esteem,  had  swelled  into  a  giant. 
Nor  was  it  by  any  means  difficult  for   the  most  unobservant 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  289 

person  to  detect  this  state  of  feeling  in  the  quondam  'pren- 
tice, for  it  not  only  proclaimed  itself  impressively  and  be- 
yond mistake  in  his  majestic  walk  and  kindling  eye,  but 
found  a  striking  means  of  revelation  in  his  turned-up  nose, 
which  scouted  all  things  of  earth  with  deep  disdain,  and 
sought  communion  with  its  kindred  skies. 

Mr.  Tappertit,  as  chief  or  captain  of  the  Bull-dogs,  was  at- 
tended by  his  two  lieutenants  ;  one,  the  tall  comrade  of  his 
younger  life  ;  the  other,  a  Trentice  Knight  in  days  of  yore 
— Mark  Gilbers,  bound  in  the  olden  time  to  Tomas  Curzon 
of  the  Golden  Fleece.  These  gentlemen,  like  himself,  were 
now  emancipated  from  their  'prentice  thraldom,  and  served 
as  journeymen  ;  but  they  were,  in  humble  emulation  of  his 
great  example,  bold  and  daring  spirits,  and  aspired  to  a  dis- 
tinguished state  in  great  poliiical  events.  Hence  their  con- 
nection with  the  Protestant  Association  of  England,  sanc- 
tioned by  the  name  of  Lord  George  Gordon  ;  and  hence 
their  present  visit  to  The  Boot, 

*'  Gentlemen  !  "  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  taking  off  his  hat  as 
a  great  general  might  in  addressing  his  troops.  "  Well  met. 
My  lord  does  me  and  you  the  honor  to  send  his  compliments 
per  self." 

"  You've  seen  my  lord  too,  have  you  ?  "  said  Dennis.  '''  / 
see  him  this  afternoon." 

"  My  duty  called  me  to  the  lobby  when  our  shop  shut  up  ; 
and  I  saw  him  there,  sir,"  Mr.  Tappertit  replied,  as  he  and 
his  lieutenant  took  their  seats.     ''  How  doyou-  do  ?  " 

''  Lively,  master,  lively,"  said  the  fellow.  '^  Here's  a  new 
brother,  regularly  put  down  in  black  and  white  by  Muster 
Gashford  ;  a  credit  to  the  cause  ;  one  of  the  stick-at-nothing 
sort  ;  one  arter  my  own  heart.  D'ye  see  him  ?  Has  he  got 
the  looks  of  a  man  that'll  do,  do  you  think  ?  "  he  cried,  as  he 
slapped  Hugh  on  the  back. 

"  Looks  or  no  looks,"  said  Hugh,  with  a  drunken  flourish 
of  his  arm,  *'  I'm  the  man  you  v/ant.  I  hate  the  Papists, 
every  one  of  'em.  They  hate  me  and  I  hate  them.  "They 
do  me  all  the  harm  they  can,  and  I'll  do  them  all  the  harm 
/can.     Hurrah  !  " 

"  Was  there  ever,"  said  Dennis,  looking  round  the  room, 
when  the  echo  of  his  boisterous  voice  had  died  away  ; 
*'  was  there  ever  such  a  game  boy  !  Why,  I  mean  to  say, 
brothers,  that  if  Muster  Gashford  had  gone  a  hundred  mile 
and  got  together  fifty  men  of  the  common  run,  they  wouldn't 
have  been  worth  this  one." 


290  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

The  greater  part  of  the  company  implicitly  subscribed  to 
this  opinion,  and  testified  their  faith  in  Hugh  by  nods  and 
looks  of  great  significance.  Mr.  Tappertit  sat  and  contem- 
plated him  for  a  long  time  in  silence,  as  if  he  suspended  his 
judgment  ;  then  drew  a  little  nearer  to  him,  and  eyed  him 
over  more  carefully  ;  then  went  up  close  to  him,  and  took 
him  apart  into  a  dark  corner. 

"  I  say,"  he  began,  with  a  thoughtful  brow,  "  haven't  I  seen 
you  before  ? " 

"  It's  like  you  may,"  said  Hugh,  in  his  careless  way,  "  I 
don't  know  ;  shouldn't  wonder." 

"  No,  but  it's  very  easily  settled,"  returned  Sim.  "  Look 
at  me.  Did  you  ever  see  we  before  ?  You  wouldn't  be  likely 
to  forget  it,  you  know,  if  you  ever  did.  Look  at  me.  Don't 
be  afraid  ;  I  won't  do  you  any  harm.  Take  a  good  look — 
steady  now." 

The  encouraging  way  in  which  Mr.  Tappertit  made  this 
request,  and  coupled  it  with  an  assurance  that  he  needn't  be 
frightened,  amused  Hugh  mightily — so  much  indeed,  that  he 
saw  nothing  at  all  of  the  small  man  before  him,  through  clos- 
ing his  eyes  in  a  fit  of  hearty  laughter,  which  shook  his  great 
broad  sides  until  they  ached  again. 

"  Come  !  "  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  growing  a  little  impatient 
under  this  disrespectful  treatment.  ''  Do  you  know  me,  fel- 
ler ?  " 

"  Not  I,"  cried  Hugh.  *'  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Not  I  !  But  I 
should  like  to." 

"And  yet  I'd  have  wagered  a  seven-shilling  piece,"  said 
Mr.  Tappertit,  folding  his  arms,  and  confronting  him  with 
his  legs  wide  apart  and  firmly  planted  on  the  ground,  "  that 
you  once  were  hostler  at  the  Maypole," 

Hugh  opened  his  eyes  on  hearing  this,  and  looked  at  him 
in  great  surprise. 

" — And  so  you  were,  too,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  pushing  him 
away,  with  condescending  playfulness.  "  When  did  mv  eyes 
ever  deceive — unless  it  was  a  young  woman  !  Don't  you 
know  me  now? " 

**  Why  it  an't— "  Hugh  faltered. 

"  Ain't  it,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit.  "  Are  you  sure  of  that  ? 
You  remember  G.  Varden,  don't  you  ?  " 

Certainly  Hugh  did,  and  he  remembered  D.  Varden  too  ; 
but  that  he  didn't  tell  him. 

"  You  remember  coming  down  there,  before  I  was  out  of  my 
time,  to  ask  after  a  vagabond  that  had  bolted  off,  and  left  his 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  291 

disconsolate  father  a  prey  to  his  bitterest  emotions,  and  all 
the  rest  of  it — don't  you  ? "  said  Mr.  Tappertit. 

"  Of  course  I  do  !  "  cried  Hugh.     "  And  I  saw  you  there." 

"  Saw  me  there  !  "  said  Mr.  Tappertit.  *'  Yes,  I  should 
think  you  did  see  me  there.  The  place  would  be  troubled 
to  go  on  without  me.  Don't  you  remember  my  thinking  you 
liked  the  vagabond,  and  on  that  account  going  to  quarrel 
with  you  ;  and  then  finding  you  detested  him  worse  than 
poison,  going  to  drink  with  you  }  Don't  you  remember 
that  ?" 

'*  To  be  sure  !  "  cried  Hugh. 

"  Well !  and  are  you  in  the  same  mind  now  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Tappertit. 

"  Yes  !  "  roared  Hugh. 

"You  speak  like  a  man,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  "and  I'll 
shake  hands  with  you,"  With  these  conciliatory  expressions 
he  suited  the  action  to  the  word  ;  and  Hugh  meeting  his  ad- 
vances readily^  they  performed  the  ceremony  with  a  show  of 
great  heartiness. 

"  I  find,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  looking  round  on  the  assem- 
bhd  guests,  ''  that  brother  what's-his-name  and  I  are  old 
acquaintance.  You  never  heard  any  thing  more  of  that  rascal, 
1  suppose,  eh  ?  " 

"  Not  a  syllable,"  replied  Hugh.  "I  never  want  to.  I 
don't  believe  I  ever  shall.     He's  dead  long  ago,  I  hope." 

"  It's  to  be  hoped,  for  the  sake  of  mankind  in  general  and 
the  happiness  of  society,  that  he  is,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  rub- 
bing his  palm  upon  his  legs,  and  looking  at  it  between  whiles. 
"  Is  your  other  hand  at  all  cleaner?  Much  the  same.  Well, 
I'll  owe  you  another  shake.  We'll  suppose  it  done,  if  you've 
no  objection." 

Hugh  laughed  again,  and  with  such  thorough  abandon- 
ment to  his  mad  humor,  that  his  limbs  seemed  dislocated,  and 
his  whole  frame  in  danger  of  tumbling  to  pieces  ;  but  Mr. 
Tappertit,  so  far  from  receiving  this  extreme  merriment  with 
any  irritation,  was  pleased  to  regard  it  with  the  utmost  favor, 
and  even  to  join  in  it,  so  far  as  one  of  his  gravity  and  station 
could,  with  any  regard  to  that  decency  and  decorum  which 
men  in  high  places  are  expected  to  maintain. 

Mr.  Tappertit  did  not  stop  here,  as  many  public  charac- 
ters might  have  done,  but  calling  up  his  brace  of  lieutenants, 
introduced  Hugh  to  them  with  high  commendation  ;  declar- 
ing him  to  be  a  man  who,  at  such  times  as  those  in  wnich 
they  lived,  could  not  be  too  much  cherished       Further,  he 


292  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

did  him  the  honor  to  remark,  that  he  would  be  an  acquisi- 
tion of  which  even  the  United  Bull-dogs  might  be  proud  : 
and  finding,  upon  sounding  him,  that  he  was  quite  wiiHng 
to  enter  the  society  (for  he  was  not  at  all  particular,  and 
would  have  leagued  himself  that  night  with  anything  or  any 
body,  for  any  purpose  whatsoever),  caused  the  necessary  pre- 
liminaries to  be  gone  into  upon  the  spot.  This  tribute  to  his 
great  merit  delighted  no  man  more  than  Mr.  Dennis,  as  he 
himself  proclaimed  with  several  rare  and  surprising  oaths  ; 
and  indeed  it  gave  unmingled  satisfaction  to  the  whole  as- 
sembly. 

"  Make  any  thing  you  like  of  me  !  "  cried  Hugh,  flourish- 
ing the  can  he  had  emptied  more  than  once.  "  Put  me  on 
any  duty  you  please.  I'm  your  man.  I'll  do  it.  Here's 
my  captain — here's  my  leader.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Let  him  give 
me  the  word  of  command,  and  I'll  fight  the  whole  parliament 
house  single-handed,  or  set  a  lighted  torch  to  the  king's 
throne  itself  !  "  With  that  he  smote  Mr.  Tappertit  on  the 
back  with  such  violence  that  his  little  body  seemed  to  shrink 
into  a  mere  nothings  and  roared  again  until  the  very  found- 
lings near  at  hand  were  startled  in  their  beds. 

In  fact  a  sense  of  something  whimsical  in  their  com- 
panionship seemed  to  have  taken  entire  possession  of  his 
rude  brain.  The  bare  fact  of  being  patronized  by  a  great 
man  whom  he  could  have  crushed  with  one  hand,  appeared 
in  his  eyes  so  eccentric  and  humorous,  that  a  kind  of  fero- 
cious merriment  gained  the  mastery  over  him,  and  quite 
subdued  his  brutal  nature.  He  roared  and  roared  again  ; 
toasted  Mr.  Tappertit  a  hundred  times  ;  declared  himself  a 
Bull-dog  to  the  core  ;  and  vowed  to  be  faithful  to  him  to  the 
last  drop  of  blood  in  his  veins. 

All  these  compliments  xMr.  Tappertit  received  as  matters 
of  course — flattering  enough  in  their  way,  but  entirely  at- 
tributable to  his  vast  superiority.  His  dignified  self-pos- 
session only  delighted  Hugh  the  more  ;  ana  in  a  word,  this 
giant  and  the  dwarf  struck  up  a  friendship  which  bade  fair 
to  be  of  long  continuance,  as  the  one  held  it  to  be  his  right 
to  command,  and  the  other  considered  it  an  exquisite 
pleasantry  to  obey.  Nor  was  Hugh  by  any  means  a  passive 
follower,  who  scrupled  to  act  without  precise  and  definite 
orders  ;  for  when  x\Ir.  Tappertit  mounted  on  an  empty  cask 
which  stood  by  way  of  rostrum  in  the  room,  and  volun- 
teered a  speech  upon  the  alarming  crisis  then  at  hand,  he 
placed  himself  beside  the  orator,  and   though   he  grinned 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  293 

from  ear  to  ear  at  every  word  he  said,  threw  out  such  ex- 
pressive hints  to  scoffers  in  the  management  of  his  cudgel, 
that  those  who  were  at  first  the  most  disposed  to  interrupt, 
became  remarkably  attentive,  and  were  the  loudest  in  their 
approbation. 

It  was  not  all  noise  and  jest,  however,  at  The  Boot,  nor 
were  the  whole  party  listeners  to  the  speech.  There  were 
some  men  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  (which  was  a  long 
low-roofed  chamber)  in  earnest  conversation  all  the  time  ; 
and  when  any  of  this  group  went  out,  fresh  people  v/ere  sure 
to  come  in  soon  afterward  and  sit  down  in  their  places,  as 
though  the  others  had  relieved  them  on  some  watch  or  duty  ; 
which  it  was  pretty  clear  they  did,  for  these  changes  took 
place  by  the  clock,  at  intervals  of  half  an  hour.  These  per- 
sons whispered  very  much  among  themselves,  and  kept 
aloof,  and  often  looked  round,  as  jealous  of  their  speech 
being  overheard  ;  some  two  or  three  among  them  entered  in 
books  what  seemed  to  be  reports  from  the  others  ;  when 
they  were  not  thus  employed,  one  of  them  would  turn  to  the 
newspapers  which  were  strewn  upon  the  table,  and  from  the 
St.  Jatties's  Ckrotiide,  the  Herald,  Chronicle,  or  Public  Ad- 
vertiser, would  read  to  the  rest  in  a  low  voice  some  passage 
having  reference  to  the  topic  in  which  they  were  all  so 
deeply  interested.  But  the  great  attraction  was  a  pamphlet 
called  The  Thunder e?',  which  espoused  their  own  opinions, 
and  was  supposed  at  that  time  to  emanate  directly  from  the 
association.  This  was  always  in  request  ;  and  whether 
read  aloud,  to  an  eager  lot  of  listeners,  or  by  some  solitary 
man,  was  certain  to  be  followed  by  stormy  talking  and  ex- 
cited looks. 

In  the  midst  of  all  his  merriment,  and  admiration  of  his 
captain,  Hugh  was  made  sensible  by  these  and  other  tokens, 
of  the  presence  of  an  air  of  mystery,  akin  to  that  which  had 
so  much  impressed  him  out  of  doors.  It  was  impossible  to 
discard  a  sense  that  something  serious  was  going  on,  and 
that  under  the  noisy  revel  of  the  public  house,  there  lurked 
unseen  and  dangerous  matter.  Little  affected  by  this,  how- 
ever, he  was  perfectly  satisfied  with  his  quarters,  and  would 
have  remained  there  till  morning,  but  that  his  conductor 
rose  soon  after  midnight  to  go  home  ;  Mr.  Tappertit,  follow- 
ing his  example,  left  him  no  excuse  to  stay.  So  they  all 
three  left  the  house  together,  roaring  a  No  Popery  song  until 
the  fields  resounded  with  the  dismal  noise. 

''  Cheer  up,  captain  !  "  cried  Hugh,  when  they  had  roared 
themselves  out  of  breath.     "Another  stave  !  " 


294  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

Mr.  Tappertit,  nothing  loath,  began  again  ;  and  so  the 
three  went  staggering  on,  arm-in-arm,  shouting  like  madmen, 
and  defying  the  watch  with  great  valor.  Indeed,  this  did 
not  require  any  unusual  bravery  or  boldness,  as  the  watch- 
men of  that  time,  being  selected  for  the  office  on  account  of 
excessive  age  and  extraordinary  infirmity,  had  a  custom  of 
shutting  themselves  up  tight  in  their  boxes  on  the  first 
symptoms  of  disturbance,  and  remaining  there  until  they 
disappeared.  In  these  proceedings,  Mr.  Dennis,  who  had  a 
gruff  voice  and  lungs  of  considerable  power,  distinguished 
himself  very  much,  and  acquired  great  credit  with  his  two 
companions. 

"  What  a  queer  fellow  you  are  !  "  said  Mr.  Tappertit. 
*'  You're  so  precious  sly  and  close.  Why  don't  you  ever  tell 
what  trade  you're  of  ?  " 

'^  Answer  the  captain  instantly,"  cried  Hugh,  beating  his 
hat  down  on  his  head  ;  "  why  don't  you  ever  tell  what  trade 
you're  of  ? " 

"  I'm  of  as  gen-teel  a  calling,  brother,  as  any  man  in  En- 
gland— as  light  a  business  as  any  gentleman  could  desire." 

"  Was  you  'prenticed  to  it  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Tappertit. 

"  No.  Natural  genius,"  said  Mr,  Dennis.  "  No  'prentic- 
ing.  It  comes  by  natur'.  Muster  Gashford  knows  my  call- 
ing. Look  at  that  hand  of  mine — many  and  many  a  job 
that  hand  has  done,  with  a  neatness  and  dexterity  never 
known  afore.  When  I  look  at  that  hand,"  said  Mr.  Dennis, 
shaking  it  in  the  air,  "  and  remember  the  helegant  bits  of 
work  it  has  turned  off,  I  feel  quite  moUoncholy  to  think  it 
should  ever  grow  old  and  feeble.     But  sich  is  life  !  " 

He  heaved  a  deep  sigh  as  he  indulged  in  these  reflections, 
and  putting  his  fingers  with  an  absent  air  on  Hugh's  throat, 
and  particularly  under  his  left  ear,  as  if  he  were  studying 
the  anatomical  development  of  that  part  of  his  frame,  shook 
his  head  in  a  despondent  manner  and  actually  shed  tears. 

*'  You're  a  kind  of  artist,  I  suppose — eh  !  "  said  Mr.  Tap- 
pertit. 

"  Yes,"  rejoined  Dennis  ;  "  yes — I  may  call  myself  a  artist 
— a  fancy  workman — art  improves  natur' — that's  my  motto." 

"  And  what  do  you  call  this  ?"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  taking 
his  stick  out  of  his  hand. 

"  That's  my  portrait  a-top,"  Dennis  replied  ;  "  d'ye  think 
it's  like?" 

"  Why — it's  a  little  too  handsome,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit. 
"  Who  did  it  ?     You  ? " 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  295 

"  I  !  "  repeated  Dennis,  gazing  fondly  on  his  image.  "  I 
wish  I  had  the  talent.  That  was  carved  by  a  friend  of  mine, 
as  is  now  no  more.  The  very  day  afore  he  died,  he  cut  that 
with  his  pocket-knife  from  memory  !  '  I'll  die  game,'  says 
my  friend,  *  and  my  last  minutes  shall  be  dewoted  to  making 
Dennis's  picter.'     That's  it." 

"  That  was  a  queer  fancy,  wasn't  it  ?  "  said  Mr.  Tapper- 
tit. 

"  It  7C'(js  a  queer  fancy,"  rejoined  the  other,  breathing  on 
his  fictitious  nose,  and  polishing  it  with  the  cuff  of  his  coat, 
"but  he  was  a  queer  subject  altogether — a  kind  of  gipsy — 
one  of  the  finest,,  stand-up  men,  you  ever  see.  Ah  !  He 
told  me  some  things  that  would  startle  you  a  bit,  did  that 
friend  of  mine,  on  the  morning  when  he  died." 

"You  were  with  him  at  the  time,  were  you  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Tappertit. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  with  a  curious  look,  "  I  was  there. 
Oh  !  yes,  certainly,  I  was  there.  He  wouldn't  have  gone 
oif  half  as  comfortably  without  me.  I  had  been  with  three 
or  four  of  the  family  under  the  same  circumstances.  They 
were  all  fine  fellows." 

"  They  must  have  been  fond  of  you,"  remarked  Mr.  Tap- 
pertit, looking  at  him  sideways. 

"  I  don't  know  that  they  was  exactly  fond  of  me,"  said 
Dennis,  with  a  little  hesitation,  "  but  they  all  had  me  near 
'em  when  they  departed.  I  come  in  for  their  wardrobes 
too.  This  very  handkecher  that  you  see  round  my  neck, 
belonged  to  him  that  I've  been  speaking  of — him  as  did  that 
likeness." 

Mr.  Tappertit  glanced  at  the  article  referred  to,  and  ap- 
peared to  think  that  the  deceased's  ideas  of  dress  were  of  a 
peculiar  and  by  no  means  an  expensive  kind.  He  made  no 
remark  upon  the  point,  however,  and  suffered  his  myste- 
rious companion  to  proceed  without  interruption. 

**  These  smalls,"  said  Dennis,  rubbing  his  legs,  "  these 
very  smalls — they  belonged  to  a  friend  of  mine  that's  left 
off  sich  incumbrances  forever  :  this  coat  too — I've  often 
walked  behind  this  coat,  in  the  street,  and  wondered  whether 
it  would  ever  come  to  me  ;  this  pair  of  shoes  have  danced  a 
hornpipe  for  another  man,  afore  my  eyes,  full  half  a  dozen 
times  at  least ;  and  as  to  my  hat,"  he  said,  taking  it  off,  and 
whirling  it  round  upon  his  fist — "  Lord  !  I've  seen  this  hat 
go  up  to  Holborn  on  the  box  of  a  hackney-coach — ah,  many 
and  many  a  day  !  " 


296  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  their  old  wearers  are  oil  dead, 
I  hope  ?  "  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  faUing  a  little  distance  from 
him  as  he  spoke. 

"  Every  one  of  'em,"  replied  Dennis.  "  Every  man  Jack  !  " 

There  was  something  so  very  ghastly  in  this  circumstance, 
and  it  appeared  to  account,  in  such  a  very  strange  and  dis- 
mal manner,  for  his  faded  dress — which,  in  this  new  aspect, 
seemed  discolored  by  the  earth  from  graves — that  Mr,  Tap- 
pertit abruptly  found  he  was  going  another  way,  and,  stop- 
ping short,  bade  him  good-night  with  the  utmost  heartiness. 
As  they  happened  to  be  near  the  Old  Bailey,  and  Mr.  Dennis 
knew  there  were  turnkeys  in  the  lodge  with  whom  he  could 
pass  the  night,  and  discuss  professional  subjects  of  common 
interest  among  them  before  a  rousing  fire,  and  over  a  social 
glass,  he  separated  from  his  companions  without  any  great 
regret,  and  warmly  shaking  hands  with  Hugh,  and  making 
an  early  appointment  for  their  meeting  at  The  Boot,  left 
them  to  pursue  their  road. 

"  That's  a  strange  sort  of  man,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  watch- 
ing the  hackney-coachman's  hat  as  it  went  bobbing  down 
the  street.  *'  I  don't  know  what  to  make  of  him.  Why  can't 
he  have  his  smalls  made  to  order,  or  wear  live  clothes  at  any 
rate  ? " 

"  He's  a  lucky  man,  captain,"  cried  Hugh.  "  I  should 
like  to  have  such  friends  as  his." 

"  I  hope  he  don't  get  'em  to  make  their  wills,  and  then 
knock  'em  on  the  head,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  musing.  "  But 
come.  The  United  B.'s  expect  me.  On  ! — What's  the  mat- 
ter ?" 

"  I  quite  forgot,"  said  Hugh,  who  had  started  at  the  strik- 
ing of  a  neighboring  clock.  **  I  have  somebody  to  see  to- 
night— I  must  turn  back  directly.  The  drinking  and  singing 
put  it  out  of  my  head.     It's  well  I  remembered  it !  " 

Mr.  Tappertit  looked  at  him  as  though  he  were  about  to 
give  utterance  to  some  very  majestic  sentiments  in  reference 
to  this  act  of  desertion,  but  as  it  was  clear  from  Hugh's 
hasty  manner,  that  the  engagement  was  one  of  a  pressing 
nature,  he  graciously  forbore,  and  gave  him  his  permission 
to  depart  immediately,  which  Hugh  acknowledged  with  a 
roar  of  laughter. 

"  Good-night,  captain  !  "  he  cried.  *'  I  am  yours  to  the 
death,  remember  !  " 

"  Farewell  !  "  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  waving  his  hand,  "  Be 
bold  and  vigilant  !  " 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  297 

*'No  Popery,  captain  !  "  roared  Hugh. 

"  England  in  blood  first  !  "  cried  his  desperate  leader. 
Whereat  Hugh  cheered  and  laughed,  and  ran  off  like  a  grey- 
hound. 

"That  man  will  prove  a  credit  to  my  corps,"  said  Simon, 
turning  thoughtfully  upon  his  heel.  "  And  let  me  see.  In 
an  altered  state  of  society — which  must  ensue  if  we  break 
out  and  are  victorious — when  the  locksmith's  child  is  mine, 
Miggs  must  be  got  rid  of  somehow,  or  she'll  poison  the  tea- 
kettle one  evening  when  I'm  out.  He  might  marry  Miggs, 
if  he  was  drunk  enough.  It  shall  be  done.  I'll  make  a  note 
of  it." 


CHAPTER  XL. 

Little  thinking  of  the  plan  for  his  happy  settlement  in  life 
which  had  suggested  itself  to  the  teeming  brain  of  his  provi- 
dent commander,  Hugh  made  no  pause  until  Saint  Dunstan's 
giants  struck  the  hour  above  him,  when  he  worked  the  handle 
of  a  pump  which  stood  hard  by,  with  great  vigor,  and  thrust- 
ing his  head  under  the  spout,  let  the  water  gush  upon  him 
until  a  little  stream  ran  down  from  every  uncombed  hair, 
and  he  was  wet  to  the  waist.  Considerably  refreshed  by 
this  ablution,  both  in  mind  and  body,  and  almost  sobered 
for  the  time,  he  dried  himself  as  he  best  could  ;  then  crossed 
the  road  and  plied  the  knocker  of  the  Middle  Temple  gate. 

The  night-porter  looked  through  a  small  grating  in  the 
portal  with  a  surly  eye,  and  cried  ''  Halloo  !  "  which  greeting 
Hugh  returned  in  kind,  and  bade  him  open  quickly, 

"  We  don't  sell  beer  here,"  cried  the  man  ;  "  what  else  do 
you  want  ?  " 

"  To  come  in,"  Hugh  replied,  with  a  kick  at  the  door. 

"  Where  to  go  ?  " 

"  Paper  Buildings." 

"  Whose  chambers  ?  " 

**  Sir  John  Chester's."  Each  of  which  answers  he  empha- 
sized with  another  kick. 

After  a  little  growling  on  the  other  side,  the  gate  was 
opened  and  he  passed  in  ;  undergoing  a  close  inspection 
from  the  porter  as  he  did  so. 

"  You  wanting  Sir  John,  at  this  time  of  night !  "  said  the 
man. 

"  Ay  !  "  said  Hugh.     "  I  !    What  of  that  ?  " 


298  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  Why,  I  must  go  with  you  and  see  that  you  do,  for  I  don't 
believe  it. 

"  Come  along,  then." 

Eying  him  with  suspicious  looks,  the  man,  with  key  and 
lantern,  walked  on  at  the  side,  and  attended  him  to  Sir  John 
Chester's  door,  at  which  Hugh  gave  one  knock,  that  echoed 
through  the  dark  staircase  like  a  ghostly  summons,  and  made 
the  dull  light  tremble  in  the  drowsy  lamp. 

"  Do  you  think  he  wants  me  now  ?  "  said  Hugh. 

Before  the  man  had  time  to  answer,  a  footstep  was  heard 
within,  a  light  appeared,  and  Sir  John,  in  his  dressing-gown 
and  slippers,  opened  the  door. 

"  I  ask  your  pardon,  Sir  John,"  said  the  porter,  pulling  off 
his  hat.  **  Here's  a  young  man  says  he  wants  to  speak  to 
you.  It's  late  for  strangers.  I  thought  it  best  to  see  that 
all  was  right." 

"Aha!"  cried  Sir  John,  raising  his  eyebrows.  "It's 
you,  messenger,  is  it  ?  Go  in.  Quite  right,  friend,  I  com- 
mend your  prudence  highly.  Thank  you.  God  bless  you. 
Good-night." 

To  be  commended,  thanked,  God-blessed,  and  bade  good- 
night by  one  who  carried  "  sir  "  before  his  name,  and  wrote 
himself  M.  P.  to  boot,  was  something  for  a  porter.  He 
withdrew  with  much  humility  and  reverence.  Sir  John 
followed  his  late  visitor  into  the  dressing-room,  and  sitting 
in  his  easy-chair  before  the  fire,  and  moving  it  so  that  he 
could  see  him  as  he  stood,  hat  in  hand,  beside  the  door, 
looked  at  him  from  head  to  foot. 

The  old  face,  calm  and  pleasant  p.s  ever  ;  the  complexion, 
quite  juvenile  in  its  bloom  and  cleamess  ;  the  same  smile  ; 
the  wonted  precision  and  elegance  of  dress  ;  the  white,  well- 
ordered  teeth  ;  the  delicate  hands  ;  the  composed  and  quiet 
manner  ;  every  thing  as  it  used  to  be  ;  no  mark  of  age  or 
passion,  envy,  hate,  or  discontent  ;  all  unruffled  and  serene, 
and  quite  delightful  to  behold. 

He  wrote  himself  M.  P. — but  how  ?  Why,  thus.  It  was 
a  proud  family — more  proud,  indeed,  than  wealthy.  He 
had  stood  in  danger  of  arrest  ;  of  bailiffs,  and  a  jail — a 
vulgar  jail,  to  which  the  common  people  with  small  incomes 
went.  Gentlemen  of  ancient  houses  have  no  privilege  or 
exemption  from  such  cruel  laws — unless  they  are  of  one 
great  house,  and  then  they  have.  A  proud  man  of  his  stock 
and  kindred  had  the  means  of  sending  him  there.  He 
offered — not  indeed  to  pay  his  debts,  but  to  let  him  sit  for  a 


BARNABY  RUDGE.       ^  299 

close  borough  until  his  own  son  came  of  age,  which,  if  he 
lived,  would  come  to  pass  in  twenty  years.  It  was  quite  as 
good  as  an  insolvent  act,  and  infinitely  more  genteel.  So 
Sir  John  Chester  was  a  member  of  parliament. 

But  how  Sir  John  ?  Nothing  so  simple,  or  so  easy.  One 
touch  with  a  sword  of  state,  and  the  transformation  was 
effected.  John  Chester,  Esquire,  M.  P.,  attended  court — 
went  up  with  an  address — headed  a  deputation.  Such 
elegance  of  manner,  so  many  graces  of  deportment,  such 
powers  of  conversation,  could  never  pass  unnoticed.  Mr. 
was  too  common  for  such  merit.  A  man  so  gentlemanly 
should  have  been — but  fortune  is  capricious — born  a  duke  ; 
just  as  some  dukes  should  have  been  born  laborers.  He 
caught  the  fancy  of  the  king,  kneeled  kown  a  grub,  and  rose 
a  butterfly.  John  Chester,  Esquire,  was  knighted  and  became 
Sir  John. 

"  I  thought  when  you  left  me  this  evening,  my  esteemed 
acquaintance,"  said  Sir  John,  after  a  pretty  long  silence, 
"  that  you  intended  to  return  with  all  dispatch  ?  " 

*'  So  I  did,  master." 

"And  so  you  have  ?  "  he  retorted,  glancing  at  his  watch. 
**  Is  that  what  you  would  say  ?  " 

Instead  of  replying,  Hugh  changed  the  leg  on  which  he 
leaned,  shuffled  his  cap  from  one  hand  to  the  other,  looked  at 
the  ground,  the  wall,  the  ceiling,  and  finally  at  Sir  John 
himself  ;  before  whose  pleasant  face  he  lowered  his  eyes 
again,  and  fixed  them  on  the  floor. 

'*  And  how  have  you  been  employing  yourself  in  the 
meanwhile  ? "  quoth  Sir  John,  lazily  crossing  his  legs. 
"Where  have  you  been  ?  what  harm  have  you  been  doing  ?  " 

"  No  harm  at  all,  master,"  growled  Hugh  with  humility. 
"  I  have  only  done  as  you  ordered." 

"As  I  whatV  returned  Sir  John. 

"Well  then,"  said  Hugh  uneasily,  "  as  you  advised,  or 
said  I  ought,  or  said  I  might,  or  said  what  you  would  do,  if 
you  was  me.     Don't  be  so  hard  upon  me,  master." 

Something  like  an  expression  of  triumph  in  the  perfect 
control  he  had  established  over  this  rough  instrument  ap- 
peared in  the  knight's  face  for  an  instant  ;  but  it  vanished 
directly,  as  he  said — paring  his  nails  while  speaking  : 

"  When  you  say  I  ordered  you,  my  good  fellow,  you  im- 
ply that  I  directed  you  to  do  something  for  me — something 
I  wanted  done — something  for  my  own  ends  and  purposes 
—you  see  t    Now  I  am  sure  I  needn't  enlarge  upon  the  ex- 


300  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

treme  absurdity  of  such  an  idea,  however  unintentional  ;  so 
please — "  and  here  he  turned  his  eyes  upon  him — "to  be 
more  guarded.     Will  you  ?  " 

"  I  meant  to  give  you  no  offense,"  said  Hugh.  "  I  don't 
know  what  to  say.     You  catch  me  up  so  very  short.  ' 

"  You  will  be  caught  up  much  shorter,  my  good  friend — 
infinitely  shorter — one  of  these  days,  depend  upon  it,"  re- 
plied his  patron  calmly.  "  By  the  by,  instead  of  wonder- 
ing why  you  have  been  so  long,  my  wonder  should  be  why 
you  came  at  all.     Why  did  you  ?  " 

"  You  know,  master,"  said  Hugh,  "  that  I  couldn't  read 
the  bill  I  found,  and  that  supposing  it  to  be  something 
particular  from  the  way  it  was  wrapped  up,  I  brought  it 
here." 

"  And  could  you  ask  no  one  else  to  read  it,  Bruin  ?  "  said 
Sir  John. 

"  No  one  that  I  could  trust  with  secrets,  master.  Since 
Barnaby  Rudge  was  lost  sight  of  for  good  and  all — and  that's 
five  years  ago — I  haven't  talked  with  any  one  but  you." 

*'  You  have  done  me  honor,  I  am  sure." 

"  I  have  come  to  and  fro,  master,  all  through  that  time, 
when  there  was  any  thing  to  tell,  because  I  knew  that  you'd 
be  angry  with  me  if  I  staid  away,"  said  Hugh,  blurting  the 
words  out,  after  an  embarrassed  silence  ;  *'  and  because  I 
wished  to  please  you  if  I  could  and  not  to  have  you  go  against 
me.  There.  That's  the  true  reason  why  I  came  to-night. 
You  know  that,  master,  I  am  sure." 

''You're  a  specious  fellow,"  returned  Sir  John,  fixing  his 
eyes  upon  him,  "  and  carry  two  faces  under  your  hood,  as  well 
as  the  best.  Didn't  you  give  me  in  this  room,  this  evening, 
any  other  reason  ;  no  dislike  of  any  body  who  has  slighted 
you  lately,  on  all  occasions,  abused  you,  treated  you  with 
rudeness  ;  acted  toward  you,  more  as  if  you  were  a  mongrel 
dog  than  a  man  like  himself  ? " 

"  To  be  sure  I  did  !  "  cried  Hugh,  his  passion  rising,  as 
the  other  meant  it  should  ;  "  and  I  say  it  all  over  now,  again. 
I'd  do  any  thing  to  have  some  revenge  on  him — any  thing. 
And  when  you  told  me  that  he  and  all  the  Catholics  would 
suffer  from  those  who  joined  together  under  that  hand  bill, 
I  said  I'd  make  one  of  'em,  if  their  master  was  the  devil 
himself.  I  am  one  of  'em.  See  whether  I  am  as  good  as  my 
word  and  turn  out  to  be  among  the  foremost,  or  no.  I  mayn't 
have  much  head,  master,  but  I've  head  enough  to  remember 
those  that  use  me  ill.     You  shall  see,  and  so  shall  he,  and  so 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  301 

shall  hundreds  more,  how  my  spirit  backs  me  when  the  time 
comes.  My  bark  is  nothing  to  my  bite.  Some  that  I  know 
had  better  have  a  wild  lion  among  them  than  me,  when  I  am 
fairly  loose — they  had  !  " 

The  knight  looked  at  him  with  a  smile  of  far  deeper 
meaning  than  ordinary  ;  and  pointing  to  the  old  cupboard, 
followed  him  with  his  eyes  while  he  filled  and  drank  a  glass 
of  liquor  ;  and  smiled  when  his  back  was  turned,  with  deeper 
meaning  yet. 

"  You  are  in  a  blustering  mood,  my  friend,"  he  said,  when 
Hugh  confronted  him  again. 

"  Not  I,  master  !  "  cried  Hugh.  "  I  don't  say  half  I  mean. 
I  can't.  I  haven't  got  the  gift.  There  are  talkers  enough 
among  us  ;  I'll  be  one  of  the  doers." 

"  Oh  !  you  have  joined  those  fellows  then  ?  "  saia  Sir  John, 
with  an  air  of  most  profound  indifference. 

"  Yes.  I  went  up  to  the  house  you  told  me  of,  and  got  put 
down  upon  the  muster.  There  was  another  man  there  named 
Dennis — " 

"  Dennis,  eh  !  "  cried  Sir  John,  laughing.  "  Ay,  ay  !  a 
pleasant  fellow,  I  believe  }  " 

''  A  roaring  dog,  master — one  after  my  own  heart — hot 
upon  the  matter  too — red  hot/' 

"  So  I  have  heard,"  replied  Sir  John,  carelessly.  "You 
don't  happen  to  know  his  trade,  do  you  ?  " 

"  He  wouldn't  say,"  cried  Hugh.     *'  He  keeps  it  secret." 

"  Ha,  ha  I "  laughed  Sir  John.  "  A  strange  fancy — a  weak- 
ness with  some  persons — you'll  know  it  one  day,  I  dare 
swear." 

"  We're  intimate  already,"  said  Hugh. 

"  Quite  natural  !  And  have  been  drinking  together,  eh  ?  " 
pursued  Sir  John.  "  Did  you  say  what  place  you  went  to  in 
company,  when  you  left  Lord  George's  ?  " 

Hugh  had  not  said  or  thought  of  saying,  but  he  told  him  ; 
and  this  inquiry  being  followed  by  a  long  train  of  questions, 
he  related  all  that  had  passed  both  in  and  out  of  doors,  the 
kind  of  people  he  had  seen,  their  numbers,  state  of  feeling, 
mode  of  conversation,  apparent  expectations  and  intentions. 
His  questioning  was  so  artfully  contrived,  that  he  seemed 
even  in  his  own  eyes  to  volunteer  all  this  information  rather 
than  to  have  it  wrested  from  him  ;  and  he  wsls  brought  to 
this  state  of  feeling  so  naturally,  that  when  Mr.  Chester 
yawned  at  length  and  declared  himself  quite  wearied  out,  he 
made  a  rough  kind  of  excuse  for  having  talked  so  much. 


302  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  There — get  you  gone,"  said  Sir  John,  holding  the  door 
open  in  his  hand.  "  You  have  made  a  pretty  evening's  work. 
I  told  you  not  to  do  this.  You  may  get  into  trouble.  You'll 
have  an  opportunity  of  revenging  yourself  on  your  proud 
friend  Haredale,  though,  and  for  that  you'd  hazard  any  thing, 
I  suppose  ?  " 

"  I  would,"  retorted  Hugh,  stopping  in  his  passage  out  and 
looking  back  ;  "  but  what  do  /  risk  !  What  do  I  stand  a 
chance  of  losing,  master  ?  Friends,  home  ?  A  fig  for  'em 
all  ;  I  have  none  ;  they  are  nothing  to  me.  Give  me  a  good 
scuffle  ;  let  me  pay  off  old  scores  in  a  bold  riot  where  there 
are  men  to  stand  by  me ;  and  then  use  me  as  you  like — it 
don't  matter  much  to  me  what  the  end  is  !  " 

"  What  have  you  done  with  that  paper  ? "  said  Sir  John. 

"I  have  it  here,  master." 

"  Drop  it  again  as  you  go  along  ;  it's  as  Vvcll  not  to  keep 
such  things  about  you." 

Hugh  nodded,  and  touching  his  cap  with  an  air  of  as  much 
respect  as  he  could  summon  up,  departed. 

Sir  John,  fastening  the  doors  behind  him,  went  back  to 
his  dressing-room,  and  sat  down  once  again  before  the 
fire,  at  which  he  gazed  for  a  long  time,  in  earnest  medita- 
tion. 

•'  This  happens  fortunately,"  he  said,  breaking  into  a  smile, 
*'  and  promises  well.  Let  me  see.  My  relative  and  I,  who 
are  the  most  Protestant  fellows  in  the  world,  give  our  worst 
wishes  to  the  Roman  Catholic  cause  ;  and  to  Saville,  who 
introduces  their  bill,  I  have  a  personal  objection  besides  ; 
but  as  each  of  us  has  himself  for  the  first  article  in  his  creed, 
we  can  not  commit  ourselves  by  joining  with  a  very  extrava- 
gant madman,  such  as  this  Gordon  most  undoubtedly  is  Now 
really,  to  foment  his  disturbances  in  secret,  through  the 
medium  of  such  a  very  apt  instrument  as  my  savage  friend 
here,  may  further  our  real  ends  ;  and  to  express  at  all  be- 
coming seasons,  in  moderate  and  polite  terms,  a  disapproba- 
tion of  his  proceedings,  though  we  agree  with  him  in  prin- 
ciple, will  certainly  be  to  gain  a  character  for  honesty  and 
upriuhtness  of  purpose,  which  can  not  fail  to  do  us  infinite 
service,  and  to  raise  us  into  some  importance.  Good  !  So 
much  for  public  grounds.  As  to  private  considerations,  I 
confess  that  if  these  vagabonds  would  make  some  riotous 
demonstration  (which  does  not  appear  impossible),  and  ivould 
inflict  some  little  chastisement  on  Haredale  as  a  not  inactive 
man  among  his  sect,  it  would  be  extremely  agreeable  to  my 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  303 

feelings,  and  would  amuse  me  beyond  measure.  Good  again  ! 
Perhaps  better  !  " 

When  he  came  to  this  point,  he  took  a  pinch  of  snuff ; 
then  beginning  slowly  to  undress,  he  resumed  his  medita- 
tions, by  saying  with  a  smile  : 

*'  I  fear,  I  do  fear  exceedingly,  that  my  friend  is  following 
fast  in  the  footsteps  of  his  mother.  His  intimacy  with  Mr. 
Dennis  is  very  ominous.  But  I  have  no  doubt  he  must  have 
come  to  that  end  any  way.  If  I  lend  him  a  helping  hand, 
the  only  difference  is,  that  he  may,  upon  the  whole,  possibly 
drink  a  few  gallons,  or  puncheons,  or  hogsheads,  less  in  this 
life  than  he  otherwise  would.  It's  no  business  of  mine.  It's 
a  matter  of  very  small  importance  !  " 

So  he  took  another  pinch  of  snuff,  and  went  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

From  the  workshop  of  the  Golden  Key,  there  issued  forth 
a  tinkling  sound,  so  merry  and  good-humored,  that  it  sug- 
gested the  idea  of  some  one  working  blithely,  and  made  quite 
pleasant  music.  No  man  who  hammered  on  at  a  dull  mo- 
notonous duty,  could  have  brought  such  cheerful  notes  from 
steel  and  iron  ;  none  but  a  chirping,  healthy,  honest-hearted 
fellow,  who  made  the  best  of  every  thing,  and  felt  kindly  to- 
ward every  body,  could  have  done  it  for  an  instant.  He 
might  have  been  a  coppersmith,  and  still  been  musical.  If 
he  had  sat  in  a  jolting  wagon,  full  of  rods  of  iron,  it  seemed 
as  if  he  would  have  brought  some  harmony  out  of  it. 

Tink,  tink,  tink — clear  as  a  silver  bell,  and  audible  at  ev- 
ery pause  of  the  streets'  harsher  noises,  as  though  it  said,  "  I 
don't  care  ;  nothing  puts  me  out  ;  I  am  resolved  to  be  hap- 
py." Women  scolded,  children  squalled,  heavy  carts  went 
rumbling  by,  horrible  cries  proceeded  from  the  lungs  of 
hawkers  ;  still  it  struck  in  again,  no  higher,  no  lower,  no 
louder,  no  softer  ;  not  thrusting  itself  on  people's  notice  a  bit 
the  more  for  having  been  outdone  by  louder  sounds — tink, 
tink,  tink,  tink,  tink. 

It  was  a  perfect  embodiment  of  the  still  small  voice,  free 
from  all  cold,  hoarseness,  huskiness,  or  unhealthiness  of  any 
kind  ;  foot-passengers  slackened  their  pace,  and  were  dis- 
posed to  linger  near  it  ;  neighbors  who  had  got  up  splenetic 
that  morning,  felt  good-humor  stealing  on  them  as  they  heard 
it,  and  by  degrees  became  quite  sprightl)  ;  mothers  danced 


304  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

their  babies  to  its  ringing;  still  the  same  magical  tink,  tink, 
tink,  came  gayly  from  the  workshop  of  the  Golden  Key. 

Who  but  the  locksmith  could  have  made  such  music  ! 
A  gleam  of  sun  shining  through  the  unsashed  window,  and 
checkering  the  dark  workshop  with  a  broad  patch  of  light,  fell 
full  upon  him,  as  though  attracted  by  his  sunny  heart.  There 
he  stood  working  at  his  anvil,  his  face  all  radiant  with  ex- 
ercise and  gladness,  his  sleeves  turned  up,  his  wig  pushed 
off  his  shining  forehead — the  easiest,  freeest,  happiest  man 
in  all  the  world.  Beside  him  sat  a  sleek  cat,  purring  and  wink- 
ing in  the  light,  and  falling  every  now  and  then  into  an  idle 
doze,  as  from  excess  of  comfort.  Toby  looked  on  from  a  tall 
bench  hard  by  ;  one  beaming  smile,  from  his  broad  nut-brown 
face  down  to  the  slack-baked  buckles  in  his  shoes.  The  very 
locks  that  hung  around  had  something  jovial  in  their  rust, 
and  seemed  like  gouty  gentlemen  of  hearty  natures,  disposed 
to  joke  on  their  infirmities.  There  was  nothing  surly  or 
severe  in  the  whole  scene.  It  seemed  impos>ible  that  any 
one  of  the  innumerable  keys  could  fit  a  churlish  strong-box 
or  a  prison  door.  Cellars  of  beer  and  wine,  rooms  vv^here 
there  were  fires,  books,  gossip,  and  cheering  laughter— these 
were  their  proper  sphere  of  action.  Places  of  distrust  and 
cruelty  and  restraint,  they  would  have  left  quadruple-locked 
forever. 

Tink,  tink,  tink.  The  locksmith  paused  at  last,  and  wiped 
his  brow.  The  silence  roused  the  cat,  who,  jumping  softly 
down,  crept  to  the  door,  and  watched  v/ith  tiger  eyes  a  bird- 
cage in  an  opposite  window.  Gabriel  lifted  Toby  to  his 
mouth,  and  took  a  hearty  draught. 

Then,  as  he  stood  upright,  with  his  head  flung  back,  and 
his  portly  chest  thrown  out,  you  would  have  seen  that  Ga- 
briel's lower  man  was  clothed  in  military  gear.  Glancing  at 
the  wall  beyond,  there  might  have  been  espied,  hanging  on 
their  several  pegs,  a  cap  and  feather,  broad-sword,  sash,  and 
coat  of  scarlet ;  which  any  man  learned  in  such  matters 
would  have  known  from  their  make  and  pattern  to  be 
the  uniform  of  a  sergeant  in  the  Royal  East  London  Volun- 
teers. 

As  the  locksmith  put  his  mug  down,  empty,  on  the  bench 
whence  it  had  smiled  on  him  before,  he  glanced  at  these 
articles  with  a  laughing  eye,  and  looking  at  them  with  his 
head  a  little  on  one  side,  as  though  he  would  get  them  all 
into  a  focus,  said,  leaning  on  his  hammer  : 

'"  Time  vras,  nov/,  I   reineiBber,  when  1   was  like  to  run 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


305 


mad  with  the  desire  to  wear  a  coat  of  that  color.  If  any  one 
(except  my  father)  had  called  me  a  fool  for  my  pains,  how 
I  should  have  fired  and  fumed  !  But  what  a  fool  I  must 
have  been,  sure-ly  !  " 

"  Ah  !  "  sighed  Mrs.  Varden,  who  had  entered  unobserved. 
*'  A  fool  indeed.  A  man  at  your  time  of  life,  Varden,  should 
know  better  now." 

"Why,  what  a  ridiculous  woman  you  are,  Martha,''  said 
the  locksmith,  turning  round  with  a  smile. 

*^  Certainly,"  replied  Mrs.  V.  with  great  demureness.  "  Of 
course  I  am.     I  know  that,  Varden.     Thank  you." 

"  I  mean "  began  the  locksmith. 

"  Yes,"  said  his  wife,  "  I  know  what  you  mean.  You 
speak  quite  plain  enougli  to  be  understood,  Varden.  It's  very 
kind  of  you  to  adapt  yourself  to  my  capacity,  I  am  sure." 

**  Tut,  tut,  Martha,"  rejoined  the  locksmith  ;  "  don't  take 
offense  at  nothing.  I  mean,  how  strange  it  is  of  you  to  run 
down  volunteering,  when  it's  done  to  defend  you  and  all  the 
other  women,  and  our  own  fireside  and  every  body  else's,  in 
case  of  need." 

''  It's  unchristian,"  cried  Mrs.  Varden,  shaking  her  head. 

"  Unchristian  !  "  said  the  locksmith.  "  Why,  what  the 
devil " 

Mrs.  Varden  looked  at  the  ceiling,  as  in  expectation  that 
the  consequence  of  this  profanity  would  be  the  immediate 
descent  of  the  four-post  bedstead,  on  the  second  floor,  to- 
gether with  the  best  sitting-room  on  the  first  ;  but  no  visible 
judgment  occurring,  she  heaved  a  deep  sigh,  and  begged  her 
husband,  in  a  tone  of  resignation,  to  go  on,  and  by  all  means 
to  blaspheme  as  much  as  possible,  because  he  knew  she  liked 
it. 

The  locksmitli  did  for  a  moment  seem  disposed  to  gratify 
her,  but  he  gave  a  great  gulp,  and  mildly  rejoined  : 

"  1  was  going  to  say,  what  on  earth  do  you  call  it  unchris- 
tian for  ?  Which  would  be  most  unchristian,  jMartha — to 
sit  quietly  down  and  let  our  houses  be  sacked  by  a  foreign 
army,  or  to  turn  out  like  men  and  drive  'em  off  ?  Shouldn't 
I  be  a  nice  sort  of  a  Christian,  if  I  crept  into  a  corner  of  my 
own  chimney  and  looked  on  while  a  parcel  of  whiskered  sav- 
ages bore  off  Dolly — or  you  ?  " 

When  he  said  "  Or  you,"  Mrs.  Varden,  despite  herself,  re- 
laxed into  a  smile.     There  was  something  complimentary  in 

the  idea.     "  In  such  a  state  of  things  as  that,  indeed " 

she  simpered. 


3o6  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  As  that !  "  repeated  the  locksmith.  "  Well,  that  would 
be  the  state  of  things  directly.  Even  Miggs  would  go. 
Some  black  tambourine-player,  with  a  great  turban  on,  would 
be  bearing /-^r  off,and,  unless  the  tambourine-player  was  proof 
against  kicking  and  scratching,  it's  my  belief  he'd  have  the 
worst  of  it.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  I'd  forgive  the  tambourine- 
player.  I  wouldn't  have  him  interfered  with  on  any  account, 
poor  fellow."  And  here  the  locksmith  laughed  again  so 
heartily  that  tears  came  into  his  eyes — much  to  Mrs.  Var- 
den's  mdignation,  who  thought  the  capture  of  so  sound  a 
Protestant  and  estimable  a  private  character  as  Miggs  by  a 
Pagan  negro  a  circumstance  too  shocking  and  awful  for 
contemplation. 

The  picture  Gabriel  had  drawn,  indeed,  threatened  serious 
consequences,  and  would  indubitably  have  led  to  them,  but 
luckily  at  that  moment  alight  footstep  crossed  the  threshold, 
and  Dolly,  running  in,  threw  her  arms  round  her  old  father's 
neck,  and  hugged  him  tight. 

"  Here  she  is  at  last  !  "  cried  Gabriel.  "  And  how  well 
you  look,  Doll,  and  how  late  you  are,  my  darling  ! " 

How  well  she  looked  ?  Well  ?  Why,  if  he  had  exhausted 
every  laudatory  adjective  in  the  dictionary,  it  wouldn't  have 
been  praise  enough.  When  and  where  was  there  ever  such 
a  plump,  roguish,  comely,  bright-eyed,  enticing,  bewitching, 
captivating,  maddening  little  puss  in  all  this  world,  as  Dolly  ! 
What  was  the  Dolly  of  five  years  ago,  to  the  Dolly  of  that 
day  !  How  many  coach-makers,  saddlers,  cabinet-makers, 
and  professors  of  other  useful  arts,  had  deserted  their 
fathers,  mothers,  sisters,  brothers,  and,  most  of  all,  their 
cousins,  for  the  love  of  her  !  How  many  unknown  gentle- 
men— supposed  to  be  of  mighty  fortunes,  if  not  titles — had 
waited  round  the  cprner  after  dark,  and  tempted  Miggs  the 
incorruptible,  with  golden  guineas,  to  deliver  offers  of 
marriage  folded  up  in  love-letters  !  How  many  disconsolate 
fathers  and  substantial  tradesmen  had  waited  on  the  lock- 
smith for  the  same  purpose,  with  dismal  tales  of  how  their 
sons  had  lost  their  appetites,  and  taken  to  shut  themselves 
up  in  dark  bedrooms  and  wandering  in  desolate  suburbs 
with  pale  faces,  and  all  because  of  Dolly  Varden's  loveliness 
and  cruelty  !  How  many  young  men,  in  all  previous  times 
of  unprecedented  steadiness,  had  turned  suddenly  wild  and 
wicked  for  the  same  reason,  and,  in  an  ecstasy  of  unrequited 
love,  taken  to  wrench  off  door-knockers,  and  invert  the 
boxes  of  rheumatic  watchmen  !     How  had  she  recruited  the 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  307 

king's  service,  both  by  sea  and  land,  through  rendering 
desperate  his  loving  subjects  between  the  ages  of  eighteen 
and  twenty-five  !  How  many  young  ladies  had  publicly 
professed,  with  tears  in  their  eyes,  that  for  their  tastes  she 
was  much  too  short,  too  tall,  too  bold,  too  cold,  too  stout, 
too  thin,  too  fair,  too  dark — too  every  thing  but  handsome  ! 
How  many  old  ladies,  taking  counsel  together,  had  thanked 
heaven  their  daughters  were  not  like  her,  and  had  hoped  she 
might  come  to  no  harm,  and  had  thought  she  would  come  to 
no  good,  and  had  wondered  what  people  saw  in  her,  and 
had  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  she  was  "  going  off  "  in 
her  looks,  or  had  never  come  on  in  them,  and  that  she  was 
a  thorough  imposition  and  a  popular  mistake  ! 

And  yet  here  was  the  same  Dolly  Varden,  so  whimsical 
and  hard  to  please  that  she  was  Dolly  Varden  still,  all  smiles 
and  dimples  and  pleasant  looks,  and  caring  no  more  for  the 
fifty  or  sixty  young  fellows  who  at  that  very  moment  were 
breaking  their  hearts  to  marry  her,  than  if  so  many  oysters 
had  been  crossed  in  love  and  opened  afterward. 

Dolly  hugged  her  father  as  has  been  already  stated,  and 
having  hugged  her  mother  also,  accompanied  both  into  the 
little  parlor  where  the  cloth  was  already  laid  for  dinner,  and 
where  Miss  Miggs — a  trifle  more  rigid  and  bony  than  of  yore 
— received  her  with  a  sort  of  hysterical  gasp,  intended  for  a 
smile.  Into  the  hands  of  that  young  virgin,  she  delivered 
her  bonnet  and  walking  dress  (all  of  a  dreadful,  artful,  and 
designing  kind),  and  then  said  with  a  laugh,  which  rivaled 
the  locksmith's  music,  "  How  glad  I  always  am  to  be  at 
home  again  !  " 

"  And  how  glad  we  always  are,  Doll,"  said  her  father, 
putting  back  the  dark  hair  from  her  sparkling  eyes,  "  to 
have  you  at  home.     Give  me  a  kiss." 

If  there  had  been  any  body  of  the  male  kind  there  to  see 
her  do  it — but  there  was  not — it  was  a  mercy. 

'*  I  don't  like  your  being  at  the  Warren,"  said  the  lock- 
smith, ''  I  can't  bear  to  have  you  out  of  my  sight.  And 
what  is  the  news  over  yonder,  Doll  ?  " 

"  What  news  there  is,  I  think  you  know  already,"  replied 
his  daughter.     "  I  am  sure  you  do  though." 

''  Ay  ?  "  cried  the  locksmith.     "  What's  that  ?  " 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Dolly,  "  you  know  very  well,  I  want 
you  to  tell  me  why  Mr.  Haredale — oh,  how  gruff  he  is  again, 
to  be  sure  ! — has  been  away  from  home  for  some  days  past, 
and  why  he  is   traveling  about  (we  know  he  is  traveling, 


3o8  BARNABY  RUDGE 

because  of  his  letters)  without  telling  his  own  niece  why  or 
wherefore." 

'*  Miss  Emma  doesn't  want  to  know,  I'll  swear,"  returned 
the  locksmith. 

*'  I  don't  know  that,"  said  Dolly  ;  "  but  /  do,  at  any  rate. 
Do  tell  me.  Why  is  he  so  secret,  and  what  is  this  ghost 
story,  which  nobody  is  to  tell  Miss  Emma,  and  which  seems 
to  be  mixed  up  with  his  going  away  ?  Now  I  see  you  know 
by  your  coloring  so." 

"  What  the  story  means,  or  is,  or  has  to  do  with  it,  I  know 
no  more  than  you,  my  dear,"  returned  the  locksmith, 
"  except  that  it's  some  foolish  fear  of  little  Solomon's — 
which  has,  indeed,  no  meaning  in  it,  I  suppose.  As  to  Mr. 
Haredale's  journey,  he  goes,  as  I  believe " 

"  Yes,"  said  Dolly. 

*'  As  I  believe,"  resumed  the  locksmith,  pinching  her 
cheek,  **  on  business,  Doll.  What  it  may  be,  is  quite  another 
matter.  Read  Blue  Beard,  and  don't  be  too  curious,  pet  ; 
it's  no  business  of  yours  or  mine,  depend  upon  that  ;  and 
here's  dinner,  which  is  much  more  to  the  purpose." 

Dolly  might  have  remonstrated  against  this  summary  dis- 
missal of  the  subject,  notwithstanding  the  appearance  of  din- 
ner, but  at  the  mention  of  Blue  Beard  Mrs.  Varden  inter- 
posed, protesting  she  could  not  find  it  in  her  conscience  to 
sit  tamely  by,  and  hear  her  child  recommended  to  peruse 
the  adventures  of  a  Turk  and  Mussulman — far  less  of  a  fab- 
ulous Turk,  which  she  considered  that  potentate  to  be.  She 
held  that,  in  such  stirring  and  tremendous  times  as  those  in 
which  they  lived,  it  would  be  much  more  to  the  purpose  if 
Dolly  became  a  regular  subscriber  to  the  Thunderer^  where 
she  would  have  an  opportunity  of  reading  Lord  George  Gor- 
don's speeches  word  for  word,  which  would  be  a  greater 
comfort  and  solace  to  her,  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  Blue 
Beards  ever  could  impart.  She  appealed  in  support  of  this 
proposition  to  Miss  Miggs,  then  in  waiting,  v/ho  said  that 
indeed  the  peace  of  mind  she  had  derived  from  the  perusal 
of  that  paper  generally,  but  especially  of  one  article  of  the 
very  last  week  as  ever  was,  entitled  ''  Great  Britain  drenched 
in  gore,"  exceeded  all  belief  ;  the  same  composition,  she 
added,  had  also  wrought  such  a  comforting  effect  on  the 
mind  of  a  married  sister  of  hers,  then  resident  at  Golden 
Lion  Court,  number  twenty-sivin,  second  bell-handle  on  the 
right-hand  door-post,  that,  being  in  a  delicate  state  of  health, 
and  in  fact   expecting  an   addition   to  her  family,  she  had 


BARNABY  RUDGB:.  3^9 

been  seized  with  fits  directly  after  its  perusal,  and  had  raved 
of  the  Inquisition  ever  since  ;  to  the  great  improvement  of 
her  husband  and  friends.  Miss  Miggs  went  on  to  say  that  she 
would  recommend  all  those  whose  hearts  were  hardened  to 
hear  Lord  George  themselves,  whom  she  commended  first, 
in  respect  of  his  steady  Protestantism,  then  of  his  oratory, 
then  of  his  eyes,  then  of  his  nose,  then  of  his  legs,  and  lastly 
of  his  figure  generally,  which  she  looked  upon  as  fit  for  any 
statue,  prince,  or  angel,  to  which  sentiment  Mrs.  Varden 
fully  subscribed. 

Mrs.  Varden  having  cut  in,  looked  at  a  box  upon  the  man- 
tle-shelf, painted  in  imitation  of  a  very  red  brick  dwelling- 
house,  with  a  yellow  roof  ;  having  at  top  a  real  chimney, 
down  which  voluntary  subscribers  dropped  their  silver,  gold, 
or  pence,  into  the  parlor  ;  and  on  the  door  the  counterfeit 
presentment  of  a  brass  plate,  whereupon  was  legibly  inscribed 
"  Protestant  Association  :  " — and  looking  at  it,  said,  that  it 
was  to  her  a  source  of  poignant  misery  to  think  that  Varden 
never  had,  of  all  his  substance,  dropped  any  thing  into  that 
temple,  save  once  in  secret — as  she  afterward  discovered — 
two  fragments  of  tobacco-pipe,  which  she  hoped  would  not 
be  put  down  to  his  last  account.  That  Dolly,  she  was 
grieved  to  say,  was  no  less  backward  in  her  contribution, 
better  loving,  as  it  seemed,  to  purchase  ribbons  and  such 
gauds,  than  to  encourage  the  great  cause,  then  in  such 
heavy  tribulations  ;  and  that  she  did  entreat  her  (her  father 
she  much  feared  could  not  be  moved)  not  to  despise,  but 
imitate,  the  bright  example  of  Miss  Miggs,  who  flung  her 
wages,  as  it  were,  into  the  very  countenance  of  the  Pope,  and 
bruised  his  features  with  her  quarter's  money. 

"  Oh,  mim,"  said  Miggs,  "  don't  relude  to  that.  I  had  no 
intentions,  mim,  that  nobody  should  know.  Such  sacrifices 
as  I  can  make,  are  quite  a  widder's  mite.  It's  all  I  have," 
cried  Miggs,  with  a  great  burst  of  tears — for  with  her  they 
never  came  on  by  degrees — "  but  it's  made  up  to  me  in  other 
ways  ;  it's  well  made  up." 

This  was  quite  true,  though  not  perhaps  in  the  sense  that 
Miggs  intended.  As  she  never  failed  to  keep  her  self- 
denial  full  in  Mrs.  Varden 's  view,  it  drew  forth  so  many 
gifts  of  caps  and  gowns  and  other  articles  of  dress,  that  upon 
the  whole  the  red-brick  house  was  perhaps  the  best  invest- 
ment for  her  small  capital  she  could  possibly  have  it  upon  ; 
returning  her  interest,  at  the  rate  of  seven  or  eight  per  cent, 
in  money,  and  fifty  at  least  in  personal  repute  and  credit. 


310  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

**  You  needn't  cry,  Miggs,"  said  Mrs.  Varden,  herself  in 
tears  ;  "  you  needn't  be  ashamed  of  it,  though  your  poor 
mistress  is  on  the  same  side." 

Miggs  howled  at  this  remark,  in  a  peculiarly  dismal  way, 
and  said  she  knowed  that  master  hated  her.  That  it  was  a 
dreadful  thing  to  live  in  families  and  have  dislikes,  and  not 
give  satisfactions.  That  to  make  divisions  was  a  thing  she 
could  not  a-bear  to  think  of,  neither  could  her  feelings  let 
her  do  it.  That  if  it  was  master's  wishes  as  she  and  him 
should  part,  it  was  best  they  should  part,  and  she  hoped  he 
might  be  the  happier  for  it,  and  always  wishes  him  well,  and 
that  he  might  find  somebody  as  would  meet  his  dispositions. 
It  would  be  a  hard  trial,  she  said,  to  part  from  such  a  missis, 
but  she  could  meet  any  suffering  when  her  conscience  told 
her  she  was  in  the  rights,  and  therefore  she  was  willing  even 
to  go  that  lengths.  She  did  not  think,  she  added,  that  she 
could  long  survive  the  separations,  but,  as  she  was  hated 
and  looked  upon  unpleasant,  perhaps  her  dying  as  soon 
as  possible  would  be  the  best  endings  for  all  parties.  With 
this  affecting  conclusion.  Miss  Miggs  shed  more  tears,  and 
sobbed  abundantly. 

**  Can  you  bear  this,  Varden  ?  "  said  his  wife,  in  a  solemn 
voice,  laying  down  her  knife  and  fork. 

"  Why,  not  very  well,  my  dear,"  rejoined  the  locksmith, 
**  but  I  try  to  keep  my  temper." 

'^  Don't  let  there  be  words  on  my  account,  mim,"  sobbed 
Miggs.  "  It's  much  the  best  that  we  should  part.  I  wouldn't 
stay — oh,  gracious  me  ! — and  make  dissensions,  not  for  a 
annual  gold  mine,  and  found  in  tea  and  sugar." 

Lest  the  reader  should  be  at  any  loss  to  discover  the  cause 
of  Miss  Miggs's  deep  emotion,  it  may  be  whispered  apart, 
that,  happening  to  be  listening,  as  her  custom  sometimes 
was,  when  Gabriel  and  his  wife  conversed  together,  she  had 
heard  the  locksmitli's  joke  relative  to  the  foreign  black  who 
played  the  tambourine,  and  bursting  with  the  spiteful  feelings 
which  the  taunt  awoke  in  her  fair  breast,  exploded  in  the 
manner  we  have  witnessed.  Matters  having  now  arrived  at 
a  crisis,  the  locksmith,  as  usual,  and  for  the  sake  of  peace 
and  quietness,  gave  in. 

"  What  are  you  crying  for,  girl  ? "  he  said.  "  What's  the 
matter  with  you  ?  What  are  you  talking  about  hatred  for  ? 
/  don't  hate  you  ;  I  don't  hate  any  body.  Dry  your  eyes 
and  make  yourself  agreeable,  in  heaven's  name,  and  let  us 
all  be  happy  while  we  can." 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  311 

The  allied  powers  deeming  it  good  generalship  to  consider 
this  a  sufficient  apology  on  the  part  of  the  enemy,  and  con- 
fession of  having  been  in  the  wrong,  did  dry  their  eyes  and 
take  it  in  good  part.  Miss  Miggs  observed  that  she  bore  no 
malice,  no  not  to  her  greatest  foe,  whom  she  rather  loved 
the  more  indeed,  the  greater  persecution  she  sustained. 
Mrs.  Varden  approved  of  this  meek  and  forgiving  spirit  in 
high  terras,  and  incidentally  declared  as  a  closing  article  of 
agreement,  that  Dolly  should  accompany  her  to  the  Clerken- 
well  branch  of  the  association,  that  very  night.  This  was 
an  extraordinary  instance  of  her  great  prudence  and  policy  ; 
having  had  this  end  in  view  from  the  first,  and  entertaining 
a  secret  misgiving  that  the  locksmith  (who  was  bold  when 
Dolly  was  in  question)  would  object,  she  had  backed  Miss 
Miggs  up  to  this  point,  in  order  that  she  might  have  him  at 
a  disadvantage.  The  maneuver  succeeded  so  well  that 
Gabriel  only  made  a  wry  face,  and  with  the  warning  he 
had  just  had,  fresh  in  his  mind,  did  not  dare  to  say  one 
word. 

The  difference  ended,  therefore,  in  Miggs  being  presented 
with  a  gown  by  Mrs.  Varden  and  half  a  crown  by  Dolly,  as 
if  she  had  eminently  distinguished  herself  in  the  paths  of 
morality  and  goodness.  Mrs.  V.,  according  to  custom, 
expressed  her  hope  that  Varden  would  take  a  lesson  from 
what  had  passed  and  learn  more  generous  conduct  for  the 
time  to  come  ;  and  the  dinner  being  now  cold  and  nobody's 
appetite  very  much  improved  by  what  had  passed,  they  went 
on  with  it,  as  Mrs.  Varden  said,  ''  like  Christians." 

As  there  was  to  be  a  grand  parade  of  the  Royal  East 
London  Volunteers  that  afternoon,  the  locksmith  did  no 
more  work  ;  but  sat  down  comfortably  with  his  pipe  in  his 
mouth,  and  his  arm  round  his  pretty  daughter's  waist,  look- 
ing lovingly  on  Mrs.  V.,  from  time  to  time,  and  exhibiting 
from  the  crown  of  his  head  to  the  sole  of  his  foot,  one  smil- 
ing surface  of  good-humor.  And  to  be  sure,  when  it  was 
time  to  dress  him  in  his  regimentals,  and  Dolly,  hanging 
about  him  in  all  kinds  of  graceful  winning  ways,  helped  to 
button  and  buckle  and  brush  him  up  and  get  him  into  one 
of  the  tightest  coats  that  ever  was  made  by  mortal  tailor,  he 
was  the  proudest  father  in  all  England. 

"  What  a  handy  jade  it  is  !  "  said  the  locksmith  to  Mrs. 
Varden,  who  stood  by  with  folded  hands — rather  proud  of 
her  husband  too — while  Miggs  held  his  cap  and  sword  at 
arm's-length,  as  if  mistrusting  that  the  latter  might  run  some 


312  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

one  through  the  body  of  its  own  accord  ;  ''  but  never  marry  a 
soldier,  Doll,  my  dear." 

Dolly  didn't  ask  why  not,  or  say  a  word,  indeed,  but 
stooped  her  head  down  very  low  to  tie  his  sash. 

"I  never  wear  this  dress,"  said  honest  Gabriel,  "  but  I 
think  of  poor  Joe  Willet.  I  loved  Joe  ;  he  was  always  a 
favorite  of  mine.  Poor  Joe  ! — Dear  heart,  my  girl,  don't  tie 
me  in  so  tight." 

Dolly  laughed — not  like  herself  at  all — the  strangest  little 
laugh  that  could  be — and  held  her  head  down  lower  still. 

"  Poor  Joe  !  "  resumed  the  locksmith,  muttering  to  him- 
self ;  "  I  always  wish  he  had  come  to  me.  I  might  have 
made  it  up  between  them,  if  he  had.  Ah  !  old  John  made  a 
great  mistake  in  his  way  of  acting  by  that  lad — a  great  mis- 
take.    Have  you  nearly  tied  that  sash,  my  dear  ?  " 

What  an  ill-made  .sash  it  was  !  There  it  was,  loose  again 
and  trailing  on  the  ground.  Dolly  was  obliged  to  kneel 
down,  and  recommence  at  the  beginning. 

"  Never  mind  young  Willet,  Varden,"  said  his  wife  frown- 
ing ;  "  you  might  find  some  one  more  deserving  to  talk 
about,  I  think." 

Miss  Miggs  gave  a  great  sniff  to  the  same  effect. 

*' Nay,  Martha,"  cried  the  locksmith,  "don't  let  us  bear 
too  hard  upon  him.  If  the  lad  is  dead  indeed,  we'll  deal 
kindly  by  his  memory." 

"  A  runaway  and  a  vagabond  !  "  said  Mrs.  Varden. 

Miss  Miggs  expressed  her  concurrence  as  before. 

"A  runaway,  my  dear,  but  not  a  vagabond,"  returned  the 
locksmith  in  a  gentle  tone.  "  He  behaved  himself  well,  did 
Joe — always — and  was  a  handsome  manly  fellow.  Don't 
call  him  a  vagabond,  Martha." 

Mrs.  Varden  coughed — and  so  did  Miggs. 

"  He  tried  hard  to  gain  your  good  opinion,  Martha,  I  can  tell 
you,"  said  the  locksmith  smiling,  and  stroking  his  chin. 
"  Ah  !  that  he  did.  It  seems  but  yesterday  that  he  followed 
me  out  to  the  Maypole  door  one  night,  and  begged  me  not 
to  say  how  like  a  boy  they  used  him — say  here,  at  home,  he 
meant,  though  at  the  time,  1  recollect,  I  didn't  understand. 
*  And  how's  Miss  Dolly,  sir  ? '  says  Joe,"  pursued  the  lock- 
smith, musing  sorrowfully,  "  Ah  !     Poor  Joe  !  " 

"Well,  I  declare,"  cried  Miggs.  "Oh!  Goodness  gra- 
cious me  !  " 

"  What's  the  matter  now  ?  "  said  Gabriel,  turning  sharply 
to  her. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  %is 

"Why,  if  here  ain't  Miss  Dolly,"  said  the  handmaid, 
Stooping  down  to  look  into  her  face,  "  a-giving  way  to  floods 
of  tears.  Oh,  mim  I  oh,  sir.  Raly  it's  give  me  such  a  turn," 
cried  the  susceptible  damsel,  pressing  her  hand  upon  her 
side  to  quell  the  palpitation  of  her  heart,  '*  that  you  might 
knock  me  down  with  a  feather." 

The  locksmith  after  glancing  at  Miss  Miggs  as  if  he  could 
have  wished  to  have  a  feather  brought  straightway,  looked 
en  with  a  broad  stare  while  Dolly  hurried  away,  followed  by 
that  sympathizing  young  woman  :  then  turning  to  his  wife, 
stammered  out,  "  Is  Dolly  ill  ?  Have  /  done  g.ny  thing  ? 
Is  it  my  fault?  " 

"  Your  fault  !  "  cried  Mrs.  V.,  reproachfully.  "  There — 
you  had  better  make  haste  out." 

"  What  have  I  done  ?  "  said  poor  Gabriel.  **  It  was 
agreed  that  Mr.  Edward's  name  was  never  to  be  mentioned, 
and  I  have  not  spoken  of  him,  have  I  ?  " 

Mrs.  Varden  merely  replied  that  she  had  no  patience  with 
him,  and  bounced  off  after  the  other  two.  The  unfortunate 
locksmith  wound  his  sash  about  him,  girded  on  his  sword, 
put  on  his  cap,  and  walked  out. 

*'  I  am  not  much  of  a  dab  at  my  exercise,"  he  said,  under 
his  breath,  "but  I  s'hall  get  into  fewer  scrapes  at  that  work 
than  at  this.  Every  man  came  into  the  world  for  some- 
thing ;  my  department  seems  to  be  to  make  every  woman 
cry  without  meaning  it.     It's  rather  hard  ! " 

But  he  forgot  it  before  he  reached  the  end  of  the  street, 
and  went  on  with  a  shining  face,  nodding  to  the  neiphbors, 
and  showering  about  his  friendly  greetings  like  mild  spring 
rain. 

CHAPTER   XLII. 

The  Royal  East  London  Volunteers  made  a  brilliant  sight 
that  day  ;  formed  into  lines,  squares,  circles,  triangles,  and 
what  not,  to  the  beating  of  drums,  and  the  streaming  of  flags  ; 
and  performed  a  vast  number  of  complex  evolutions,  in  all 
of  which  Serjeant  Varden  bore  a  conspicuous  share.  Hav- 
ing displayed  their  military  prowess  to  the  utmost  in  these 
warlike  shows,  they  marched  in  glistering  order  to  the  Chel- 
sea Bunhouse,  and  regaled  in  the  adjacent  taverns  until  dark. 
Then  at  sound  of  drum  they  fell  in  again,  and  returned 
amidst  the  shouti  .g  of  his  majesty's  lieges  to  the  place  from, 
whence  they  came. 


314  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

The  homeward  march  being  somewhat  tardy — owing  to 
the  un-soldierlike  behavior  of  certain  corporals,  who  being 
gentlemen  of  sedentary  pursuits  in  private  life  and  excitable 
out  of  doors,  broke  several  windows  with  their  bayonets,  and 
rendered  it  imperative  on  the  commanding  officer  to  deliver 
them  over  to  a  strong  guard,  with  whom  they  fought  at  in- 
tervals as  they  came  along — it  was  nine  o'clock  when  the 
locksmith  reached  home.  A  hackney-coach  was  waiting  near 
his  door  ;  and  as  he  passed  it,  Mr.  Haredale  looked  from 
the  window  and  called  him  by  his  name. 

"  The  sight  of  you  is  good  for  sore  eyes,  sir,"  said  the 
locksmith,  stepping  up  to  him.  "  I  wish  you  had  walked  in 
though,  rather  than  waited  here." 

"There  is  nobody  at  home,  I  find,"  Mr.  Haredale  an- 
swered ;  "  besides,  I  desired  to  be  as  private  as  I  could." 

'*  Humph  !  "  muttered  the  locksmith,  looking  round  at  his 
house.  "  Gone  with  Simon  Tappertit  to  that  preciou<= 
branch,  no  doubt." 

Mr.  Haredale  invited  him  to  come  into  the  coach,  and, 
if  he  were  not  tired  or  anxious  to  go  home,  to  ride  with  him 
a  little  way  that  they  might  have  some  talk  together.  Ga- 
briel cheerfully  complied,  and  the  coachman  mounting  his 
box  drove  off. 

"  Varden,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  after  a  minute's  pause, 
*'  you  will  be  amazed  to  hear  what  errand  I  am  on  :  it  will 
?eem  a  very  strange  one." 

^'  I  have  no  doubt  it's  a  reasonable  one,  sir,  and  has  a 
meaning  in  it,"  replied  the  locksmith  ;  **  or  it  would  not  be 
yours  at  all.     Have  you  just  come  back  to  town,  sir  ?  " 

''  But  half  an  hour  ago." 

"  Bringing  no  news  of  Barnaby,  or  his  mother  !  "  said  the 
locksmith  dubiously.  *'  Ah  !  you  needn't  shake  your  head, 
sir.  It  was  a  wild-goose  chase.  I  feared  that  from  the  first. 
You  exhausted  all  reasonable  means  of  discovery  when  they 
went  away.  To  begin  again  after  so  long  a  time  has  passed 
is  hopeless,  sir — (juite  hopeless." 

**  Why,  where  are  they  ?"  he  returned,  impatiently.  "  Where 
can  they  be  ?     Above  ground  ?  " 

"  God  knows,"  rejoined  the  locksmith,  "  many  that  I  knew 
above  it  five  years  ago,  have  their  beds  under  the  grass  now. 
And  the  world  is  a  wide  place.  It's  a  hopeless  attempt,  sir, 
believe  me.  We  must  leave  the  discovery  of  this  mystery, 
like  all  others,  to  time^,  and  accident,  and  heaven's  pleasure." 

"  Varden,  my  good  fellow,"  said   Mr.  Haredale,  "  I  have 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  315 

a  deeper  meaning  in  my  present  anxiety  to  find  them  out, 
than  you  can  fathom.  It  is  not  a  mere  whim  ;  it  is  not  the 
casual  revival  of  my  old  wishes  and  desires  ;  but  an  earnest, 
solemn  purpose.  My  thoughts  and  dreams  all  tend  to  it,  and 
fix  it  in  my  mind,  I  have  no  rest  by  day  or  night  ;  I  have 
no  peace  or  quiet ;   I  am  haunted." 

His  voice  was  so  altered  from  its  usual  tones,  and  his 
manner  bespoke  so  much  emotion,  that  Gabriel,  in  his  won- 
der, could  only  sit  and  look  toward  him  in  the  darkness,  and 
fancy  the  expression  of  his  face. 

''  Do  not  ask  me,"  continued  Mr.  Haredale,  *' to  explain 
myself.  If  I  were  to  do  so,  you  would  think  me  the  victim 
of  some  hideous  fancy.  It  is  enough  that  this  is  so,  and  that 
I  can  not — no,  I  can  not — lie  quietly  in  my  bed,  without 
doing  what  will  seem  to  you  incomprehensible." 

"  Since  when,  sir,"  said  the  locksmith  after  a  pause,  "has 
this  uneasy  feeling  been  upon  you  ?" 

Mr.  Haredale  hesitated  for  some  moments,  and  then  re- 
plied :  "  Since  the  night  of  the  storm.  In  short,  since  the 
last  nineteenth  of  March." 

As  though  he  feared  that  Varden  might  express  surprise, 
or  reason  with  him,  he  hastily  went  on  : 

"  You  will  think,  I  know,  I  labor  under  some  delusion. 
Perhaps  I  do.  But  it  is  not  a  morbid  one  ;  it  is  a  wholesome 
action  of  the  mind,  reasoning  on  actual  occurrences.  You 
know  the  furniture  remains  in  Mrs.  Rudge's  house,  and  that 
it  has  been  shut  up,  by  my  orders,  since  she  went  away,  save 
once  a  week  or  so,  when  an  old  neighbor  visits  it  to  scare 
away  the  rats.     I  am  on  my  way  there  now." 

"  For  what  purpose  ?  "  asked  the  locksmith. 

"  To  pass  the  night  there,"  he  replied  ;  "  and  not  to  night 
alone,  but  many  nights.  This  is  a  secret  which  I  trust  to 
you  in  case  of  any  unexpected  emergency.  You  will  not 
come,  unless  in  case  of  strong  necessity,  to  me  ;  from  dusk 
to  bVoad  day  I  shall  be  there.  Emma,  your  daughter,  and 
the  rest,  suppose  me  out  of  London,  as  I  have  been  until  this 
hour.  Do  not  undeceive  them.  This  is  the  errand  I  am 
bound  upon.  I  know  I  may  confide  it  to  you,  and  I  rely 
upon  your  questioning  me  no  more  at  this  time." 

With  that,  as  if  to  change  the  theme,  he  led  the  astounded 
locksmith  back  to  the  night  of  the  Maypole  highwayman,  to 
the  robbery  of  Edward  Chester,  to  the  re-appearance  of  the 
man  at  Mrs.  Rudge's  house,  and  to  all  the  strange  circum- 
stances  which  afterward  occurred.      He  even  asked   him 


3i6  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

carelessly  about  the  man's  height,  his  face,  his  figure,  whether 
he  was  like  any  one  he  had  ever  seen — like  Hugh,  for  in- 
stance, or  any  man  he  had  known  at  any  time — and  put 
many  questions  of  that  sort,  which  the  locksmith,  considering 
them  as  mere  devices  to  engage  his  attention  and  prevent  his 
expressing  the  astonishment  he  felt,  answered  pretty  much  at 
random. 

At  length  they  arrived  at  the  corner  of  the  street  in  which 
the  house  stood,  where  Mr.  Haredale,  alighting,  dismissed 
the  coach,  "  If  you  desire  to  see  me  safely  lodged,"  he 
said,  turning  to  the  locksmith  with  a  gloomy  smile,  **  you 
can." 

Gabriel,  to  whom  all  former  marvels  had  been  nothing  in 
comparison  with  this,  followed  him  along  the  narrow  pave- 
ment in  silence.  When  they  reached  the  door,  Mr.  Hare- 
dale  softly  opened  it  with  a  key  he  had  about  him,  and  clos- 
ing it  when  Varden  entered,  they  were  left  in  thorough 
darkness. 

They  groped  their  way  into  the  ground-floor  room.  Here 
Mr.  Haredale  struck  a  light,  and  kindled  a  pocket-taper  he 
had  brought  with  him  for  the  purpose.  It  was  then,  when 
the  flame  was  full  upon  him,  that  the  locksmith  saw  for  the 
first  time  how  haggard,  pale,  and  changed  he  looked  ;  how 
worn  and  thin  he  was  ;  how  perfectly  his  whole  appearance 
coincided  with  all  that  he  had  said  so  strangely  as  they  rode 
along.  It  was  not  an  unnatural  impulse  in  Gabriel,  after 
what  he  had  heard,  to  note  curiously  the  expression  of  his 
eyes.  It  was  perfectly  collected  and  rational ; — so  much  so, 
indeed,  that  he  felt  ashamed  of  his  momentary  suspicion, 
and  dropped  his  own  when  Mr.  Haredale  looked  toward  him 
as  if  he  feared  they  would  betray  his  thoughts. 

"  Will  you  walk  through  the  house  ?  "  said  Mr.  Haredale, 
with  a  glance  toward  the  window,  the  crazy  shutters  of  which 
weie  closed  and  fastened.     "  Speak  low." 

There  was  a  kind  of  awe  about  the  place,  which  v/ould 
have  rendered  it  difficult  to  speak  in  any  other  manner. 
Gabriel  whispered  "  Yes,"  and  followed  him  up-stairs. 

Every  thing  was  just  as  they  had  seen  it  last.  There  was 
a  sense  of  closeness  from  the  exclusion  of  fresh  air,  and  a 
gloom  and  heaviness  around,  as  though  long  imprisonment 
had  made  the  very  silence  sad.  The  homely  hanging  of  the 
beds  and  windows  had  begun  to  droop  ;  the  dust  lay  thick 
upon  their  dwindling  folds  ;  and  damps  had  made  their  way 
through  ceiling,  wall,  and  rfoor.     The  boards  creaked  be- 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  317 

neath  their  tread,  as  if  resenting  the  unaccustomed  intrusion; 
nimble  spiders,  paralyzed  by  the  taper's  glare,  checked  the 
motion  of  their  hundred  legs  upon  the  wall,  or  dropped  like 
lifeless  things  upon  the  ground  ;  the  death-watch  ticked  ; 
and  the  scampering  feet  of  rats  and  mice  rattled  behind  the 
wainscot. 

As  they  looked  about  them  on  the  decaying  furniture,  it 
was  strange  to  find  how  vividly  it  presented  those  to  whom 
it  had  belonged,  and  with  whom  it  was  once  familiar.  Grip 
seemed  to  perch  again  upon  his  high-backed  chair.  Barn- 
aby  to  crouch  in  his  old  favorite  corner  by  the  fire  ;  the 
mother  to  resume  her  usual  seat,  and  watch  him  as  of  old. 
Even  when  they  could  separate  these  objects  from  the 
phantoms  of  the  mind  which  they  invoked,  the  latter  only 
glided  out  of  sight,  but  lingered  near  them  still ;  for  then 
they  seemed  to  lurk  in  closets  and  behind  the  doors,  ready 
to  start  out  and  suddenly  accost  them  in  well-remembered 
tones. 

They  went  dgwn  stairs,  and  again  into  the  room  they  had 
just  now  left.  Mr.  Haredale  unbuckled  his  sword  and  laid 
it  on  the  table,  with  a  pair  of  pocket  pistols  ;  then  told  the 
locksmith  he  would  light  him  to  the  door. 

"  But  this  is  a  dull  place,  sir,"  said  Gabriel  lingering  ; 
"  may  no  one  share  your  watch  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head,  and  so  plainly  evinced  his  wish  to  be 
alone,  that  Gabriel  could  say  no  more.  In  another  moment 
the  locksmith  was  standing  in  the  street,  whence  he  could 
see  that  the  light  once  more  traveled  up-stairs,  and  so  on  re- 
turning to  the  room  below,  shone  brightly  through  the 
chinks  of  the  shutters. 

If  ever  man  were  sorely  puzzled  and  perplexed,  the  lock- 
smith was,  that  night.  Even  when  snugly  seated  by  his  own 
fireside,  with  Mrs.  Varden  opposite  in  a  nightcap  and  night- 
jacket,  and  Dolly  beside  him  (in  a  most  distracting  disha- 
bille) curling  her  hair,  and  smiling  as  if  she  had  never  cried 
in  all  her  life  and  never  could — even  then,  with  Toby  at  his 
elbow  and  his  pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  Miggs  (but  that  per- 
haps was  not  much)  falling  asleep  in  the  background,  he 
could  not  quite  discard  his  wonder  and  uneasiness.  So 
in  his  dreams — still  there  was  Mr.  Haredale,  haggard  and 
careworn,  listening  in  the  solitary  house  to  every  sound 
that  stirred,  with  the  taper  shining  through  the  chinks 
until  the  day  should  turn  it  pale  and  end  his  nightly  watch- 
ing. 


3i8  BARNABY  RUDGE. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

Next  morning  brought  no  satisfaction  to  the  locksmith's 
thoughts,  nor  next  day,  nor  the  next,  nor  many  others. 
Often  after  nightfall  he  entered  the  street,  and  turned  his 
eyes  toward  the  well-known  house  ;  and  as  surely  as  he  did 
so,  there  was  the  solitary  light,  still  gleaming  through  the 
crevices  of  the  window-shutter,  while  all  within  was  motion- 
less, noiseless,  cheerless,  as  a  grave.  Unwilling  to  hazard 
Mr.  Haredale's  favor  by  disobeying  his  strict  injunction,  he 
never  ventured  to  knock  at  the  door  or  to  make  his  presence 
known  in  any  way.  But  whenever  strong  interest  and  curi- 
osity attracted  him  to  the  spot — which  was  not  seldom — the 
light  was  always  there. 

If  he  could  have  known  what  passed  within,  the  knowl- 
edge would  have  yielded  him  no  clew  to  this  mysterious  vigil. 
At  twilight,  Mr.  Haredale  shut  himself  up,  and  at  day-break 
he  came  forth.  He  never  missed  a  night,  always  came  and 
went  alone,  and  never  varied  his  proceedings  in  the  least 
degree. 

The  manner  of  his  watch  was  this  :  At  dusk,  he  entered 
the  house  in  the  same  way  as  when  the  locksmith  bore  him 
company,  kindled  a  light,  went  through  the  rooms,  and  nar- 
rowly examined  them.  That  done,  he  returned  to  the 
chamber  on  the  ground-floor,  and  laying  his  sword  and  pis- 
tols on  the  table,  sat  by  it  until  morning. 

He  usually  had  a  book  with  him,  and  often  tried  to 
read,  but  never  fixed  his  eyes  or  thoughts  upon  it  for  five 
minutes  together.  The  slightest  noise  without  doors  caught 
his  ear  ;  a  step  upon  the  pavement  seemed  to  make  his  heart 
leap. 

He  was  not  without  some  refreshment  during  the  long 
lonely  hours  ;  generally  carrying  in  his  pocket  a  sandwich 
of  bread  and  meat,  and  a  small  flask  of  wine.  The  latter 
diluted  with  large  quantities  of  water,  he  drank  in  a  heated, 
feverish  way,  as  though  his  throat  were  dried  ;  but  he 
scarcely  ever  broke  his  fast  by  so  much  as  a  crumb  of 
bread. 

If  this  voluntary  sacrifice  of  sleep  and  comfort  had  its 
origin,  as  the  locksmith  on  consideration  was  disposed  to 
think,  in  any  superstitious  expectation  of  the  fulfillment 
of  a  dream  or  vision  connected  with  the  event  on  which  he 
had  brooded  for  so  many  years,  and  if  he  waited  for  some 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  319 

ghostly  visitor  vho  walked  abroad  when  men  lay  sleeping  in 
their  beds,  he  showed  no  trace  of  fear  or  wavering.  His 
stern  features  expressed  inflexible  resolution  ;  his  brows  were 
puckered,  and  his  lips  compressed,  with  deep  and  settled 
purpose  ;  and  when  he  started  at  a  noise  and  listened,  it 
was  not  with  the  start  of  fear,  but  hope,  and  catching  up  his 
sword  as  though  the  hour  had  come  at  last,  he  would  clutch 
it  in  his  tight-clinched  hand,  and  listen  with  sparkling  eyes 
and  eager  looks,  until  it  died  away. 

These  disappointments  were  numerous,  for  they  en- 
sued on  almost  every  sound,  but  his  constancy  was  not 
shaken.  Still  every  night  he  was  at  his  post,  the  same  stern, 
sleepless,  sentinel ;  and  still  night  passed,  and  morning 
dawned,  and  he  must  watch  again. 

This  ^yent  on  for  weeks  ;  he  had  taken  a  lodging  at  Vaux- 
hall  in  which  to  pass  the  day  and  rest  himself  ;  and  from 
this  place,  when  the  tide  served,  he  usually  came  to  Lon- 
don Bridge  from  Westminster  by  water,  in  order  that  he 
might  avoid  the  busy  streets. 

One  evening,  shortly  before  twilight,  he  came  his  accus- 
tomed road  upon  the  river's  bank,  intending  to  pass  through 
Westminster  Hall  into  Palace  Yard,  and  there  take  boat  to 
London  Bridge  as  usual.  There  was  a  pretty  large  con- 
course of  people  assembled  round  the  houses  of  parliament, 
looking  at  the  members  as  they  entered  and  departed,  and 
giving  vent  to  rather  noisy  demonstrations  of  approval  or 
dislike,  according  to  their  known  opinions.  As  he  made 
his  way  among  the  throng,  he  heard  once  or  twice  the  No- 
Popery  cry,  which  was  then  becoming  pretty  familiar  to  the 
ears  of  most  men  ;  but  holding  it  in  very  slight  regard,  and 
observing  that  the  idlers  were  of  the  lowest  grade,  he  neither 
thought  nor  cared  about  it,  but  n:iade  his  way  along,  with 
perfect  indifference. 

There  were  many  little  knots  and  groups  of  persons  in 
Westminster  Hall  ;  some  fev/  looking  upward  at  its  noble 
ceiling,  and  at  the  rays  of  evening  light,  tinted  by  the  setting 
sun,  which  streamed  in  aslant  through  its  small  windows, 
and  growing  dimmer  by  degrees,  were  quenched  in  the 
gathering  gloom  below  ;  some,  noisy  passengers,  mechanics 
going  home  from  work,  and  otherwise,  who  hurried  quickly 
through,  waking  the  echoes  with  their  voices,  and  soon 
darkening  the  small  door  in  the  distance  as  they  passed  into 
the  street  beyond  ;  some  in  busy  conference  together  on  po- 
litical or  private  matters,  pacing  slowly  up  and   down  v.  ith 


320  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

eyes  that  sought  the  ground,  and  seeming,  by  their  attitudes, 
to  listen  earnestly  from  head  to  foot.  Here  a  dozen  squad- 
bling  urchins  made  a  very  Babel  in  the  air  ;  there,  a  solitary 
man,  half  clerk,  half  mendicant,  paced  up  and  down  with 
hungry  dejection  in  his  look  and  gait  ;  at  his  elbow  passed 
an  errand-lad,  swinging  his  basket  round  and  round,  and 
with  his  shrill  whistle  riving  the  very  timbers  of  the  roof  ; 
while  a  more  obstinate  school  boy,  half  way  through, 
pocketed  his  ball,  and  eyed  the  distant  beadle  as  he  came 
looming  on.  It  was  that  time  of  evening  when,  if  you  shut 
your  eyes  and  open  them  again,  the  darkness  of  an  hour  ap- 
pears to  have  gathered  in  a  second.  The  smooth  worn  pave- 
ment, dusty  with  footsteps,  still  called  upon  the  lofty  walls  to 
reiterate  the  shuffle  and  the  tread  of  feet  unceasingly,  save 
when  the  closing  of  some  heavy  door  resounded  through  the 
building  like  a  clap  of  thunder,  and  drowned  all  other  noise 
in  its  rolling  sound. 

Mr.  Haredale,  glancing  only  at  such  of  these  groups  as  he 
passed  nearest  to,  and  then  in  a  manner  betokening  that  his 
thoughts  were  elsewhere,  had  nearly  traversed  the  hall,  when 
two  persons  before  him  caught  his  attention.  One  of  these, 
a  gentleman  in  elegant  attire,  carried  in  his  hand  a  cane, 
which  he  twirled  in  a  jaunty  manner  as  he  loitered  on  ;  the 
other,  an  obsequious,  crouching,  fawning  figure,  listened  to 
what  he  said — at  times  throwing  in  an  humble  word  himself 
— and,  with  his  shoulders  shrugged  up  to  his  ears,  rubbed 
his  hands  submissively,  or  answered  at  intervals  by  an  in- 
clination of  the  head,  half-way  between  a  nod  of  acquies- 
cence, and  a  bow  of  most  profound  respect. 

In  the  abstract  there  was  nothing  very  remarkable  in  this 
pair,  for  servility  waiting  on  a  handsome  suit  of  clothes  and 
a  cane — not  to  speak  of  gold  and  silver  sticks,  or  wands  of 
office — is  common  enough.  But  there  was  that  about  the 
well-dressed  man,  yes,  and  about  the  other  likewise,  whicli 
struck  Mr.  Haredale  with  no  pleasant  feeling.  He  hesita- 
ted, stopped,  and  would  have  stepped  aside  and  turned  out 
of  his  path,  but  at  that  moment  the  other  two  faced  about 
quickly,  and  stumbled  upon  him  before  he  could  avoid 
them. 

The  gentleman  with  the  cane  lifted  his  hat  and  had  begun 
to  tender  an  apology,  which  Mr.  Haredale  had  begun  as 
hastily  to  acknowledge  and  walk  away,  when  he  stopped 
short  and  cried,  "  Haredale  !  God  bless  me,  this  is  strange 
indeed  !  " 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  321 


"  It  is,"  he  returned  impatiently  ;  "  yes — a- 


"  My  dear  friend,"  cried  the  other,  detaining  him,  'Svhy 
such  great  speed  ?  One  minute,  Haredale,  for  the  sake  of 
old  acquaintance." 

"  I  am  in  haste,"  he  said.  "  Neither  of  us  has  sought  this 
meeting.     Let  it  be  a  brief  one.     Good-night !  " 

"Fie,  fie  !  "  replied  Sir  John  (for  it  was  he),  "how  very 
churlish  !  We  were  speaking  of  you.  Your  name  was  on 
my  lips — perhaps  you  heard  me  mention  it?  No?  I  am 
sorry  for  that.  I  am  really  sorry.  You  know  our  friend 
here,  Haredale  ?    This  is  really  a  most  remarkable  meeting  !  " 

The  friend,  plainly  very  ill  at  ease,  had  made  bold  to 
press  Sir  John's  arm,  and  to  give  him  other  significant  hints 
that  he  was  desirous  of  avoiding  this  introduction.  As  it 
did  not  suit  Sir  John's  purpose,  however,  that  it  should  be 
evaded,  he  appeared  quite  unconscious  of  these  silent  re- 
monstrances, and  inclined  his  hand  toward  him,  as  he  spoke, 
to  call  attention  to  him  more  particularly. 

The  friend,  therefore,  had  nothing  for  it,  but  to  muster  up 
the  pleasantest  smile  he  could,  and  to  make  a  conciliatory 
bow,  as  Mr.  Haredale  turned  his  eyes  upon  him.  Seeing 
that  he  was  recognized,  he  put  out  his  hand  in  an  awkward 
and  embarrassed  manner,  which  was  not  mended  by  its  con- 
temptuous rejection. 

"  xMr.  Gashford  !  "  said  Haredale,  coldly.  "  It  is  as  I  have 
heard  then.  You  have  left  the  darkness  for  the  light,  sir, 
and  hate  those  whose  opinions  you  formerly  held,  with  all 
the  bitterness  of  a  renegade.  You  are  an  honor,  sir,  to  any 
cause.  I  wish  the  one  you  espouse  at  present,  much  joy  of 
the  acquisition  it  has  made." 

The  secretary  rubbed  his  hands  and  bowed,  as  though  he 
would  disarm  his  adversary  by  humbling  himself  before  him. 
Sir  John  Chester  again  exclaimed,  with  an  air  of  great 
gayety,  "  Now,  really,  this  is  a  most  remarkable  meeting  !  " 
and  took  a  pinch  of  snuff  with  his  usual  self-possession. 

"  Mr.  Haredale,"  said  Gashford,  stealthily  raising  his 
eyes,  and  letting  them  drop  again  when  they  met  the  other's 
steady  gaze,  "  is  too  conscientious,  too  honorable,  too  maniy, 
I  am  sure,  to  attach  unworthy  motives  to  an  honest  change 
of  opinions,  even  though  it  implies  a  doubt  of  those  he  holds 
himself.  Mr.  Haredale  is  too  just,  too  generous,  too  clear- 
sighted in  his  moral  vision,  to " 

"  Yes,  sir  !  "  he  rejoined  with  a  sarcastic  smile,  finding  the 
secretary  stopped.     "  You  were  saying " 


322  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

Gashford  meekly  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  looking  on 
the  ground  again,  was  silent. 

"  No,  but  let  us  really,"  interposed  Sir  John  at  this  junc- 
ture, "let  us  really,  for  a  moment,  contemplate  the  very 
remarkable  character  of  this  meeting.  Haredale,  my  dear 
friend,  pardon  me  if  1  think  you  are  not  sufficiently  im- 
pressed with  its  singularity.  Here  we  stand,  by  no  previous 
appointment  or  arrangement,  three  old  school-fellows,  in 
Westminster  Hall  ;  three  old  boarders  in  a  remarkably  dull 
and  shady  seminary  at  Saint  Omer's,  where  you,  being 
Catholics  and  of  necessity  educated  out  of  England,  were 
brought  up  ;  and  where  I,  being  a  promising  young  Protest- 
ant at  that  time,  was  sent  to  learn  the  French  tongue  from 
a  native  of  Paris  I  " 

"Add  to  the  singularity,  Sir  John,"  said  Mr.  Haredale, 
"  that  some  of  you  Protestants  of  promise  are  at  this  moment 
leagued  in  yonder  building,  to  prevent  our  having  the  sur- 
passing and  unheard-of  privilege  of  teaching  our  children  to 
read  and  write — here — in  this  land,  where  thousands  of  us 
enter  your  service  every  year,  and  to  preserve  the  freedom 
of  which,  we  die  in  bloody  battles  abroad,  in  heaps  ;  and 
that  others  of  you,  to  the  number  of  some  thousands  as  I  learn, 
are  led  on  to  look  on  all  men  of  my  creed  as  wolves  and 
beasts  of  prey,  by  this  man  Gashford.  Add  to  it  besides, 
the  bare  fact  that  this  man  lives  in  society,  walks  the  streets 
in  broad  day — I  was  about  to  say,  holds  up  his  head,  but 
that  he  does  not — and  it  will  be  strange,  and  very  strange, 
I  grant  you." 

"Oh!  you  are  hard  upon  our  friend,"  replied  Sir  John, 
with  an  engaging  smile.  "  You  are  really  very  hard  upon 
our  friend  !  " 

"Let  him  go  on.  Sir  John,"  said  Gashford,  fumbling  with 
his  gloves.  "  Let  him  go  on.  I  can  make  allowances,  Sir 
John.  I  am  honored  with  your  good  opinion,  and  I  can 
dispense  with  Mr.  Haredale's.  Mr.  Haredale  is  a  sufferer 
from  the  penal  laws,  and  I  can't  expect  his  favor." 

"  You  have  so  much  of  my  favor,  sir,"  retorted  Mr.  Hare- 
dale, with  a  bitter  glance  at  the  third  party  in  their  con- 
versation, "that  I  am  glad  to  see  you  in  such  good  company. 
You  are  the  essence  of  your  great  association,  in  yourselves." 

"  Now,  there  you  mistake,"  said  Sir  John,  injiis  most 
benignant  way.  "  There — which  is  a  most  remarkable  circum- 
stance for  a  man  of  your  punctuality  and  exactness,  Hare- 
dale— you  fall  into  error.     I  don't  belong  to  the  body  ;   I 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  323 

have  ail  immense  respect  for  its  members,  but  I  don't  be- 
lon^^  to  it  ;  although  1  am,  it  is  certainly  true,  the  conscien- 
tious opponent  of  your  being  relieved.  I  feel  it  my  duty  to 
be  so  ;  it  is  a  most  unfortunate  necessity  ;  and  cost  me  a  bit- 
ter struggle.  Will  you  try  this  box  ?  If  you  don't  object  to 
a  trilling  infusion  of  a  very  chaste  scent,  you'll  find  its  flavor 
exquisite." 

"  J  ask  your  pardon,  Sir  John,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  declin- 
ing th^  proffer  with  a  motion  of  his  hand,  "  for  having 
ranked  you  among  the  humble  instruments  who  are  obvious 
and  in  all  men's  sight.  I  should  have  done  more  justice  to 
your  genius.  Men  of  your  capacity  plot  in  secrecy  and 
safety,  and  leave  exposed  posts  to  the  duller  wits." 

"  Don't  apologize,  for  the  world,"  replied  Sir  John,  sweetly. 
*'  Old  friends  like  you  and  1,  may  be  allowed  some  freedoms, 
or  the  deuce  is  in  it." 

Gashford,  who  had  been  very  restless  all  this  time,  but  had 
not  once  looked  up,  now  turned  to  Sir  John,  and  ventured 
to  mutter  something  to  the  effect  that  he  must  go,  or  my 
lord  would  perhaps  be  waiting. 

"  Don't  distress  yourself,  good  sir,"  said  Mr.  Haredale, 
"  I'll  take  my  leave,  and  put  you  at  your  ease —  "  which  he 
was  about  to  do  without  ceremony,  when  he  was  staid  by  a 
buzz  and  murmur  at  the  upper  end  of  the  hall,  and,  looking 
in  that  direction,  saw  Lord  George  Gordon  coming  in,  with 
a  crowd  of  people  round  him. 

There  was  a  lurking  look  of  triumph,  though  very  differ- 
ently expressed,  in  the  faces  of  his  two  companions,  which 
made  it  a  natural  impulse  on  Mr.  Haredale's  part  not  to  give 
way  before  this  leader,  but  to  stand  there  while  he  passed.  He 
drew  himself  up  and,  clasping  his  hands  behind  him,  looked 
on  with  a  proud  and  scornful  aspect,  while  Lord  George 
slowly  advanced  (for  the  press  was  great  about  him)  to- 
ward the  spot  where  they  were  standing. 

He  had  left  the  House  of  Commons  but  that  moment,  and 
had  come  straight  down  into  the  Hall,  bringing  with  him,  as 
his  custom  was,  intelligence  of  what  had  been  said  that 
night  in  reference  to  the  Papists,  and  what  petitions  had 
been  presented  in  their  favor,  and  who  had  supported  them, 
and  when  the  bill  was  to  be  brought  in,  and  when  it  would 
be  advisable  to  present  their  own  great  Protestant  petition. 
All  this  he  told  the  persons  about  him  in  a  loud  voice,  and 
with  great  abundance  of  ungainly  gesture.  Those  who  were 
nearest  him  made  comments  to  each  other,  and  ventured 


324  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

threats  and  murmurings  ;  those  who  were  outside  the  crowd 
cried,  "Silence,"  and  "  Stand  back,"  or  closed  in  upon  the 
rest,  endeavoring  to  make  a  forcible  exchange  of  places  : 
and  so  they  came  driving  on  in  a  very  disorderly  and  irregular 
way,  as  it  is  the  manner  of  a  crowd  to  do. 

When  they  were  very  near  to  where  the  secretary.  Sir 
John  and  Mr.  Haredale  stood.  Lord  George  turned  round 
and,  making  a  few  remarks  of  a  sufficiently  violent  and  inco- 
herent kind,  concluded  with  the  usual  sentiment,  and  called 
for  three  cheers  to  back  it.  While  these  were  in  the  act  of 
being  given  with  great  energy,  he  extricated  himself  from  the 
press,  and  stepped  up  to  Gashford's  side.  Both  he  and  Sir 
John  being  well  known  to  the  populace,  they  fell  back  a  little, 
and  left  the  four  standing  together. 

''  Mr.  Haredale,  Lord  George,"  said  Sir  John  Chester, 
seeing  that  the  nobleman  regarded  him  with  an  inquisitive 
look.  **  A  Catholic  gentleman  unfortunately — most  unhap- 
pily a  Catholic — but  an  esteemed  acquaintance  of  mine,  and 
once  of  Mr.  Gashford's.  My  dear  Haredale,  this  is  Lord 
George  Gordon." 

"  I  should  have  known  that,  had  I  been  ignorant  of  his  lord- 
ship's person,"  said  Mr.  Haredale.  "  I  hope  there  is  but  one 
gentleman  in  England  who,  addressing  an  ignorant  and  ex- 
cited throng,  would  speak  of  a  large  body  of  his  fellow- sub- 
jects in  such  injurious  language  as  I  heard  this  moment. 
For  shame,  my  lord,  for  shame  ! '/ 

"  I  can  not  talk  to  you,  sir,"  replied  Lord  George  in  a 
loud  voice,  and  waving  his  hand  in  a  disturbed  and  agitated 
manner  ;  ''we  have  nothing  in  common." 

"  We  have  much  in  common — many  things — all  that  the 
Almighty  gave  us,"  said  Mr.  Haredale  ;  "  and  common 
charity,  not  to  say  common  sense  and  common  decency, 
should  teach  you  to  refrain  from  these  proceedings.  If  every 
one  of  those  men  had  arms  in  their  hands  at  this  moment,  as 
they  have  them  in  their  heads,  I  would  not  leave  this  place 
without  telling  you  that  you  digrace  your  station." 

"  I  don't  hear  you,  sir,"  he  replied,  in  the  same  manner  as 
before  ;  "  I  can't  hear  you.  It  is  indifferent  to  me  what  you 
say.  Don't  retort,  Gashford,"  for  the  secretary  had  made  a 
show  of  wishing  to  do  so  ;  "I  can  hold  no  communion  with 
the  worshipers  of  idols." 

As  he  said  this,  he  glanced  at  Sir  John,  who  lifted  his  hands 
and  eyebrows  as  if  deploring  the  intemperate  conduct  of  Mr. 
Haredale,  and  smiled  in  admiration  of  the  crowd  and  of 
their  leader. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  325 

"  He  retort  !  "  cried  Haredale.  "  Look  you  here,  my  lord. 
Do  you  know  this  man  ? " 

Lord  George  replied-by  laying  his  hand  upon  the  shoulder 
of  his  cringing  secretary,  and  viewing  him  with  a  smile  of 
confidence. 

''  This  man,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  eying  him  from  top  to 
toe,  '*  who  in  his  boyhood  was  a  thief,  and  has  been  from 
that  time  to  this,  a  servile,  false,  and  truckling  knave  ;  this 
man,  who  has  crawled  and  crept  through  life,  wounding  the 
hands  he  licked,  and  biting  those  he  fawned  upon  ;  this 
sycophant,  who  never  knew  what  honor,  truth  or  courage 
meant ;  who  robbed  his  benefactor's  daughter  of  her  virtue, 
and  married  her  to  break  her  heart,  and  did  it,  with  stripes 
and  cruelty  ;  this  creature,  who  has  whined  at  kitchen  win- 
dows for  the  broken  food,  and  begged  for  half-pence  at  our 
chapel  doors  ;  this  apostle  of  the  faith,  whose  tender  con- 
science can  not  bear  the  altars  where  his  vicious  life  was 
denounced — Do  you  know  this  man  ?  " 

"  Oh,  really — you  are  very,  very  hard  upon  our  friend  !  " 
exclaimed  Sir  John. 

*'  Let  Mr.  Haredale  go  on,"  said  Gashford,  upon  whose 
unwholesome  face  the  perspiration  had  broken  out  during 
this  speech,  in  blotches  of  wet ;  "  I  don't  mind  him,  Sir 
John  ;  it's  quite  as  indifferent  to  me  what  he  says,  as  it  is  to 
my  lord.  If  he  reviles  my  lord,  as  you  have  heard.  Sir  John, 
how  can  /  hope  to  escape  ?  " 

"  Is  it  not  enough,  my  lord,"  .Mr.  Haredale  continued, 
"  that  I,  as  good  a  gentleman  as  you,  must  hold  my  prop- 
erty, such  as  it  is,  by  a  trick  at  which  the  state  connives 
because  of  these  hard  laws  ;  and  that  we  may  not  teach  our 
youth  in  schools  the  common  principles  of  right  and  wrong  ; 
but  must  we  be  denounced  and  ridden  by  such  men  as  this  ? 
Here  is  a  man  to  head  your  No-Popery  cry  !  For  shame  ! 
For  shame  !  " 

The  infatuated  nobleman  had  glanced  more  than  once  at 
Sir  John  Chester  as  if  to  inquire  whether  there  was  any  truth 
in  these  statements  concerning  Gashford,  and  Sir  John  had 
as  often  plainly  answered  by  a  shrug  or  look,  *'  Oh  dear  me  ; 
no."  He  now  said,  in  the  same  loud  key,  and  in  the  same 
strange  manner  as  before  : 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say,  sir,  in  reply,  and  no  desire  to  hear 
any  thing  more.  I  beg  you  won't  obtrude  your  conversa- 
tion, or  these  personal  attacks,  upon  me.  I  shall  not  be 
deterred  from  doing  my  duty  to  my  country  and  my  coun- 


326  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

trymen  by  any  such  attempts,  whether  they  proceed  from 
emissaries  of  the  Pope  or  not,  I  assure  you.  Come,  Gash- 
ford  !  " 

They  had  walked  on  a  few  paces  while  speaking,  and  were 
now  at  the  Hall  door,  through  which  they  passed  together. 
Mr.  Haredale,  without  any  leave-taking,  turned  away  to  the 
river  stairs,  which  were  close  at  hand,  and  hailed  the  only 
boatman  who  remained  there. 

But  the  throng  of  people — the  foremost  of  whom  had 
heard  every  word  that  Lord  George  Gordon  said,  and  among 
all  of  whom  the  rumor  had  been  rapidly  dispersed  that  the 
stranger  was  a  Papist  who  was  bearding  him  for  his  advo- 
cacy of  the  popular  cause — came  pouring  out  pell-mell,  and, 
forcing  the  nobleman,  his  secretary,  and  Sir  John  Chester  on 
before  them,  so  that  they  appeared  to  be  at  their  head, 
crowded  to  the  top  of  the  stairs,  where  Mr.  Haredale  waited 
until  the  boat  was  ready,  and  tliere  stood  still,  leaving  him 
on  a  little  clear  space  by  himself. 

They  were  not  sil'ent,  however,  though  inactive.  At  first 
some  indistinct  mutterings  arose  among  them,  which  were 
followed  by  a  hiss  or  two,  and  these  swelled  by  degrees  into 
a  perfect  storm.  Then  one  voice  said,  "Down  with  the 
Papists  !  "  and  there  was  a  pretty  general  cheer,  but  nothing 
more.  After  a  lull  of  a  few  moments,  one  man  cried  out, 
"Stone  him  ;  "  another,  "  Duck  him  ;  "  another,  in  a  stento- 
rian voice,  "  No  Popery  !  "  This  favorite  cry  the  rest  re- 
echoed, and  the  mob,  which  might  have  been  two  hundred 
strong,  joined  in  a  general  sliout. 

Mr.  Haredale  had  stood  calmly  on  the  brink  of  the  steps, 
until  they  made  this  demonstration,  when  he  looked  round 
contemptuously,  and  walked  at  a  slow  ]iace  down  the  stairs. 
He  was  pretty  near  the  boat,  when  Gashford,  as  if  without 
intention,  turned  about,  and  directly  afterward  a  great  stone 
was  thrown  by  some  hand  in  the  crowd,  which  struck  him 
on  the  head,  and  made  him  stagger  like  a  drunken  man. 

The  blood  sprung  freely  from  the  wound,  and  trickled 
down  his  coat.  He  turned  directly,  and  rushing  up  the 
steps  with  a  boldness  and  passion  which  made  them  all  fall 
back,  demanded  : 

"  Who  did  that  ?     Show  me  the  man  who  hit  me." 

Not  a  soul  moved,  except  some  in  the  rear,  who  slunk  off, 
and,  escaping  to  the  other  side  of  the  way,  looked  on  like 
indifferent  spectators. 

"  Who  did  that  ?  "  he  repeated.     "  Show  me  the  man  who 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  327 

did  it.  Dog,  was  it  you  ?  It  was  your  deed,  if  not  your 
hand — I  know  you." 

He  threw  himself  on  Gashford  as  he  said  the  words,  and 
hurled  him  to  the  ground.  There  was  a  sudden  motion  in 
the  crowd,  and  some  laid  hands  upon  him,  but  his  sword 
was  out,  and  they  fell  off  again. 

"  My  lord — Sir  John,"  he  cried,  "  draw  one  of  you — you 
are  responsible  for  this  outrage,  anS  I  look  to  you.  Draw, 
if  you  are  gentlemen."  With  that  he  struck  Sir  John  upon 
the  breast  with  the  fiat  of  his  weapon,  and  with  a  burning 
face  and  flashing  eye  stood  upon  his  guard  ;  alone,  before 
them  all. 

For  an  instant,  for  the  briefest  space  of  time  the  mind 
can  readily  conceive,  there  was  a  change  in  Sir  John's  smooth 
face  such  as  no  man  ever  saw  there.  The  next  moment  he 
stepped  forward,  and  laid  one  hand  on  Mr.  Haredale's  arm, 
while  with  the  other  he  endeavored  to  appease  the  crowd. 

"  My  dear  friend,  my  good  Haredale,  you  are  blinded 
with  passion — it's  very  natural,  extremely  natural— but  you 
don't  know  friends  from  foes." 

"  I  know  them  all,  sir,  I  can  distinguish  well — "  he  re- 
torted, almost  mad  with  rage.  ''  Sir  John,  Lord  George — 
do  you  hear  me  ?     Are  you  cowards  ?" 

"  Never  mind,  sir,"  said  a  man,  forcing  his  way  between 
and  pushing  him  toward  the  stairs  with  friendly  violence, 
"  never  mind  asking  that.  For  God's  sake,  get  away.  What 
can  you  do  against  this  number  ?  And  there  are  as^  many 
more  in  the  next  street,  who'll  be  round  directly," — indeed 
they  began  to  pour  in  as  he  said  the  words — "  you'll  be  giddy 
from  that  cut,  in  the  first  heat  of  a  scuffle.  Now  do  retire, 
sir,  or  take  my  word  for  it,  you'll  be  worse  used  than  you 
would  be  if  every  man  in  the  crowd  was  a  woman,  and  that 
woman  Bloody  Mary.  Come,  sir,  make  haste— as  quick  as 
you  can." 

Mr.  Haredale,  who  began  to  turn  faint  and  sick,  felt  how 
sensible  this  advice  was,  and  descended  the  steps  with  his 
unknown  friend's  assistance.  John  Grueby  (for  John  it  was) 
helped  him  into  the  boat,  and  giving  her  a  shove  off,  which 
sent  her  thirty  feet  into  the  tide,  bade  the  waterman  pull 
away  like  a  Briton  ;  and  walked  up  again  as  composedly  as 
if  he  had  just  landed. 

There  was  at  first  a  slight  disposition  on  the  part  of  the 
mob  to  resent  this  interference  ;  but  John  looking  particu- 
larly strong  and   cool,  and  wearing  besides  Lord  George's 


328  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

livery,  they  thought  better  of  it,  and  contented  themselves 
with  sending  a  shower  of  small  missiles  a^ter  the  boat,  which 
plashed  harmlessly  in  the  water  ;  for  she  had  by  this  time 
cleared  the  bridge,  and  was  darting  swiftly  down  the  center 
of  the  stream. 

From  this  amusement,  they  proceeded  to  giving  Protest- 
ant knocks  at  the  doors  of  private  houses,  breaking  a  few 
lamps,  and  assaulting  some  stray  constables.  But,  it  being 
whispered  that  a  detachment  of  Life  Guards  had  been  sent 
for,  they  took  to  their  heels  with  great  expedition,  and  left 
the  street  quite  clear. 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

When  the  concourse  separated,  and, .dividing  into  chance 
clusters,  drew  off  in  various  directions,  there  still  remained 
upon  the  scene  of  the  late  disturbance,  one  man.  This  man 
was  Gashford-,  who,  bruised  by  his  late  fall,  and  hurt  in  a 
much  greater  degree  by  the  indignity  he  had  undergone,  and 
the  exposure  of  which  he  had  been  the  victim,  limped  up 
and  down,  breathing  curses  and  threats  of  vengeance. 

It  was  not  the  secretary's  nature  to  waste  his  wrath  in 
words.  While  he  vented  the  froth  of  his  malevolence  in 
those  effusions,  he  kept  a  steady  eye  on  two  men,  who,  hav- 
ing disappeared  with  the  rest  when  the  alarm  was  spread, 
had  since  returned,  and  were  now  visible  in  the  moonlight, 
at  no  great  distance,  as  they  walked  to  and  fro,  and  talked 
together. 

He  made  no  move  toward  them,  but  waited  patiently  on 
the  dark  side  of  the  street,  until  they  were  tired  of  strolling 
backward  and  forward  and  walked  away  in  company. 
Then  he  followed,  but  at  some  distance  ;  keeping  them  in 
view,  without  appearing  to  have  that  object,  or  being  seen 
by  them. 

They  went  up  Parliament  Street,  past  Saint  Martin's 
church,  and  away  by  Saint  Giles's  to  Tottenham  Court 
Road,  at  the  back  of  which,  upon  the  western  side,  was  then 
a  place  called  the  Green  Lanes.  This  was  a  retired  spot, 
not  of  the  choicest  kind,  leading  into  the  fields.  Great  heaps 
of  ashes  ;  stagnant  pools,  overgrown  with  rank  grass  and 
duckweed  ;  broken  turnstiles  ;  and  the  upright  posts  of  pal- 
ings long  since  carried  off  for  firewood,  which  meniced  all 
heedless  walkers  with  their  jagged  and  rusty  nails  ;  were  the 
leading  features  of  the  landscape  ;  while   here   and   there  a 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  329 

donkey  or  a  ragged  horse,  tethered  to  a  stake,  and  cropping 
off  a  wretched  meal  from  the  coarse  stunted  turf,  were  quite 
in  keeping  with  the  scene,  and  would  have  suggested  (if  the 
horses  had  not  done  so,  sufficiently,  of  themselves)  how 
very  poor  the  people  were  who  lived  in  the  crazy  huts  adja- 
cent, and  how  foolhardy  it  might  prove  for  one  who  carried 
money,  or  wore  decent  clothes,  to  walk  that  way  alone,  un- 
less by  daylight. 

Poverty  has  its  whims  and  shows  of  taste,  as  wealth  has. 
Some  of  these  cabins  were  turreted,  some  had  false  windows 
painted  on  their  rotten  walls  ;  one  had  a  mimic  clock,  upon 
a  crazy  tower  of  four  feet  high,  which  screened  the  chimney  ; 
each  in  its  little  patch  of  ground  had  a  rude  seat  or  arbor. 
The  population  dealt  in  bones,  in  rags,  in  broken  glass,  in 
old  wheels,  in  birds,  and  dogs.  These,  in  their  several  ways 
of  stowage,  filled  the  gardens  ;  and  shedding  a  perfume,  not 
of  the  most  delicious  nature,  in  the  air,  filled  it  besides  with 
yelps,  and  screams,  and  howling. 

Into  this  retreat,  the  secretary  followed  the  two  men  whom 
he  had  held  in  sight  ;  and  here  he  saw  them  safely  lodged, 
in  one  of  the  meanest  houses,  which  was  but  a  room,  and 
that  of  small  dimensions.  He  waited  without,  until  the 
sound  of  their  voices,  joined  in  a  discordant  song,  assured 
him  they  were  making  merry  ;  and  then  approaching  the 
door,  by  means  of  a  tottering  plank  which  crossed  the  ditch 
in  front,  knocked  at  it  with  his  hand. 

"  Muster  Gashford  !  "  said  the  man  who  opened  it,  taking 
his  pipe  from  his  mouth,  in  evident  surprise.  "  Why,  who'd 
have  thought  of  this  here  honor  !  Walk  in.  Muster  Gash- 
ford — walk  in,  sir." 

Gashford  required  no  second  invitation,  and  entered  with 
a  gracious  air.  There  was  a  fire  in  the  rusty  grate  (for 
though  the  spring  was  pretty  far  advanced,  the  nights  were 
cold),  and  on  a  stool  beside  it  Hugh  sat  smoking.  Dennis 
placed  a  chair,  his  only  one,  for  the  secretary,  in  front  of 
the  hearth  ;  and  took  his  seat  again  upon  the  stool  he  had 
left  when  he  rose  to  give  the  visitor  admission. 

"  What's  in  the  wind  now,  Muster  Gashford  ?  "  he  said, 
as  he  resumed  his  pipe,  and  looked  at  him  askew.  "  Any 
orders  from  head-quarters?  Are  we  going  to  begin  ?  What 
is  it.  Muster  Gashford  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing,  nothing,"  rejoined  the  secretary,  with  a 
friendly  nod  to  Hugh.  "  We  have  broken  the  ice,  though. 
We  had  a  little  spurt  to-day — eh,  Dennis  ?  " 


330  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"A  very  little  one,"  growled  the  hangman.  "Not  half 
enough  for  me." 

"  Nor  me  neither  !  "  cried  Hugh.  "  Give  us  something 
to  do  with  life  in  it — with  life  in  it,  master.     Ha,  ha  !  " 

"Why,  you  wouldn't,"  said  the  secretary,  v/ith  his  worst 
expression  of  face,  and  in  his  mildest  tones,  "  have  any  thing 
to  do  with — with  death  in  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  that,"  replied  Hugh.  "  I'm  open  to  orders. 
I  don't  care  ;  not  I." 

"  Nor  I  !  "  vociferated  Dennis. 

"Brave  fellows  !  "  said  the  secretary,  in  as  pastor-like  a 
voice  as  if  he  were  commending  them  for  some  uncommon 
act  of  valor  and  generosity.  "  By  the  by" — and  here  he 
stopped  and  warmed  his  hands  ;  then  suddenly  looked  up — 
**  Who  threw  that  stone  to  day  ? " 

Mr.  Dennis  coughed  and  shook  his  head,  as  who  should 
say,  "  A  mystery  indeed  !  "  Hugh  sat  and  smoked  in  silence. 

"  It  was  well  done  !  "  said  the  secretary,  warming  his 
hands  again.     "I  should  like  to  know  that  man." 

"  Would  you  ?  "  said  Dennis,  after  looking  at  his  face  to 
assure  himself  that  he  was  serious.  "  Would  you  like  to 
know  that  man.  Muster  Gashford  ?  " 

"  I  should  indeed,"  replied  the  secretary. 

"  Why  then,  Lord  love  you,"  said  the  hangman,  in  his 
hoarsest  chuckle,  as  he  pointed  with  his  pipe  to  Hugh,  "  there 
he  sits.  That's  the  man.  My  stars  and  halters.  Muster 
Gashford,"  he  added  in  a  whisper,  as  he  drew  his  stool  close 
to  him  and  jogged  him  with  his  elbow,  "  what  a  interesting 
blade  he  is  !  He  wants  as  much  holding  in  as  a  thorough- 
bred bull-dog.  If  it  hadn't  been  for  me  to-day,  he'd  have 
had  that  'ere  Roman  down,  and  made  a  riot  of  it,  in  another 
minute." 

"  And  why  not  ? "  cried  Hugh  in  a  surly  voice,  as  he  over- 
heard this  last  remark.  "  Where's  the  good  of  putting  things 
off?    Strike  while  the  iron's  hot  ;  that's  what  I  say." 

"  Ah  !  "  retorted  Dennis,  shaking  his  head,  with  a  kind  of 
pity  for  his  friend's  ingenuous  youth  ;  "  but  suppose  the  iron 
an't  hot,  brother  !  You  must  get  people's  blood  up  afore 
you  strike,  and  have  'em  in  the  humor.  There  wasn't  quite 
enough  to  provoke  'em  to-day,  I  tell  you.  If  you'd  had 
^our  way,  you'd  have  spoiled  the  fun  to  come,  and  ruined  us." 

"  Dennis  is  quite  right,"  said  Gashford,  smoothly.  "He 
is  perfectly  correct.  Dennis  ha,«  great  knowledge  of  the 
world." 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  331 

"  I  ought  to  have,  Muster  Gashford,  seeing  what  a  many 
people  I've  helped  out  of  it,  eh  ?  "  grinned  the  hangman, 
whispering  the  words  behind  his  hand. 

The  secretary  laughed  at  this,  just  as  much  as  Dennis 
could  desire,  and  when  he  had  done,  said,  turning  to  Hugh: 

''  Dennis's  policy  was  mine,  as  you  may  have  observed. 
You  saw,  for  instance,  how  I  fell  when  I  was  set  upon.  I 
made  no  resistance.  I  did  nothing  to  provoke  an  outbreak. 
Oh,  dear  no  !  " 

"  No,  by  the  Lord  Harry  !  "  cried  Dennis,  with  a  noisy 
laugh,  "  you  went  down  very  quiet,  Muster  Gashford — and 
very  flat  beside.  I  thinks  to  myself  at  the  time  '  it's  all  up 
with  Muster  Gashford  ! '  I  never  see  a  man  lay  flatter  nor 
more  still — with  the  life  in  him — than  you  did  to-day.  He's 
a  rough  'un  to  play  with,  is  that  'ere  Papist,  and  that's  the 
fact." 

The  secretary's  face,  as  Dennis  roared  with  laughter,  and 
turned  his  wrinkled  eyes  on  Hugh,  who  did  the  like,  might 
have  furnished  a  study  for  the  devil's  picture.  He  sat  quite 
silent  until  they  were  serious  again,  and  then  said,  looking 
round  : 

"  We  are  very  pleasant  here  ;  so  very  pleasant,  Dennis, 
that  but  for  my  lord's  particular  desire  that  I  should  sup 
with  him,  and  the  time  being  very  near  at  hand,  I  should  be 
inclined  to  stay,  until  it  would  be  hardly  safe  to  go  home- 
ward. I  come  upon  a  little  business — yes,  I  do— as  you  sup- 
posed. It's  very  flattering  to  you  ;  being  this.  If  we  ever 
should  be  obliged — and  we  can't  tell,  you  know — this  is  a 
very  uncertain  world " 

"I  believe  you.  Muster  Gashford,"  interposed  the  hang- 
man with  a  grave  nod.  "  The  uncertainties  as  I've  seen  in 
reference  to  this  here  state  of  existence,  the  unexpected  con- 
tingencies as  have  come  about  !— Oh  my  eye  !  "  Feeling  the 
subject  much  too  vast  for  expression,  he  puffed  at  his  pipe 
again,  and  looked  the  rest. 

"  I  say,"  resumed  the  secretary,  in  a  slow,  impressive  way  ; 
"  we  can't  tell  what  may  come  to  pass  ;  and  if  we  should  be 
obliged,  against  our  wills,  to  have  recourse  to  violence,  my 
lord  (who  has  suffered  terribly  to-day,  as  far  as  words  can 
go)  consigns  to  you  two — bearing  in  mind  my  recommenda- 
tion of  you  both,  as  good  stanch  men,  beyond  all  doubt  and 
suspicion — the  pleasant  task  of  punishing  this  Haredale. 
You  may  do  as  you  please  with  him,  or  his,  provided  that 
you  show   no  mercy,  and  no  quarter,  and  leave  no   two 


332  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

beams  of  his  house  standing  where  the  builder  placed  them. 
You  may  sack  it,  burn  it,  do  with  it  as  you  like,  but  it  must 
come  down  ;  it  must  be  razed  to  the  ground  ;  and  he,  and 
all  belonging  to  him,  left  as  shelterless  as  new-born  infants 
whom  their  mothers  have  exposed.  Do  you  understand 
me  ? "  said  Gashford,  pausing,  and  pressing  his  hands  to- 
gether gently. 

"  Understand  you,  master  !"  cried  Hugh.  "You  speak 
plain  now.     Why,  this  is  hearty  !  " 

"  I  knew  you  would  like  it,"  said  Gashford,  shaking  him 
by  the  hand  ;  ''  I  thought  you  would.  Good-night  !  Don't 
rise,  Dennis  ;  I  would  rather  find  my  way  alone.  I  may 
have  to  make  other  visits  here,  and  it's  pleasant  to  come  and 
go  without  disturbing  you.  I  can  find  my  way  perfectly 
well.     Good-night !  " 

He  was  gone,  and  had  shut  the  door  behind  him.  They 
looked  at  each  other,  and  nodded  approvingly.  Dennis 
stirred  up  the  fire. 

"  This  looks  a  little  more  like  business  !  "  he  said. 

"Ay,  indeed  !  "  cried  Hugh  ;  "  this  suits  me  !  " 

"  I've  heerd  it  said  of  Muster  Gashford,"  said  the  hang- 
man, "that  he'd  a  surprising  memory  and  wonderful  firm- 
ness— that  he  never  forget — and  never  forgave.  Let's  drink 
his  health  !  " 

Hugh  readily  complied — pouring  no  liquor  on  the  floor 
when  he  drank  this  toast — and  they  pledged  the  secretary  as 
a  man  after  their  own  hearts,  in  a  bumper. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

While  the  worst  passions  of  the  worst  men  were  thus 
working  in  the  dark,  and  the  mantle  of  religion,  assumed  to 
cover  the  ugliest  deformities,  threatened  to  become  the 
shroud  of  all  that  was  good  and  peaceful  in  society,  a  cir- 
cumstance occurred  which  once  more  altered  the  position  of 
two  persons  from  whom  this  history  has  long  been  separated, 
and  to  whom  it  must  now  return. 

In  a  small  English  country  town,  the  inhabitants  of  which 
supported  themselves  by  the  labor  of  their  hands  in  plaiting 
and  preparing  straw  for  those  who  made  bonnets  and  other 
articles  of  dress  and  ornament  from  that  material — concealed 
under  an  assumed  name,  and  living  in  a  quiet  poverty  which 
knew  no  change,  no  pleasures,  and  few  cares  but  that  of 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  ^^3 

struggling  on  from  day  to  day  in  one  great  toil  for  bread — 
dwelt  Barnaby  and  his  mother.  Their  poor  cottage  had 
known  no  stranger's  foot  since  they  sought  the  shelter  of  its 
roof  five  years  before  ;  nor  had  they  all  that  time  held  any 
commerce  or  communication  with  the  old  world  from  which 
they  had  fled.  To  labor  in  peace,  and  devote  her  labor  and 
her  life  to  her  poor  son,  was  all  the  widow  sought.  If  hap- 
piness can  be  said  at  any  time  to  be  the  lot  of  one  on  whom 
a  secret  sorrow  preys,  she  was  happy  now.  Tranquillity, 
resignation,  and  her  strong  love  of  him  who  needed  it  all  so 
much,  formed  the  small  circle  of  her  quiet  joys  ;  and  while 
that  remained  unbroken,  she  was  contented. 

For  Barnaby  himself,  the  time  which  had  flown  by,  had 
passed  him  like  the  wind.  The  daily  suns  of  years  had  shed 
no  brighter  gleam  of  reason  on  his  mind  ;  no  dawn  had 
broken  on  his  long,  dark  night.  He  would  sit  sometimes — 
often  for  days  together — on  a  low  seat  by  the  fire  or  by  the 
cottage  door,  busy  at  work  (for  he  had  learned  the  art  his 
mother  plied),  and  listening,  God  help  him,  to  the  tales  she 
would  repeat,  as  a  lure  to  keep  him  in  her  sight.  He  had  no 
recollection  of  these  little  narratives  ;  the  tale  of  yesterday 
was  new  to  him  upon  the  morrow  ;  but  he  liked  them  at  the 
moment  ;  and  when  the  humor  held  him,  would  remain  pa- 
tiently within  doors,  hearing  her  stories  like  a  little  child, 
and  working  cheerfully  from  sunrise  until  it  was  too  dark 
to  see. 

At  other  times — and  when  their  scanty  earnings  were 
barely  sufficient  to  furnish  them  with  food,  though  of  the 
coarsest  sort — he  would  wander  abroad  from  dawn  of  day 
until  the  twilight  deepened  into  night.  Few  in  that  place, 
even  of  the  children,  could  be  idle,  and  he  had  no  compan- 
ions of  his  own  kind.  Indeed  there  were  not  many  who 
could  have  kept  up  with  him  in  his  rambles,  had  there  been 
a  legion.  But  there  were  a  score  of  vagabond  dogs  belong- 
ing to  the  neighbors,  who  served  his  purpose  quite  as  well. 
With  two  or  three  of  these,  or  sometimes  with  a  full  half- 
dozen  barking  at  his  heels,  he  would  sally  forth  on  some  long 
expedition  that  consumed  the  day  ;  and  though,  on  their  re- 
turn at  nightfall,  the  dogs  would  come  home  limping  and 
sore-footed,  and  almost  spent  with  their  fatigue,  Barnaby 
was  up  and  off  again  at  sunrise  with  some  new  attendants  of 
the  same  class,  with  whom  he  would  return  in  like  manner. 
On  all  these  travels.  Grip,  in  his  little  basket  at  his  master's 
back,  was  a  constant  member  of  the  party,  and  when  they  set 


334  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

off  in  fine  weather  and  in  high  spirits,  no  dog  barked  louder 
than  the  raven. 

Their  pleasures  on  these  excursions  were  simple  enough. 
A  crust  of  bread  and  scrap  of  meat,  with  water  from  the 
brook  or  spring,  sufficed  for  their  repast.  Barnaby's  enjoy- 
ments were,  to  walk,  and  run,  and  leap,  till  he  was  tired  ; 
then  to  lie  down  in  the  long  grass,  or  by  the  growing  corn, 
or  in  the  shade  of  some  tall  tree,  looking  upward  at  the  light 
clouds  as  they  floated  over  the  blue  surface  of  the  sky,  and 
listening  to  the  lark  as  she  poured  out  her  brilliant  song. 
There  were  wild  flowers  to  pluck — the  bright  red  poppy,  the 
gentle  harebell,  the  cowslip,  and  the  rose.  There  were  birds 
to  watch  ;  fish  ;  ants  ;  worms  ;  hares  or  rabbits,  as  they 
darted  across  the  distant  pathway  in  the  wood  and  so  were 
gone  ;  millions  of  living  things  to  have  an  interest  in,  and 
lie  in  wait  for,  and  clap  hands  and  shout  in  memory  of, 
when  they  had  disappeared.  In  default  of  these,  or  when 
they  wearied,  there  was  the  merry  sunlight  to  hunt  out,  as  it 
crept  in  aslant  through  leaves  and  boughs  of  trees,  and  hid 
far  down — deep,  deep,  in  hollow  places — like  a  silver  pool, 
where  nodding  branches  seemed  to  bathe  and  sport ;  sweet 
scenes  of  summer  air  breathing  over  fields  of  beans  or  clover  ; 
the  perfume  of  wet  leaves  or  moss  ;  the  life  of  waving  trees, 
and  shadows  always  changing.  When  these  or  any  of  them 
tired,  or  in  excess  of  pleasing  tempted  him  to  shut  his  eyes, 
there  was  slumber  in  the  midst  of  all  these  soft  delights,  with 
the  gentle  wind  murmuring  like  music  in  his  ears,  and  ev- 
ery thing  around  melting  into  one  delicious  dream. 

Their  hut — for  it  was  little  more — stood  on  the  outskirts 
of  the  town,  at  a  short  distance  from  the  high  road,  but  in  a 
secluded  place,  where  few  chance  passengers  strayed  at  any 
season  of  the  year.  It  had  a  plot  of  garden-ground  attached, 
which  Barnaby,  in  fits  and  starts  of  working,  trimmed,  and 
kept  in  order.  Within  doors  and  without,  his  mother  la- 
bored for  their  common  good  ;  and  hail,  rain,  snow,  or  sun- 
shine, found  no  difference  in  her. 

Though  so  far  removed  from  the  scenes  of  her  past  life, 
and  with  so  little  thought  or  hope  of  ever  visiting  them  again, 
she  seemed  to  have  a  strange  desire  to  know  what  happened 
in  the  busy  world.  Any  old  newspaper,  or  scrap  of  intelli- 
gence from  London,  she  caught  at  with  avidity.  The  ex- 
citement it  produced  was  not  of  a  pleasurable  kind,  for  her 
manner  at  such  times  expressed  the  keenest  anxiety  and 
dread  ;  but  it  never  faded  in  the  least  degree.     Then,  and  in 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  335 

stormy  winter  nights,  when  the  wind  blew  loud  and  strong, 
the  old  expression  came  into  her  face,  and  she  would  be 
seized  with  a  fit  of  trembling,  like  one  who  had  an  ague.  But 
Barnaby  noted  little  of  this  ;  and  putting  a  great  constraint 
upon  herself,  she  usually  recovered  her  accustomed  manner 
before  the  change  had  caught  his  observation. 

Grip  was  by  no  means  an  idle  or  unprofitable  member  of 
the  humble  household.  Partly  by  dint  of  Barnaby's  tuition, 
and  partly  by  pursuing  a  species  of  self-instruction  common 
to  his  tribe,  and  exerting  his  powers  of  observation  to  the 
utmost,  he  had  acquired  a  degree  of  sagacity  which  rendered 
him  famous  for  miles  round.  His  conversational  powers  and 
surprising  performances  were  the  universal  theme  ;  and  as 
many  persons  came  to  see  the  wonderful  raven,  and  none 
left  his  exertions  unrewarded — when  he  condescended  to  ex- 
hibit, which  was  not  always,  for  genius  is  capricious — his 
earnings  formed  an  important  item  in  the  common  stock. 
Indeed,  the  bird  himself  appeared  to  know  his  value  well  ; 
for  though  he  was  perfectly  free  and  unrestrained  in  the 
presence  of  Barnaby  and  his  mother,  he  maintained  in  public 
an  amazing  gravity,  and  never  stooped  to  any  other  gratuitous 
performances  than  biting  the  ankles  of  vagabond  boys  (an 
exercise  in  which  he  much  delighted),  killing  a  fowl  or  two 
occasionally,  and  swallowing  the  dinners  of  various  neigh- 
boring dogs,  of  whom  the  boldest  held  him  in  great  awe  and 
dread. 

Time  had  glided  on  in  this  way,  and  nothing  had  hap- 
pened to  disturb  or  change  their  mode  of  life,  when,  one 
summer's  night  in  June,  they  were  in  their  little  garden,  rest- 
ing from  the  labors  of  the  day.  The  widow's  work  was  yet 
upon  her  knee,  and  strewn  upon  the  ground  about  her  ;  and 
Barnaby  stood  leaning  on  his  spade,  gazing  at  the  bright- 
ness in  the  west,  and  singing  softly  to  himself. 

''  A  brave  evening,  mother  !  If  we  had,  chinking  in  our 
pockets,  but  a  few  specks  of  that  gold  which  is  piled  up  yon- 
der in  the  sky,  we  should  be  rich  for  life." 

'*  We  are  better  as  we  are,"  returned  the  widow  with  a 
quiet  smile.  "  Let  us  be  contented,  and  we  do  not  want  and 
need  not  care  to  have  it,  though  it  lay  shining  at  our  feet." 

"  Ay  !  "  said  Barnaby,  resting  with  crossed  arms  on  his 
spade,  and  looking  wistfully  at  the  sunset,  **  that's  well 
enough,  mother  ;  but  gold's  a  good  thing  to  have.  I  wish 
that  1  knew  where  to  find  it.  Grip  and  I  could  do  much 
with  gold,  be  sure  of  that." 


^:{6  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  What  would  you  do  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  What  !  A  world  of  things.  We'd  dress  finely — you  and 
I  I  mean  ;  not  Grip — keep  horses,  dogs,  wear  bright  colors 
and  feathers,  do  no  more  work,  live  delicately  and  at  our 
ease.  Oh,  we'd  find  uses  for  it,  mother,  and  uses  that  would 
do  us  good.  I  would  I  knew  where  gold  was  buried.  How 
hard  I'd  work  to  dig  it  up  !  " 

"You  do  not  know,"  said  his  mother,  rising  from  her  seal 
and  laying  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  "  what  men  have 
done  to  win  it,  and  how  they  have  found  too  late,  that  it  glit- 
ters brightest  at  a  distance,  and  turns  quite  dim  and  dull 
when  handled." 

"Ay,  ay  ;  so  you  say  :  so  you  think,"  he  answered,  still 
looking  eagerly  in  the  same  direction.  "  For  all  that,  mother, 
I  should  like  to  try." 

"  Do  you  not  see,"  she  said,  "  how  red  it  is  ?  Nothing 
bears  so  many  stains  of  blood,  as  gold.  Avoid  it.  None 
have  such  cause  to  hate  its  name  as  we  have.  Do  not  so 
much  as  think  of  it,  dear  love.  It  has  brought  such  misery 
and  suffering  on  your  head  and  mine  as  few  have  known, 
and  God  grant  few  may  have  to  undergo.  I  would  rather 
we  were  dead  and  laid  down  in  our  graves,  than  you  should 
ever  come  to  love  it." 

For  a  moment  Barnaby  withdrew  his  eyes  and  looked  at 
her  with  wonder.  Then,  glancing  from  the  redness  in  the 
sky  to  the  mark  upon  his  wrist  as  if  he  would  compare  the 
two,  he  seemed  about  to  question  her  with  earnestness,  when 
a  new  object  caught  his  wandering  attention,  and  made  him 
quite  forgetful  of  his  purpose. 

This  was  a  man  with  dusty  feet  and  garments,  who  stood, 
bareheaded,  behind  the  hedge  that  divided  their  patch 
of  garden  from  the  pathway,  and  leaned  meekly  forward  as  if 
he  sought  to  mingle  with  their  conversation,  and  waited  for 
his  time  to  speak.  His  face  was  turned  toward  the  bright- 
ness, too,  but  the  light  that  fell  upon  it  showed  that  he  was 
blind  and  saw  it  not. 

"  A  blessing  on  those  voices  !  "  said  the  wayfarer.  "  I 
feel  the  beauty  of  the  night  more  keenly,  when  I  hear  them. 
They  are  like  eyes  to  me.  Will  they  speak  again,  and  cheer 
the  heart  of  a  poor  traveler  ?  " 

"  Have  you  no  guide  ?  "  asked  the  widow,  after  a  moment's 
pause. 

"  None  but  that,"  he  answered,  pointing  with  his  staff 
toward  the  sun  ;  "  and  f  ometimes  a  milder  one  at  night, 
but  she  is  idle  now." 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  337 

"  Have  you  traveled  far  ?  " 

"  A  weary  way  and  long,"  rejoined  the  traveler  as  he 
shook  his  head.  "  A  weary,  weary  way.  I  struck  my  stick 
just  now  upon  the  bucket  of  your  well — be  pleased  to  let  me 
have  a  draught  of  water,  lady." 

*'  Why  do  you  call  me  lady  ?  "  she  returned.  "  I  am  as 
poor  as  you." 

"  Your  speech  is  soft  and  gentle,  and  I  judge  by  that,"  re- 
plied the  man.  "  The  coarsest  stuffs  and  finest  silks,  are — 
apart  from  the  sense  of  touch — alike  to  me.  I  can  not  judge 
you  by  your  dress." 

"  Come  round  this  way,"  said  Barnaby,  who  had  passed  out 
at  the  garden-gate  and  now  stood  close  beside  him.  "  Put  your 
hand  in  mine.  You're  blind  and  always  in  the  dark,  eh  ?  Are 
you  frightened  in  the  dark  ?  Do  you  see  great  crowds  of 
faces,  now  ?     Do  they  grin'and  chatter  ?  " 

"  Alas  !  "  returned  the  other,  "  I  see  nothing.  Waking  or 
sleeping,  nothing." 

Barnaby  looked  curiously  at  his  eyes,  and  touching  them 
with  his  fingers,  as  an  inquisitive  child  might,  led  him  to- 
ward the  house. 

"  You  have  come  a  long  distance,"  said  the  widow,  meeting 
him  at  the  door.     "  How  have  you  found  your  way  so  far  ?  " 

"  Use  and  necessity  are  good  teachers,  as  I  have  heard — 
the  best  of  any,"  said  the  blind  man,  sitting  down  upon  the 
chair  to  which  Barnaby  had  led  him,  and  putting  his  hat 
and  stick  upon  the  red-tiled  floor.  "  May  neither  you  nor 
your  son  ever  learn  under  them.     They  are  rough  masters." 

"  You  have  wandered  from  the  road,  too,"  said  the 
widow,  in  a  tone  of  pity. 

"  May  be,  may  be,"  returned  the  blind  man  with  a  sigh, 
and  yet  with  something  of  a  smile  upon  his  face,  "  that's 
likely.  Handposts  and  milestones  are  dumb,  indeed,  to 
me.  Thank  you  the  more  for  this  rest,  and  this  refreshing 
drink  ! " 

As  he  spoke,  he  raised  the  mug  of  water  to  his  mouth.  It 
was  clear,  and  cold,  and  sparkling,  but  not  to  his  taste  nev- 
ertheless, or  his  thirst  was  not  very  great,  for  he  only  v/etted 
his  lips  and  put  it  down  again. 

He  wore,  hanging  with  a  long  strap  around  his  neck,  a 
kind  of  scrip  or  wallet,  in  whic];i  to  carry  food.  The  widow 
set  some  bread  and  cheese  before  him,  but  he  thanked  her, 
and  said  that  through  the  kindness  of  the  charitable  he  had 
broken  his  fast  once  since  morning,  and  was  not  hungry. 


338  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

When  he  made  her  this  reply,  he  opened  his  wallet,  and 
took  out  a  few  pence,  which  was  all  it  appeared  to  contain. 

*'  Might  I  make  bold  to  ask,"  he  said,  turning  toward 
where  Barnaby  stood  looking  on,  "  that  one  who  has  the  gift 
of  sight,  would  lay  this  out  for  me  in  bread  to  keep  me  on  my 
way  ?  Heaven's  blessing  on  the  young  feet  that  v;ill  bestir 
themselves  in  aid  of  one  so  helpless  as  a  sightless  man  !  " 

Barnaby  looked  at  his  mother,  who  nodded  assent ;  in 
another  moment  he  was  gone  upon  his  charitable  errand. 
The  blind  man  sat  listening  with  an  attentive  face,  until 
long  after  the  sound  of  his  retreating  footsteps  was  inaudi- 
ble to  the  widow,  and  then  said  suddenly,  and  i?.  a  very 
altered  tone  : 

"  There  are  various  degrees  and  kinds  of  blindness, 
widow.  There  is  the  connubial  blindness,  ma'am,  which 
perhaps  you  may  have  observed  in  the  course  of  your  own 
experience,  and  which  is  a  kind  of  willful  and  self-band- 
aging blindness.  There  is  the  blindness  of  party,  ma'am, 
and  public  men,  which  is  the  blindness  of  a  mad  bull  in  the 
midst  of  a  regiment  of  soldiers  clothed  in  red.  There  is  the 
blind  confidence  of  youth,  which  is  the  blindness  of  kittens, 
whose  eyes  have  not  yet  been  opened  on  the  world  ;  and 
there  is  that  physical  blindness,  ma'am,  of  which  I  am,  con- 
trary to  my  desire,  a  most  illustrious  example.  Added  to 
these,  ma'am,  is  that  blindness  of  the  intellect,  of  which  we 
have  a  specimen  in  your  interesting  son,  and  which,  having 
sometimes  glimmerings  and  dawnings  of  the  light,  is  scarcely 
to  be  trusted  as  a  total  darkness.  Therefore,  ma'am,  I  have 
taken  the  liberty  to  get  him  out  of  the  way  for  a  short  time, 
while  I  and  you  confer  together,  and  this  precaution  arising 
out  of  the  delicacy  of  my  sentiments  toward  yourself,  you 
will  excuse  me,  ma'am,  I  know." 

Having  delivered  himself  of  this  speech  with  many  flour- 
ishes of  manner,  he  drew  from  beneath  his  coat  a  flat  stone 
bottle,  and  holding  the  cork  between  his  teeth,  qualified  his 
mug  of  water  with  a  plentiful  infusion  of  the  liquor  it  con- 
tained. He  politely  drained  the  bumper  to  her  health,  and 
the  ladies,  and  setting  it  down  empty,  smacked  his  lips  with 
infinite  relish, 

"  I  am  a  citizen  of  the  world,  ma'am,"  said  the  blind  man, 
corking  his  bottle,  "and  if  I  seem  to  conduct  myself  with 
freedom,  it  is  therefore.  You  wonder  who  I  am,  ma'am, 
and  what  has  brought  me  here.  Such  experience  of  human 
nature  as  I  have,  leads  me  to  that  conclusion,  without  the 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  339 

aid  of  eyes  by  which  to  read  the  movements  of  your  soul  as 
depicted  in  your  feminine  features.  I  will  satisfy  your  curi- 
osity immediately,  ma'am  ;  im-mediately."  With  that  he 
slapped  his  bottle  on  its  broad  back,  and  having  put  it  un- 
der his  garment  as  before,  crossed  his  legs  and  folded  his 
hands,  and  settled  himself  in  his  chair,  previous  to  proceed- 
ing any  further. 

The  change  of  his  manner  was  so  unexpected,  the  craft 
and  wickedness  of  his  deportment  w^ere  so  much  aggravated 
by  his  condition — for  we  are  accustomed  to  see  in  those 
who  have  lost  a  human  sense,  something  in  its  place  almost 
divine— and  this  alteration  bred  so  many  fears  in  her  whom 
he  addressed,  that  she  could  not  pronounce  one  word.  Af- 
ter waiting,  as  it  seemed,  for  some  remark  or  answer,  and 
waiting  in  vain,  the  visitor  resumed  : 

*'  Madam,  my  name  is  Stagg.  A  friend  of  mine  who  has 
desired  the  honor  of  meeting  with  you  any  time  these  five 
years  past,  has  commissioned  me  to  call  upon  you.  I 
should  be  glad  to  whisper  that  gentleman's  name  in  your 
ear.  Zounds,  ma'am,  are  you  deaf  ?  Do  you  hear  me  say  that 
I  should  be  glad  to  whisper  my  friend's  name  in  your  ear  ?  " 

"  You  need  not  repeat  it,"  said  the  widow  with  a  stifled 
groan  ;  "  I  see  too  well  from  whom  you  come." 

"  But  as  a  man  of  honor,  ma'am,"  said  the  blind  mc*n, 
striking  himself  on  the  breast,  "  whose  credentials  must  not 
be  disputed,  I  take  leave  to  say  that  I  will  mention  that 
gentleman's  name.  Ay,  ay,"  he  added,  seeming  to  catch 
with  his  quick  ear  the  very  motion  of  her  hand,  *'  but,  not 
aloud.  With  your  leave,  ma'am,  I  desire  the  favor  of  a 
whisper." 

She  moved  toward  him,  and  stooped  down.  He  muttered 
a  word  in  her  ear  ;  and,  wringing  her  hands,  she  paced  up 
and  down  the  room  like  one  distracted.  The  blind  tnan, 
with  perfect  composure,  produced  his  bottle  again,  mixed 
another  glass  full  ;  put  it  up  as  before  ;  and,  drinking  froni* 
time  to  time,  followed  her  with  his  face  in  silence. 

"You  are  slow  in  conversation,  widow,"  he  said,  after  a 
time,  pausing  in  his  draught.  "  We  shall  have  to  talk  before 
your  son." 

"  What  would  you  have  me  do  ?  "  she  answered.  "  What 
do  you  want  ?  " 

*'  We  are  poor,  widow,  we  are  poor,"  he  retorted,  stretching 
out  his  right  hand,  and  rubbing  his  thumb  upon  its  palm. 


340  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  Poor  !  "  she  cried.     "And  what  am  I  ?  " 

*'  Comparisons  are  odious,"  said  the  blind  man.  "I  don't 
know,  I  don't  care.  I  say  that  we  are  poor.  My  friend's 
circumstances  are  indifferent,  and  so  are  mine.  We  must 
have  our  rights,  widow,  or  we  must  be  bought  off.  But  you 
know  that,  as  well  as  I,  so  where  is  the  use  of  talking  ?  " 

She  still  walked  wildly  to  and  fro.  At  length,  stopping 
abruptly  before  him,  she  said  : 

"Is  he  near  here.?" 

**  He  is.     Close  at  hand." 

"  Then  I  am  lost  !  " 

*'  Not  lost,  widow,"  said  the  blind  man,  calmly  ;  "  only 
found.     Shall  I  call  him  ?  " 

"  Not  for  the  world,"  she  answered,  with  a  shudder. 

''Very  good,"  he  replied,  crossing  his  legs  again,  for  he 
had  made  as  though  he  would  rise  and  walk  to  the  door, 
"As  you  please,  widow.  His  presence  is  not  necessary 
that  I  know  of.  But  both  he  and  I  must  live  ;  to  live  we 
must  have  eat  and  drink  ;  to  eat  and  drink  we  must  have 
money — I  say  no  more." 

-  "  Do  you  know  how  pinched  and  destitute  I  am  ? "  she  re- 
torted. "  I  do  not  think  you  do,  or  can.  If  you  had  eyes, 
and  could  look  around  you  on  this  poor  place,  you  would 
have  pity  on  me.  Oh,  let  your  heart  be  softened  by  your 
own  affliction,  friend,  and  have  some  sympathy  with   mine." 

The  blind  man  snapped  his  finger  as  he  answered  : 

" — Beside  the  question,  ma'am,  beside  the  question.  I 
have  the  softest  heart  in  the  world,  but  I  can't  live  upon  it. 
Many  a  gentleman  lives  well  upon  a  soft  head,  who  would 
find  a  heart  of  the  same  quality  a  very  great  drawback. 
Listen  to  me.  This  is  a  matter  of  business,  with  which 
sympathies  and  Fentiments  have  nothing  to  do.  As  a  mutual 
friend,  I  wish  to  arrange  it  in  a  satisfactory  manner,  if  pos- 
sible ;  and  thus  the  case  stands.  If  you  are  very  poor  now, 
it's  your  own  choice.  You  have  friends  who,  in  case  of  need, 
are  always  ready  to  help  you.  My  friend  is  in  a  more  des- 
olate situation  than  most  men,  and,  you  and  he  being  linked 
together  in  a  common  cause,  he  naturally  looks  to  you  to  as 
sist  him.  He  has  boarded  and  lodged  with  me  a  long  time 
(for  as  I  said  just  now,  I  am  very  soft-hearted),  and  I  quite 
approve  of  his  entertaining  this  opinion.  You  have  always 
had  a  roof  over  your  head,  he  has  always  been  an  outcast. 
You  have  your  son  to  comfort  and  assist  you,  he  has  nobody 
at  all.     The  advantages  must  not  be  all  one  side.     You  are 


BARNABY   RUDGK.  341 

in  the  same  boat,  and  we  must  divide  the  ballast  a  little 
more  equally." 

She  was  about  to  speak,  but  he  checked  her,  and  went  on. 

"  The  only  way  of  doing  this,  is  by  making  up  a  little 
purse  now  and  then  for  my  friend  ;  and  that's  what  I  advise. 
He  bears  you  no  malice  that  I  know  of,  ma'am  ;  so  little, 
that  although  you  have  treated  him  harshly  more  than  once, 
and  driven  him,  I  may  say,  out  of  doors,  he  has  that  regard 
for  you  that  I  believe  even  if  you  disappointed  him  now,  he 
would  consent  to  take  charge  of  your  son,  and  to  make  a  man 
of  him." 

He  laid  a  great  stress  on  these  latter  words,  and  paused  as 
if  to  find  out  what  effect  they  had  produced.  She  only  an- 
swered by  her  tears. 

"  He  is  a  likely  lad,"  said  the  blind  man,  thoughtfully, 
"for  many  purposes,  and  not  ill  disposed  to  try  his  fortune 
in  a  little  change  and  bustle,  if  I  may  judge  from  what  I 
heard  of  his  talk  with  you  to-night.  Come.  In  a  word,  my 
friend  has  pressing  necessity  for  twenty  pounds.  You,  who 
can  give  up  an  annuity,  can  get  that  sum  for  him.  It's  a 
pity  you  should  be  troubled.  You  seem  very  comfortable 
here,  and  it's  worth  that  much-  to  remain  so.  Twenty 
pounds,  widow,  is  a  moderate  demand.  You  know  where 
to  apply  for  it  ;    a   post   will    bring    it    to    you.      Twenty 


pounds !  " 

She  was  about  to  answer  him  again,  but  again  he  stopped 
her. 

"  Don't  say  any  thing  hastily  ;  you  might  be  sorry  for  it. 
Think  of  it  a  little  while.  Twenty  pounds — of  other  people's 
money — How  easy  !  Turn  it  over  in  your  mind.  I'm  in  no 
hurry.  Night's  coming  on,  and  if  I  don't  sleep  here,  I  shall 
not  go  far.  Twenty  pounds  !  Consider  of  it,  ma'am,  for 
twenty  minutes  ;  give  each  pound  a  minute  ;  that's  a  fair  al- 
lowance. I'll  enjoy  the  air  the  while,  which  is  very  mild  and 
pleasant  in  these  parts." 

With  these  words  he  groped  his  way  to  the  door,  carrying 
his  chair  with  him.  Then  seating  himself,  under  a  spreading 
honeysuckle,  and  stretching  his  legs  across  the  threshold  so 
that  no  person  could  pass  in  or  out  without  his  knowledge, 
he  took  from  his  pocket  a  pipe,  flint,  steel  and  tinder-box, 
and  began  to  smoke.  It  was  a  lovely  evening,  of  that  gen- 
tle kind,  and  at  that  time  of  the  year,  when  the  twilight  is 
most  beautiful.  Pausing  now  and  then  to  let  his  smoke  curl 
slowly  off,  and  to  sniff  the  grateful  fragrance  of  the  flowerSj 


342  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

he  sat  there  at  his  ease — as  though  the  cottage  were  his 
proper  dwelling,  and  he  had  held  undisputed  possession  of  it 
all  his  life — waiting  for  the  widow's  answer  and  for  Barnaby's 
return. 

CHAPTER  XLVI. 

When  Barnaby  returned  with  the  bread,  the  sight  of  the 
pious  old  pilgrim  smoking  his  pipe  and  making  himself  so 
thoroughly  at  home,  appeared  to  surprise  even  him  ;  the  more 
so,  as  that  worthy  person,  instead  of  putting  up  the  loaf  in 
his  wallet  as  a  scarce  and  precious  article,  tossed  it  carelessly 
on  the  table,  and  producing  his  bottle,  bade  him  sit  down  and 
drink. 

"  For  I  carry  some  comfort,  you  see,"  he  said.  Taste  that. 
Is  it  good?  " 

The  water  stood  in  Barnaby's  eyes  as  he  coughed  from 
the  strength  of  the  draught,  and  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

*'  Drink  some  more,"  said  the  blind  man  ;  "  don't  be  afraid 
of  it.     You  don't  taste  any  thing  like  that  often,  eh? " 

"  Often  !  "  cried  Barnaby.     "  Never  !  " 

"  Too  poor  ?"  returned  the  blind  man  with  a  sigh.  "  Ay. 
That's  bad.  Your  mother,  poor  soul,  would  be  happier  if 
she  was  richer,  Barnaby." 

"  Why,  so  I  tell  her — the  very  thing  I  told  her  just  before 
you  came  to-night,  when  all  that  gold  was  in  the  sky,"  said 
Barnaby,  drawing  his  chair  nearer  to  him,  and  looking  eagerly 
in  his  face.  "  Tell  me.  Is  there  any  way  of  being  rich,  that 
1  could  find  out  ?  " 

*'  Any  way  !     A  hundred  ways." 

*'  Ay,  ay  ?  "  he  returned.  "  Do  you  say  so  ?  What  are 
they  ?  Nay,  mother,  it's  for  your  sake  1  ask  ;  not  mine  ; — for 
yours,  indeed.     What  are  they  ?  " 

The  blind  man  turned  his  face,  on  which  there  was  a  smile 
of  triumph,  to  where  the  widow  stood  in  great  distress  ;  and 
answered, 

"  Why,  they  are  not  to  be  found  out  by  stay-at-homes,  my 
good  friend." 

"  By  stay-at-homes  !"  cried  Barnaby,  plucking  at  his  sleeve. 
**  But  1  am  not  one.  Now,  there  you  mistake.  I  am  often 
out  before  the  sun,  and  travel  home  when  he  has  gone  to  rest. 
I  am  away  in  the  woods  before  the  day  has  reached  the  shady 
places,  and  am  often  there  when  the  bright  moon  is  peeping 
through  the  boughs,  and  looking  down  upon  the  other  moon 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  343 

that  lives  in  the  water.  As  I  walk  along,  I  try  to  find, 
among  the  grass  and  moss,  some  of  that  small  money  for 
which  she  works  so  hard  and  used  to  shed  so  many  tears. 
As  I  lie  asleep  in  the  shade,  I  dream  of  it — dream  of  digging 
it  up  in  heaps  ;  and  spying  it  out,  hidden  under  bushes  ;  and 
seeing  it  sparkle,  as  the  dew-drops  do  among  the  leaves.  But 
I  never  find  it.  Tell  me  where  it  is.  I'd  go  there,  if  the 
journey  were  a  whole  year  long,  because  I  know  she  would 
be  happier  when  I  came  home  and  brought  some  with  me. 
Speak  again.     I'll  listen  to  you  if  you  talk  all  night." 

The  blind  man  passed  his  hand  lightly  over  the  poor  fel- 
low's face,  and  finding  that  his  elbows  were  planted  on  the 
table,  that  his  chin  rested  on  his  two  hands,  that  he  leaned 
eagerly  forward,  and  that  his  whole  manner  expressed  the 
utmost  interest  and  anxiety,  paused  for  a  minute  as  though 
he  desired  the  widow  to  observe  this  fully,  and  then  made 
answer  : 

"  It's  in  the  world,  bold  Barnaby,  the  merry  world  ;  not  in 
solitary  places  like  those  you  pass  your  time  in,  but  in  crowds, 
and  where  there's  noise  and  rattle," 

"  Good  !  good  ! "  cried  Barnaby,  rubbing  his  hands. 
"  Yes  !  I  love  that.  Grip  loves  it  too.  It  suits  us  both= 
That's  brave  !  " 

" — The  kind  of  places,"  said  the  blind  man,  *'  that  a  young 
fellow  likes,  and  in  which  a  good  son  may  do  more  for  his 
mother,  and  himself  to  boot,  in  a  month,  than  he  could  here 
in  all  his  life — that  is,  if  he  had  a  friend,  you  know,  and 
some  one  to  advise  with." 

"  You  hear  this,  mother  ?  "  cried  Barnaby,  turning  to  her 
with  delight.  "  Never  tell  me  we  shouldn't  heed  it,  if  it  lay 
shining  at  our  feet.  Why  do  we  heed  it  so  much  now  ? 
Why  do  you  toil  from  morning  until  night  ? " 

"  Surely,"  said  the  blind  man,  "  surely.  Have  you  no 
answer,  widow  ?  Is  your  mind,"  he  slowly  added,  ''  not 
made  up  yet  ?" 

"  Let  me  speak  with  you,"  she  answered,  "apart." 

"  Lay  your  hand  upon  my  sleeve,"  said  Stagg,  arising  from 
the  table  ;  "  and  lead  me  where  you  will.  Courage,  bold 
Barnaby.  We'll  talk  more  of  this  :  I've  a  fancy  for  you. 
Wait  there  till  I  come  back.     Now,  widow." 

She  led  him  out  at  the  door,  and  into  the  little  garden, 
where  they  stopped. 

"  You  are  a  fit  agent,"  she  said,  in  a  half  breathless  man- 
ner, "  and  well  represent  the  man  who  sent  you  here." 


344  BARNABY   RUDGE. 

"  I'll  tell  him  that  you  said  so,"  Stagg  retorted.  "  He  has 
a  regard  for  you,  and  will  respect  me  the  more  (if  possible) 
for  your  praise.     We  must  have  our  rights,  widow." 

^'  Rights  !  Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "  that  a  word  from 
me " 

''  Why  do  you  stop  ?  "  returned  the  blind  man  calmly, 
after  a  long  pause.  "  Do  I  know  that  a  word  from  you 
would  place  my  friend  in  the  last  position  of  the  dance  of 
life  ?  Yes,  I  do.  What  of  that  ?  It  will  never  be  spoken, 
widow." 

"You  are  sure  of  that  ?  " 

"Quite — so  sure,  that  I  don't  come  here  to  discuss  the 
question.  I  say  we  must  have  our  rights,  or  we  must  be 
bought  off.  Keep  to  that  point,  or  let  me  return  to  my 
young  friend,  for  I  have  an  interest  in  the  lad,  and  desire  to 
put  him  in  the  way  of  making  his  fortune.  Bah  !  you 
needn't  speak,"  he  added,  hastily  ;  *'  I  know  what  you  would 
say  ;  you  have  hinted  at  it  once  already.  Have  I  no  feel- 
ing for  you,  because  I  am  blind  ?  No,  1  have  not.  Why  do 
you  expect  me,  being  in  darkness,  to  be  better  than  men 
who  have  their  sight — why  should  you  ?  Is  the  hand  of 
heaven  more  manifest  in  my  having  no  eyes,  than  in  your 
having  two  ?  It's  the  cant  of  you  folks  to  be  ht^rrified  if  a 
blind  man  robs,  or  lies,  or  steals  ;  oh  yes,  it's  far  worse  in 
him,  who  can  barely  live  on  the  few  half-pence  that  are 
thrown  to  him  in  the  streets,  than  in  you,  who  can  see,  and 
work,  and  are  not  dependent  on  the  mercies  of  the  world. 
A  curse  on  you  I  You  who  have  five  senses  may  be  wicked 
at  your  pleasure  ;  we  who  have  four,  and  want  the  most 
important,  are  to  live  and  be  moral  on  our  affliction.  The 
true  charity  and  justice  of  rich  to  poor,  all  the  world 
over ! " 

He  paused  a  nioment  when  he  had  said  these  words,  and 
caught  the  sound  of  money,  jingling  in  her  hand. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  cried,  quickly  resuming  his  former  manner. 
*'  That  should  lead  to  something.     The  point,  widow  ?  " 

"  First  answer  me  one  question,"  she  replied.  "  You  say 
he  is  close  at  hand.     Has  he  left  London  ?  " 

"  Being  close  at  hand,  widow,  it  would  seem  he  has," 
returned  the  blind  man. 

"I  mean,  for  good  ?     You  know  that." 

"Yes,  for  good.  The  truth  is,  widow,  that  his  making  a 
longer  stay  there  might  have  had  disagreeable  consequences. 
He  has  come  away  for  that  reason," 


BARNABY  RUDGE.         ^  345 

**  Listen,"  said  the  widow,  telling  some  money  out,  upon  a 
bench  beside  them.     "Count." 

*•  Six,"  said  the  blind  man,  listening  attentively.  *'  Any 
more  ?  " 

"  They  are  the  savings,"  she  answered  "  of  five  years.  Six 
guineas." 

He  put  out  his  hand  for  one  of  the  coins  ;  felt  it  carefully, 
put  it  between  his  teeth,  rung  it  on  the  bench  ;  and  nodded 
to  her  to  proceed. 

"  These  have  been  scraped  together  and  laid  by,  lest  sick- 
ness or  death  should  separate  my  son  and  me.  They  have 
been  purchased  at  the  price  of  much  hunger,  hard  labor,  and 
want  of  rest.  If  you  can  take  them — do — on  condition  that 
you  leave  this  place  upon  the  instant,  and  enter  no  more 
into  that  room,  where  he  sits  now,  expecting  your  return." 

"Six  guineas,"  said  the  blind  man,  shaking  his  head, 
"though  of  the  fullest  weight  that  were  ever  coined,  fall 
very  far  short  of  twenty  pounds,  widow." 

"For such  a  sum,  as  you  know,  I  must  write  to  a  distant 
part  of  the  country.  To  do  that,  and  receive  an  answer,  I 
I  must  have  time." 

"  Two  days  ?  "  said  Stagg. 

"  More." 

"  Four  days  ?" 

"  A  week.  Return  on  this  day  week,  at  the  same  hour, 
but  not  to  the  house.     Wait  at  the  corner  of  the  lane." 

"  Of  course,"  said  the  blind  man,  with  a  crafty  look,  "  I 
shall  find  you  there  ?" 

"  Where  else  can  I  take  refuge  ?  Is  it  not  enough  that  you 
have  made  a  beggar  of  me,  and  that  I  have  sacrificed  my 
whole  store,  so  hardly  earned,  to  preserve  this  home  ?  " 

"  Humph  !  "  said  the  blind  man,  after  some  consideration. 
"Set  me  with  my  face  toward  the  point  you  speak  of,  and  in 
the  middle  of  the  road.     Is  this  the  spot  ?  " 

"  It  is." 

"On  this  day  week  at  sunset.  And  think  of  him  withm 
doors.     For  the  present,  good-night." 

She  made  him  no  answer,  nor  did  he  stop  for  any.  He 
went  slowly  away,  turning  his  head  from  time  to  time,  and 
stopping  to  listen,  as  if  he  were  curious  to  know  whether  he 
was  watched  by  any  one.  The  shadows  of  night  were 
closing  fast  around,  and  he  was  soon  lost  in  the  gloom. 
It  was  not,  however,  until  she  had  traversed  the  lane 
from  end  to  end,  and  made  sure  that  he  was  gone,  that  she 


346  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

re-entered  the  cottage,  and  hurriedly  barred  the  door  and 
window. 

"  Mother,"  said  Barnaby.  **  What  is  the  matter?  Where 
is  the  blind  man  ?  " 

"  He  is  gone." 

"  Gone  !  "  he  cried,  starting  up.  *'  I  must  have  more  talk 
with  him.     Which  way  did  he  take  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  answered,  folding  her  arms  about  him. 
"  You  must  not  go  out  to-night.  There  are  ghosts  and 
dreams  abroad." 

*' Ay  ?"  said  Barnaby,  with  a  frightened  whisper. 

"  It  is  not  safe  to  stir.  We  must  leave  this  place  to-mor- 
row." 

"  This  place  !  This  cottage — and  the  little  garden, 
mother  !  " 

"  Yes  !  To-morrow  morning  at  sunrise.  We  must  travel 
to  London  ;  lose  ourselves  in  that  wide  place — there  would 
be  some  trace  of  us  in  any  other  town — then  travel  on  again 
and  find  some  new  abode." 

Little  persuasion  was  required  to  reconcile  Barnaby  to 
any  thing  that  promised  change.  In  another  minute  he  was 
wild  with  delight  ;  in  another,  full  of  grief  at  the  prospect  of 
parting  with  his  friends  the  dogs  ;  in  another,  wild  again  ; 
then  he  was  fearful  of  what  she  had  said  to  prevent  his  wan- 
dering abroad  that  night,  and  full  of  terror  and  strange  ques- 
tions. His  light-heartedness  in  the  end  surmounted  all  his 
other  feelings,  and  lying  down  in  his  clothes  to  the  end  that 
he  might  be  ready  on  the  morrow,  he  soon  fell  asleep  before 
the  poor  turf  fire. 

His  mother  did  not  close  her  eyes,  but  sat  beside  him, 
watching.  Every  breath  of  wind  sounded  in  her  ears  like 
that  dreaded  footstep  at  the  door,  or  like  that  hand  upon 
the  latch,  and  made  the  calm  summer  night  a  night  of  hor- 
ror. At  length  the  welcome  day  appeared.  When  she 
had  made  the  little  preparations  that  were  needful  for  their 
journey,  and  had  prayed  upon  her  knees  with  many  tears, 
she  roused  Barnaby,  who  jumped  up  gayly  at  her  summons. 

His  clothes  were  few  enough,  and  to  carry  Grip  was  a  la- 
bor of  love.  As  the  sun  shed  its  earliest  beams  upon  the 
earth,  they  closed  the  door  of  their  deserted  home,  and 
turned  away.  The  sky  was  blue  and  bright.  The  air  was 
fresh  and  filled  with  a  tliousand  perfumes.  Barnaby  looked 
upward,  and  laughed  with  all  his  heart. 

But   it  was  the  day  he  usually  devoted  to  a  long  ramble, 


BARNABY   RUDdK.  347 

and  one  of  his  dogs — the  ugliest  of  them  all — came  bound- 
ing up,  and  jumping  round  him  in  the  fullness  of  his  joy. 
He  had  to  bid  him  go  back  in  a  surly  tone,  and  his  heart 
smote  him  while  he  did  so.  The  dog  retreated  ;  turned 
with  a  half  incredulous,  half  imploring  look  ;  came  a  little 
back  ;  and  stopped. 

It  was  the  last  appeal  of  an  old  companion  and  a 
faithful  friend — cast  off.  Barnaby  could  bear  no  more,  and 
as  he  shook  his  head  and  waved  his  playmate  home,  he 
burst  into  tears. 

"  Oh  mother,  mother,  how  mournful  he  will  be  when  he 
scratches  at  the  door,  and  finds  it  always  shut  ? " 

There  was  such  a  sense  of  home  in  the  thought,  that 
though  her  own  eyes  overflowed  she  would  not  have  obliter- 
ated the  recollection  of  it,  either  from  her  own  mind  or  from 
his,  for  the  wealth  of  the  whole  wide  world. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

In  the  exhaustless  catalogue  of  heaven's  mercies  to  man- 
kind, the  power  we  have  of  finding  some  germs  of  comfort  in 
the  hardest  trials  must  ever  occupy  the  foremost  place  ;  not 
only  because  it  supports  and  upholds  us  when  we  most  require 
to  be  sustained,  but  because  in  this  source  of  consolation  there 
is  something,  we  have  reason  to  believe,  of  the  divine  spirit  ; 
something  of  that  goodness  which  detects  amidst  our  own 
evil  doings,a  redeeming  quality;  something  which,  even  in  our 
fallen  nature,  we  possess  in  common  with  the  angels  ;  which  \ 
had  its  being  in  the  old  time  when  they  trod  the  earth,  and  \ 
lingers  on  it  yet  in  pity.  \ 

How  often,  on  their  journey,  did  the  widow  remember 
with  a  grateful  heart,  that  out  of  his  deprivation  Barnaby's 
cheerfulness  and  affection  sprung  !  How  often  did  she  call 
to  mind  that  but  for  that,  he  might  have  been  sullen, 
morose,  unkind,  far  removed  from  her — vicious,  perhaps, 
and  cruel  !  How  often  had  she  cause  for  comfort,  in  his 
strength,  and  hope,  and  in  his  simple  nature  !  Those 
feeble  powers  of  mind  which  rendered  him  so  soon  forgetful  of 
the  past,  save  in  brief  gleams  and  flashes — even  they  were 
a  comfort  now.  The  world  to  him  was  full  of  happiness  ; 
in  every  tree,  and  plant,  and  flower,  in  every  bird,  and  beast, 
and  tiny  insect  whom  a  breath  of  summer  wind  laid  low 
upon   the  ground,  he  had  delight.     His  delight  was  hers  ; 


34^^  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

and  where  many  a  wise  son  would  have  made  her  sorrow- 
ful, this  poor  light-hearted  idiot  filled  her  breast  with  thank- 
fulness and  love. 

Their  stock  of  money  was  low,  but  from  the  hoard  she 
had  toll  into  the  blind  man's  hand,  the  widow  had  with- 
held one  guinea.  This,  with  a  few  pence  she  possessed 
besides,  was,  to  two  persons  of  their  frugal  habits,  a  goodly 
sum  in  bank.  Moreover,  they  had  Grip  in  company  ;  and 
when  they  must  otherwise  have  changed  the  guinea,  it  was  but 
to  make  him  exhibit  outside  an  ale-house  door,  or  in  a  vil- 
lage street,  or  in  the  grounds  or  gardens  of  a  mansion  of  the 
better  sort,  and  scores  who  would  have  given  nothing  in 
charity,  were  ready  to  bargain  for  more  amusement  from 
the  talking  bird. 

One  day— for  they  moved  slowly,  and  although  they  had 
many  rides  in  carts  and  wagons,  were  on  the  road  a  week 
— Barnaby,  with  Grip  upon  his  shoulder  and  his  mother 
following,  begged  permission  at  a  trim  lodge  to  go  up  to  the 
great  house,  at  the  other  end  of  the  avenue,  and  show  his  raven. 
The  man  within  was  inclined  to  give  them  admittance,  and 
was  indeed  about  to  do  so,  when  a  stout  gentleman  with  a 
long  whip  in  his  hand,  and  a  flushed  face  which  seemed  to 
indicate  that  he  had  had  his  morning's  draught,  rode  up  to 
the  gate,  and  called  in  a  loud  voice,  and  with  more  oaths 
than  the  occasion  seemed  to  warrant,  to  have  it  opened 
directly. 

''  Who  hast  thou  got  here  ?"  said  the  gentleman  angrily,  as 
the  man  threw  the  gate  wide  open,  and  pulled  off  his  hat, 
"  Who  are  these  ?     Eh  ?  art  a  beggar,  woman  ? " 

The  widow  answered,  with  a  courtesy,  that  they  were  poor 
travelers. 

"Vagrants,"  said  the  gentleman,  "vagrants  and  vaga- 
bonds. Thee  wish  to  be  made  acquainted  with  the  cage, 
dost  thee — the  cage,  the  stocks,  and  the  whipping-post  ? 
Where  dost  come  from  ?  " 

She  told  him  in  a  timid  manner — for  he  was  very  loud, 
hoarse,  and  red-faced — and  besought  him  not  to  be  angry, 
for  they  meant  no  harm,  and  would  go  upon  their  way  that 
moment. 

"Don't  be  too  sure  of  that,"  replied  the  gentleman, 
"  we  don't  allow  vagrants  to  roam  about  this  place.  I  know 
what  thou  want'st — stray  linen  drying  on  hedges,  and  stray 
poultry,  eh  ?     What  hast  got  in  that  basket,  lazy  hound  ?  " 

"  Grip,  Grip,  Grip — Grip    the  clever,    Grip   the   wicked, 


BARNAB);  RUDGE.  349 

Grip  the  knowing — Grip,  Grip,  Grip,"  cried  the  raven,  whom 
Barnaby  had  shut  up  on  the  approach  of  this  stern  person- 
age. "I'm  a  devil,  I'm  a  devil,  I'm  a  devil,  Never  say  die 
Hurrah,  Bow-wow-wow,  Polly  put  the  kettle  on  we'll  all  have 
tea." 

"  Take  the  vermin  out,  scoundrel,"  said  the  gentleman, 
"and  let  me  see  him." 

Barnaby,  thus  condescendingly  addressed,  produced  his 
bird,  but  not  without  much  fear  and  trembling,  and  set  him 
down  upon  the  ground  ;  which  he  had  no  sooner  done  than 
Grip  drew  fifty  corks  at  least,  and  then  began  to  dance  ;  at 
the  same  time  eying  the  gentleman  with  surprising  inso- 
lence of  manner,  and  screwing  his  head  so  much  on  one  side 
that  he  appeared   desirous  of  screwing  it  off  upon  the  spot. 

The  cork-drawing  seemed  to  make  a  greater  impression 
on  the  gentleman's  mind  than  the  raven's  power  of  speech, 
and  was  indeed  particularly  adapted  to  his  habits  and 
capacity.  He  desired  to  have  that  done  again,  but  despite 
his  being  very  peremptory,  and  notwithstanding  that  Barnaby 
coaxed  to  the  utmost.  Grip  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  the  request, 
and  preserved  a  dead  silence. 

"  Bring  him  along,"  said  the  gentleman,  pointing  to  the 
house.  But  Grip,  who  had  watched  the  action,  anticipated 
his  master,  by  hopping  on  before  them  ;  —  constantly 
flapping  his  wings,  and  screaming  "  Cook  !  "  meanwhile,  as  a 
hint  perhaps  that  there  was  company  coming,  and  a  small 
collation  would  be  acceptable. 

Barnaby  and  his  mother  walked  on,  on  either  side  of  the 
gentleman  on  horseback,  who  surveyed  each  of  them  from 
time  to  time  in  a  proud  and  coarse  manner,  and  occasionally 
thundered  out  some  question,  the  tone  of  which  alarmed 
Barnaby  so  much  that  he  could  find  no  answer,  and  as  a  matter 
of  course,  could  make  him  no  reply.  On  one  of  these 
occasions,  when  the  gentleman  appeared  disposed  to  exer- 
cise his  horsewhip,  the  widow  ventured  to  inform  him  in  a  low 
voice  and  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  that  her  son  was  of  weak 
mind. 

"  An  idiot,  eh  ?  "  said  the  gentleman,  looking  at  Barnaby 
as  he  spoke.     "  And  how  long  hast  thou  been  an  idiot  ?" 

'*  She  knows,"  was  Barnaby's  timid  answer,  pointing  to 
his  mother — "  I — always,  I  believe." 

"  From  his  birth,"  said  the  widow. 

"  I  don't  believe  it,"  cried  the  gentleman,  "  not  a  bit  of  it. 
It's  an  excuse  not  to  work.     There's  nothing  like  floggiiig  to 


350  BARNAB^  RaDGK. 

cure  that  disorder.  I'd  make  a  difference  in  him  in  ten  min- 
utes, I'll  be  bound." 

"  Heaven  has  made  none  in  more  than  twice  ten  years, 
sir,"  said  the  widow,  mildly. 

"  Then  why  don't  you  shut  him  up  ?  we  pay  enough  for 
county  institutions,  damn  'em.  But  thou'd  rather  drag  him. 
about  to  excite  charity — of  course.     Ay,  I  know  thee." 

Now,  this  gentleman  had  various  endearing  appellations 
among  his  intimate  friends.  By  some  he  was  called  "  a  coun- 
try gentleman  of  the  true  school,"  by  some  "  a  fine  old 
country  gentleman,"  by  some '*  a  sporting  gentleman,"  by 
some  "  a  thorough-bred  Englishman,"  by  sonrie  "  a  genuine 
John  Bull  ;  "  but  they  all  agreed  in  one  respect,  and  that 
was,  that  it  was  a  pity  that  there  were  not  more  like  him,  and 
that  because  there  were  not,  the  country  was  going  to  rack  and 
ruin  every  day.  He  was  in  the  commission  of  the  peace, 
and  could  write  his  name  almost  legibly  ;  but  his  greatest 
qualifications  were,  that  he  was  more  severe  with  poachers, 
was  a  better  shot,  a  harder  rider,  had  better  horses,  kept 
better  dogs,  could  eat  more  solid  food,  drink  more  strong 
wine,  go  to  bed  every  night  more  drunk  and  get  up  every 
morning  more  sober,  than  any  man  in  the  county.  In 
knowledge  of  horseflesh  he  was  almost  equal  to  a  farrier,  in 
stable  learning  he  surpassed  his  own  head  groom,  and  in 
gluttony  not  a  pig  on  his  estate  was  a  match  for  him.  He 
had  no  seat  in  parliament  himself,  but  he  was  extremely 
patriotic,  and  usually  drove  his  voters  up  to  the  poll  with 
his  own  hands.  He  was  warmly  attached  to  the  church  and 
state,  and  never  appointed  to  the  living  in  his  gift  any  but  a 
three  bottle  man  and  a  first-rate  fox-hunter.  He  mistrusted 
the  honesty  of  all  poor  people  who  could  read  and  write,  and 
had  a  secret  jealousy  of  his  own  wife  (a  young  lady  whom 
he  had  married  for  what  his  friends  called  "  the  good  old 
English  reason,"  that  her  father's  property  adjoined  his  own) 
for  possessing  those  accomplishments  in  a  greater  degree 
than  himself.  In  short,  Barnaby  being  an  idiot,  and  Grip 
a  creature  of  mere  brute  instinct,  it  would  be  very  hard  to 
say  what  this  gentleman  was. 

He  rode  up  to  the  door  of  a  handsome  house  approached 
by  a  great  flight  of  steps,  where  a  man  was  waiting  to  take  his 
horse,  and  led  the  way  into  a  large  hall,  which,  spacious  as 
it  was,  was  tainted  with  the  fumes  of  last  night's  stale  de- 
bauch. Great-coats,  riding-whips,  bridles,  top-boots,  spurs, 
and  such  gear,  were  strewn  about  on  all  sides,  and  formed, 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  351 

with  some  huge  stags'  antlers,  and   a  few  portraits  of  dogs 
and  horses,  its  principal  embellishments. 

Throwing  himself  into  a  great  chair  (in  which,  by  the  by, 
he  often  snored  away  the  night,  when  he  had  been,  accord- 
ing to  his  admirers,  a  finer  country  gentleman  than  usual) 
he  bade  the  man  tell  his  mistress  to  come  down  ;  and  pres- 
ently there  appeared,  a  little  flurried,  as  it  seemed,  by  the 
unwonted  summons,  a  lady  much  younger  than  himself,  who 
had  the  appearance  of  being  in  delicate  health,  and  not  too 
happy. 

"  Here  !  Thou'st  no  delight  in  following  the  hounds  as 
an  Englishwoman  should  have,"  said  the  gentleman.  "  See 
to  this  here.     That'll  please  thee,  perhaps." 

The  lady  smiled,  sat  down  at  a  little  distance  from  him, 
and  glanced  at  Barnaby  with  a  look  of  pity. 

"  He's  an  idiot,  the  woman  says,"  observed  the  gentleman, 
shaking  his  head  ;  "  I  don't  believe  it." 
''  Are  you  his  mother  ?  "  asked  the  lady. 
She  answered  yes. 

"  What's  the  use  asking  her  ?  "  said  the  gentleman,  thrust- 
ing his  hands  into  his  breeches  pockets.  "  She'll  tell  thee  so, 
of  course.  Most  likely  he's  hired  at  so  much  a  day.  There. 
Get  on.     Make  him  do  something." 

Grip  having  by  this  time  recovered  his  urbanity,  conde- 
scended, at  Barnaby's  solicitation,  to  repeat  his  various 
phrases  of  speech,  and  to  go  through  the  whole  of  his  per- 
formances with  the  utmost  success.  The  corks,  and  the  never 
say  die,  afforded  the  gentleman  so  much  delight  that  he  de- 
manded the  repetition  of  this  part  of  the  entertainment, 
until  Grip  got  into  his  basket  and  positively  refused  to  say 
another  word,  good  or  bad.  The  lady,  too,  was  much  amused 
with  him  ;  and  the  closing  point  of  his  obstinacy  so  de- 
lighted her  husband  that  he  burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  and 
demanded  his  price. 

Barnaby  looked  as  though  he  didn't  understand  his  mean- 
ing.    Probably  he  did  not. 

His  price,"  said  the  gentleman,   rattling  the   money  in 
his  pockets,  ''  what  dost  want  for  him  ?     How  much  ?  " 

''He's  not  to  be  sold,"  replied  Barnaby,  shutting  up  the 
basket  in  a  great  hurry,  and  throwing  the  strap  over  his 
shoulder.     "  Mother,  come  away." 

''Thou  seest  how  much  of  an  idiot  he  is,  book-learner," 
said  the  gentleman,  looking  scornfully  at  his  wife.  "  He  can 
make  a  bargain.     What  dost  want  for  him,  old  woman } " 


352  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

**He  is  my  son's  constant  companion,"  said  the  widow. 
"  He  is  not  to  be  sold,  sir,  indeed." 

"  Not  to  be  sold  !  "  cried  the  gentleman,  growing  ten 
times  redder,  hoarser,  and  louder  than  before.  "  Not  to  be 
sold  ! " 

"  Indeed  no,"  she  answered.  "  We  have  never  thought  of 
parting  with  him,  sir,  I  do  assure  you." 

He  was  evidently  about  to  make  a  very  passionate  re- 
tort, when  a  few  murmured  words  from  his  wife  happened 
to  catch  his  ear,  he  turned  sharply  round  and  said,  "  Eh  ? 
What?" 

"We  can  hardly  expect  them  to  sell  the  bird  against 
their  own  desire,"  she  faltered.  "  If  they  prefer  to  keep 
him " 

"  Prefer  to  keep  him  !  "  he  echoed.  "  These  people,  who 
go  tramping  about  the  country  a-pilfering  and  vagabondizing 
on  all  hands,  prefer  to  keep  a  bird,  when  a  landed  proprietor 
and  a  justice  asks  his  price  !  That  old  woman  has  been  to 
school.  I  know  she  has.  Don't  tell  me  no,"  he  roared  to 
the  widow,  "  I  say  yes." 

Barnaby's  mother  pleaded  guilty  to  the  accusation,  and 
hoped  there  was  no  harm  in  it. 

"  No  harm,"  said  the  gentleman.  "  No.  No  harm,  ye  old 
rebel,  not  a  bit  of  harm.  If  my  clerk  was  here  I'd  set  ye  in 
the  stocks,  I  would,  or  lay  ye  in  jail  for  prowling  up  and 
down,  on  the  look-out  for  petty  larcenies,  ye  limb  of  a  gipsy. 
Here,  Simon,  put  these  pilferers  out,  shove  'em  into  the 
road,  out  with  'em  !  Ye  don't  want  to  sell  the  bird,  ye  that 
come  here  to  beg,  don't  ye.  If  they  an't  out  in  double- 
quick,  set  the  dogs  upon  'em  !  " 

They  waited  for  no  further  dismissal,  but  fled  precipitately, 
leaving  the  gentleman  to  storm  away  by  himself  (for  the 
poor  lady  had  already  retreated),  and  making  a  great  many 
vain  attempts  to  silence  Grip,  who,  excited  by  the  noise, 
drew  corks  enough  for  a  city  feast  as  they  hurried  down  the 
avenue,  and  appeared  to  congratulate  himself  beyond  meas- 
ure on  having  been  the  cause  of  the  disturbance.  When 
they  had  nearly  reached  the  lodge,  another  servant,  emerg- 
ing from  the  shrubbery,  feigned  to  be  very  active  in  ordering 
them  off,  but  this  man  put  a  crown  into  the  widow's  hand, 
and  whispering  that  his  lady  sent  it,  thrust  them  gently  from 
the  gate. 

This  incident  only  suggested  to  the  widow's  mind,  when 
they  halted  at  an  ale-house  some  miles  further  on,  and  heard 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  353 

the  justice's  character  as  given  by  his  friends,  that  perhaps 
something  more  than  capacity  of  stomach  and  tastes  for  the 
kennel  and  the  stable,  were  required  to  form  either  a  perfect 
country  gentleman,  a  thorough-bred  Englishman,  or  a 
genuine  John  Bull  ;  and  that  possibly  the  terms  were  some- 
times misappropriated,  not  so  say  disgraced.  She  little 
thought  then,  that  a  circumstance  so  slight  would  ever  influ- 
ence their  future  fortunes  ;  but  time  and  experience  enlight- 
ened her  in  this  respect, 

"  Mother,"  said  Barnaby,  as  they  were  sitting  next  day  in 
a  wagon  which  was  to  take  them  within  ten  miles  of  the 
capital,  ''  we're  going  to  London  first,  you  said.  Shall  we 
see  that  blind  man  there  ? " 

She  was  about  to  answer  "  Heaven  forbid  !  "  but  checked 
herself  and  told  him  no,  she  thought  not  ;  why  did  he  ask  ? 

"  He's  a  wise  man,"  said  Barnaby,  with  a  thoughtful 
countenance.  "  I  wish  that  we  may  meet  with  him  again. 
What  was  it  that  he  said  of  crowds  ?  That  gold  was  to  be 
found  were  people  crowded,  and  not  among  the  trees  and 
in  such  quiet  places  ?  He  spoke  as  if  he  loved  it  ;  London 
is  a  crowded  place  ;  I  think  we  shall  meet  him  there." 

**  But  why  do  you  desire  to  meet  him,  love  ? "  she  asked. 

"Because,"  said  Barnaby,  looking  wistfully  at  her,  "  he 
talked  to  me  about  gold,  which  is  a  rare  thing,  and  say  what 
you  will,  a  thing  you  would  like  to  have,  I  know.  And 
because  he  came  and  went  away  so  strangely — just  as  white- 
headed  old  men  come  sometimes  to  my  bed's  foot  in  the 
night,  and  say  what  I  can't  remember  when  the  bright  day 
returns.  He  told  me  he'd  come  back.  I  wonder  why  he 
broke  his  word  ?  " 

"  But  you  never  thought  of  being  rich  or  gay  before,  dear 
Barnaby.     You  have  always  been  contented." 

He  laughed  and  bade  her  say  that  again,  then  cried,  "  Ay, 
ay — oh  yes,"  and  laughed  once  more.  Then  something 
passed  that  caught  his  fancy,  and  the  topic  wandered  from 
his  mind,  and  was  succeeded  by  another  just  as  fleeting. 

But  it  was  plain  from  what  he  had  said,  and  from  his  return- 
ing to  the  point  more  than  once  that  day,  and  on  the  next, 
that  the  blind  man's  visit,  and  indeed  his  words,  had  taken 
strong  possession  of  his  mind.  Whetlier  the  idea  of  wealth 
had  occurred  to  him  for  the  first  time  on  looking  at  the  golden 
clouds  that  evening — and  images  were  often  presented  to  his 
thoughts  by  outward  objects  quite  as  remote  and  distant  ;  or 
whether  their  poor  and  humble  way  of  life  had  suggested  it, 


354  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

by  contrast,  long  ago  ;  or  whether  the  accident  (as  he  would 
deem  it)  of  the  blind  man's  pursuing  the  current  of  his  own 
remarks,  had  done  so  at  the  moment  ;  or  he  had  been  im= 
pressed  by  the  mere  circumstance  of  the  man  being  blind, 
and,  therefore,  unlike  any  one  with  whom  he  had  talked  be- 
fore ;  it  was  impossible  to  tell.  She  tried  every  means  to 
discover,  but  in  vain  ;  and  the  probability  is,  that  Barnaby 
himself  was  equally  in  the  dark. 

It  filled  her  with  uneasiness  to  find  him  harping  on  this 
string,  but  all  that  she  could  do,  was  to  lead  him  quickly  to 
some  other  subject,  and  to  dismiss  it  from  his  brain.  To 
caution  him  against  their  visitor,  to  show  any  fear  or  suspi- 
cion in  reference  to  him,  would  only  be,  she  feared,  to  in- 
crease that  interest  with  which  Barnaby  regarded  him,  and 
to  strengthen  his  desire  to  m.eet  him  once  again.  She  hoped, 
by  plunging  into  the  crowd,  to  rid  herself  of  her  terrrible 
pursuer,  and  then,  by  journeying  to  a  distance  and  observing 
increased  caution,  if  that  were  possible,  to  live  again  un- 
known in  secrecy  and  peace. 

They  reached,  in  course  of  time,  their  halting-place  within 
ten  miles  of  London,  and  lay  there  for  the  night,  after  bar- 
gaining to  be  carried  on  for  a  trifle  next  day,  in  a  light  van 
which  was  returning  empty,  and  was  to  start  at  five  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  The  driver  was  punctual,  the  road  good — 
save  for  the  dust,  the  weather  being  very  hot  and  dry— and 
at  seven  in  the  forenoon  of  Friday  the  second  of  June,  one 
thousand  seven  hundred  and  eighty,  they  alighted  at  the 
foot  of  Westminster  Bridge,  bade  their  conductor  farewell, 
and  stood  alone,  together,  on  the  scorching  pavement.  For 
the  freshness  which  night  sheds  upon  such  busy  thorough- 
fares had  already  departed,  and  the  sun  v/as  shining  with 
uncommon  luster. 


CHAPTER    XLVIII. 

Uncertain  where  to  go  next,  and  bewildered  by  the  crowd 
of  people  who  were  already  astir,  they  sat  down  in  one  of 
the  recesses  on  the  bridge,  to  rest.  They  soon  became 
aware  that  the  stream  of  life  was  all  pouring  one  way,  and 
that  a  vast  throng  of  persons  were  crossing  the  river  from 
the  Middlesex  to  the  Surrey  shore,  in  unusual  haste  and  evi- 
dent excitement.  They  were,  for  the  most  part,  in  knots  of 
two  or  three,  or  sometimes  half  a  dozen  ;  they  spoke  little 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  355 

together — many  of  them  were  quite  silent ;  and  hurried  on 
as  if  they  had  one  absorbing  object  in  view,  Avhich  was  com- 
mon to  them  all. 

They  were  surprised  to  see  that  nearly  every  man  in  this 
great  concourse,  which  still  came  pouring  past,  without 
slackening  in  the  least,  wore  in  his  hat  a  blue  cockade ;  and 
that  the  chance  passengers  who  were  not  so  decorated,  ap- 
peared timidly  anxious  to  escape  observation  or  attack,  and 
gave  them  the  wall  as  if  they  would  conciliate  them.  This, 
however,  was  natural  enough,  considering  their  inferiority 
in  point  of  numbers  ;  for  the  proportion  of  those  who  wore 
blue  cockades,  to  those  who  were  dressed  as  usual,  was  at 
least  forty  or  fifty  to  one.  There  was  no  quarreling,  how- 
ever ;  the  blue  cockades  went  swarming  on,  passing  each 
other  when  they  could,  and  making  all  the  speed  that  was 
possible  in  such  a  multitude  ;  and  exchanged  nothing  more 
than  looks,  and  very  often  not  even  those,  with  such  of  the 
passers-by  as  were  not  of  their  number. 

At  first,  the  current  of  people  had  been  confined  to  the 
two  pathways,  and  but  a  few  more  eager  stragglers  kept  the 
road.  But  after  half  an  hour  or  so,  the  passage  was  com- 
pletely blocked  up  by  the  great  press,  which,  being  now 
closely  wedged  together,  and  impeded  by  the  carts  and 
coaches  it  encountered,  moved  but  slowly,  and  was  some- 
times at  a  stand  for  five  or  ten  minutes  together. 

After  the  lapse  of  nearly  two  hours,  the  numbers  began  to 
diminish  visibly,  and  gradually  dwindling  away  by  little  and 
little,  left  the  bridge  quite  clear,  save  that,  now  and  then, 
some  hot  and  dusty  man,  with  the  cockade  in  his  hat,  and 
his  coat  thrown  over  his  shoulder,  went  panting  by,  fearful 
of  being  too  late,  or  stopped  to  ask  which  way  his  friends 
had  taken,  and  being  directed,  hastened  on  again  like  one 
refreshed.  In  this  comparative  solitude,  which  seemed  quite 
strange  and  novel  after  the  late  crowd,  the  widow  had  for  the 
first  time  an  opportunity  of  inquiring  of  an  old  man  who 
came  and  sat  beside  them,  what  was  the  meaning  of  that 
great  assemblage. 

'*  Why,  where  have  you  come  from,"  he  returned,  "  that 
you  haven't  heard  of  Lord  George  Gordon's  great  associa- 
tion ?  This  is  the  day  that  he  presents  the  petition  against 
the  Catholics,  God  bless  him  !  " 

"  What  have  all  these  men  to  do  with  that  ?  "  she  said. 

"  What  have  they  to  do  with  it  !  "  the  old  man  replied. 
"  Why,  how  you  talk  !     Don't  you  know  his  lordship  has  de- 


356  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

clared  he  won't  present  it  to  the  House  at  all,  unless  it  is  at- 
tended to  the  door  by  forty  thousand  good  and  true  men  at 
least  ?     There's  a  crowd  for  you  !  " 

"  A  crowd  indeed  !  "  said  Barnaby.  "  Do  you  hear  that, 
mother  !  " 

"  And  they're  mustering  yonder,  as  I  am  told,"  resumed 
the  old  man,  ''  nigh  upon  a  hundred  thousand  9*j:ong.  Ah  ! 
Let  Lord  George  alone.  He  knows  his  power.  There'll  be 
a  good  many  faces  inside  them  three  windows  over  there," 
and  he  pointed  to  where  the  House  of  Commons  overlooked 
the  river,  "  that'll  turn  pale  when  good  Lord  George  gets  up 
this  afternoon,  and  with  reason  too  !  Ay,  ay.  Let  his 
lordship  alone.  Let  him  alone.  He  knows  !  "  And  so, 
with  much  mumbling  and  chuckling  and  shaking  of  his 
forefinger,  he  rose,  with  the  assistance  of  his  stick,  and 
tottered  off. 

"  Mother  !  "  said  Barnaby,  "■  that's  a  brave  crowd  he  talks 
of.     Come  !  " 

"  Not  to  join  it !  "  cried  his  mother. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  he  answered,  plucking  at  her  sleeve.  "Why 
not  ?     Come  !  " 

*'  You  don't  know,"  she  urged,  "  what  mischief  they  may 
do,  where  they  may  lead  you,  what  their  meaning  is.  Dear 
Barnaby,  for  my  sake " 

"  For  your  sake  !  "  he  cried,  patting  her  hand.  ''  Well  ! 
It  is  for  your  sake,  mother.  You  remember  what  the  blind 
man  said,  about  the  gold.  Here's  a  brave  crowd  !  Come  ! 
Or  wait  till  I  come  back — yes,  yes,  wait  here." 

She  tried  with  all  the  earnestness  her  fears  engendered,  to 
turn  him  from  his  purpose,  but  in  vain.  He  was  stooping 
down  to  buckle  on  his  shoe,  when  a  hackney-coach  passed 
them  rather  quickly,  and  a  voice  inside  called  to  the  driver 
to  stop. 

"  Young  man,"  said  a  voice  within. 

"  Who's  that  ?  "  cried  Barnaby,  looking  up, 

"  Do  you  wear  this  ornament  ? "  returned  the  stranger, 
holding  out  a  blue  cockade. 

"  In  heaven's  name,  no.  Pray  do  not  give  it  him  !  "  ex- 
claimed the  widow. 

"  Speak  for  youself,  woman,"  said  the  man  within  the 
coach,  coldly.  "  Leave  the  young  man  to  his  choice  ;  he's 
old  enough  to  make  it,  and  to  snap  your  apron-strings.  He 
knows,  without  your  telling,  whether  he  wears  tlie  sign  of  a 
loyal  Englishman  or  not," 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  357 

Barnaby,  trembling  with  impatience,  cried  "  Yes  !  yes,  yes, 
I  do,"  as  he  had  cried  a  dozen  times  already.  The  man 
threw  him  a  cockade,  and  crying,  *'  Make  haste  to  St. 
George's  Fields,"  ordered  the  coachman  to  drive  on  fast  ; 
and  left  them. 

With  hands  that  trembled  with  his  eagerness  to  fix  the 
bauble  in  his  hat,  Barnaby  was  adjusting  it  as  he  best 
could,  and  hurriedly  replying  to  the  tears  and  entreaties  of 
his  mother  when  two  gentlemen  passed  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  way.  Observing  them,  and  seeing  how  Barnaby  was 
occupied,  they  stopped,  whispered  together  for  an  instant, 
turned  back,  and  came  over  to  them. 

"  Why  are  you  sitting  here  ? "  said  one  of  them,  who  was 
dressed  in  a  plain  suit  of  black,  wore  long,  lank  hair,  and 
carried  a  great  cane.  *'  Why  have  you  not  gone  with  the 
rest  ?  " 

"  I  am  going,  sir,"  replied  Barnaby,  finishing  his  task,  and 
putting  his  hat  on  with  an  air  of  pride.  "  I  shall  be  there 
directly." 

"Say  *  my  lord,'  young  man,  when  his  lordship  does  you 
the  honor  of  speaking  to  you,"  said  the  second  gentleman 
mildly.  "  If  you  don't  know  Lord  George  Gordon  when 
you  see  him,  it's  high  time  you  should." 

''  Nay,  Gashford,"  said  Lord  George,  as  Barnaby  pulled 
off  his  hat  again  and  made  him  a  low  bow,  "  it's  no  great 
matter  on  a  day  like  this,  which  every  Englishman  will  re- 
member with  delight  and  pride.  Put  on  your  hat,  friend, 
and  follow  us,  for  you  lag  behind  and  are  late.  It's  past 
ten  now.  Didn't  you  know  that  the  hour  for  assembling 
was  ten  o'clock  ? 

Barnaby  shook  his  head  and  looked  vacantly  from  one  to 
the  other. 

"  You  might  have-  known  it,  friend,"  said  Gashford,  "  it 
was  perfectly  understood.  How  came  you  to  be  so  ill  in- 
formed ?  " 

"  He  can  not  tell  you,  sir,"  the  widow  interposed.  "  It's 
of  no  use  to  ask  him.  We  are  but  this  morning  come  from 
a  long  distance  in  the  country,  and  know  nothing  of  these 
matters." 

"  The  cause  has  taken  a  deep  root,  and  has  spread  its 
branches  far  and  wide,"  said  Lord  George  to  his  secretary. 
"  This  is  a  pleasant  hearing.     I  thank  heaven  for  it  !  " 

"  x\men  !  "  cried  Gashford  with  a  solemn  face. 

'*  You  do  not  understand  me,  my  lord,"  said  the  widow 


358  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  Pardon  me,  but  you  cruelly  mistake  my  meaning.  We 
know  nothing  of  these  matters.  We  have  no  desire  or  right 
to  join  in  what  you  are  about  to  do.  This  is  my  son,  my 
poor  afflicted  son,  dearer  to  me  than  my  own  life.  In 
mercy's  name,  my  lord,  go  your  way  alone,  and  do  not  tempt 
him  into  danger  !  " 

''  My  good  woman,"  said  Gashford,  "  how  can  you  ! — Dear 
me  ! — What  do  you  mean  by  tempting,  and  by  danger  ?  Do 
you  think  his  lordship  is  a  roaring  lion,  going  about  and 
seeking  whom  he  may  devour  ?     God  bless  me  !  " 

"  No,  no,  my  lord,  forgive  me,"  implored  the  widow,  laying 
both  her  hands  upon  his  breast,  and  scarcely  knowing  what 
she  did,  or  said,  in  the  earnestness  of  her  supplication,  "but 
there  are  reasons  why  you  should  hear  my  earnest,  mother's 
prayer,  and  leave  my  son  with  me.  Oh,  do.  He  is  not  in 
his  right  senses,  he  is  not,  indeed  !  " 

*'  It  is  a  bad  sign  of  the  wickedness  of  these  times,"  said 
Lord  George,  evading  her  touch,  and  coloring  deeply,  "that 
those  who  cling  to  the  truth  and  support  the  right  cause  are 
set  down  as  mad.  Have  you  the  heart  to  say  this  of  your 
own  son,  unnatural  mother  !  " 

"I  am  astonished  at  you  !"  said  Gashford,  with  a  kind  of 
meek  severity.  "This  is  a  very  sad  picture  of  female  de- 
pravity." 

"He  has  surely  no  appearance,"  said  Lord  George,  glanc- 
ing at  Barnaby,  and  whispering  in  his  secretary's  ear,  "  of 
being  deranged  ?  And  even  if  he  had,  we  must  not  construe 
any  trifling  peculiarity  into  madness.  Which  of  us  " — and 
here  he  turned  red  again — "  would  be  safe  if  that  were  made 
the  law  !  " 

"  Not  one,"  replied  the  secretary  ;  "  in  that  case,  the 
greater  the  zeal,  the  truth,  and  talent ;  the  more  direct  the 
call  from  above  ;  the  clearer  would  be  the  madness.  With 
regard  to  this  young  man,  my  lord,"  he  added,  with  a  lip 
that  slightly  curled  as  he  looked  at  Barnaby,  who  stood 
twirling  his  hat,  and  stealthily  beckoning  them  to  come 
away,  "  he  is  as  sensible  and  self-possessed  as  any  one  I  ever 
saw." 

"And  you  desire  to  make  one  of  this  great  body?"  said 
Lord  George,  addressing  him  ;  "  and  intended  to  make  one, 
did  you  ?" 

"Yes — yes,"  said  Barnaby,  with  sparkling  eyes.  "To  be 
sure  I  did  !     I  told  her  so  myself." 

"  I  see,"  replied  Lord  George,  with  a  reproachful   glance 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  359 

at   the   unhappy  mother.     "  I   thought  so.     Follow  me  and 
this  gentleman,  and  you  shall  have  your  wish." 

Barnaby  kissed  his  mother  tenderly  on  the  cheek,  and 
bidding  her  be  of  good  cheer,  for  their  fortunes  were  both 
made  now,  did  as  he  was  desired.  She,  poor  woman,  fol- 
lowed too — with  how  much  fear  and  grief  it  would  be  hard 
to  tell. 

They  passed  quickly  through  the  Bridge  Road,  where  the 
shops  were  all  shut  up  (for  the  passage  of  the  great  crowd 
and  the  expectation  of  their  return  had  alarmed  the  trades- 
men for  their  goods  and  windows)?  and  where,  in  the  upper 
stories,  all  the  inhabitants  were  congregated,  looking  down 
into  the  street  below,  with  faces  variously  expressive  of 
alarm,  of  interest,  expectancy,  and  indignation.  Some  of 
these  applauded,  and  some  hissed  ;  but  regardless  of  these 
interruptions — for  the  noise  of  a  vast  congregation  of  people 
at  a  little  distance  sounded  in  his  ears,  like  the  roaring  of 
the  sea— Lord  George  Gordon  quickened  his  pace,  and  pres- 
ently arrived  before  St.  George's  Fields. 

They  were  really  fields  at  that  time,  and  of  considerable 
extent.  Here  an  immense  multitude  was  collected,  bearing 
flags  of  various  kinds  and  sizes,  but  all  of  the  same  color^ — 
blue,  like  the  cockades— some  sections  marching  to  and  fro 
in  military  array,  and  others  drawn  up  in  circles,  squares  and 
lines.  A  large  portion,  both  of  the  bodies  which  paraded 
the  ground,  and  of  those  which  remained  stationary,  were 
occupied  in  singing  hymns  or  psalms.  With  whomsoever 
this  originated  it  was  well  done  ;  for  the  sound  of  so  many 
thousand  voices  in  the  air  must  have  stirred  the  heart  of  any 
man  within  him,  and  could  not  fail  to  have  a  wonderful 
effect  upon  enthusiasts,  however  mistaken. 

Scouts  had  been  posted  in  advance  of  the  great  body,  to 
give  notice  of  their  leader's  coming.  These  falling  back, 
the  word  was  quickly  passed  through  the  whole  host,  and 
for  a  short  interval  there  ensued  a  profound  and  death-like 
silence,  during  which  the  mass  was  so  still  and  quiet,  that  the 
fluttering  of  a  banner  caught  the  eye,  and  became  a  circum- 
stance of  note.  Then  they  burst  into  a  tremendous  shout, 
into  another,  and  another  ;  and  the  air  seemed  rent  and 
shaken,  as  if  by  the  discharge  of  cannon. 

"  Gashford  !  "  cried  Lord  George,  pressing  his  secretary's 
arm  tight  within  his  own,  and  speaking  with  as  much  emotion 
in  his  voice,  as  in  his  altered  face,  *'  1  am  called  indeed,  now. 
I  feel  and  know  it.     I  am  the  leader  of  a  host.     If  they  sum- 


36o  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

moned  me  at  this  moment  with  one  voice  to  lead  them  on 
to  death,  I'd  do  it.     Yes,  and  fall  first  myself  !  " 

"  It  is  a  proud  sight,"  said  the  secretary.  '*  It  is  a  noble 
day  for  England,  and  for  the  great  cause  throughout  the 
world.  Such  homage,  my  lord,  as  I,  an  humble  but  devoted 
man,  can  render " 

''  What  rre  you  doing  ? "  cried  his  master,  catching  him  by 
both  liands  ;  for  he  had  made  a  show  of  kneeling  at  his  feet. 
''  Do  not  unfit  me,  dear  Gashford,  for  the  solemn  duty  of  this 
glorious  day,"  The  tears  stood  in  the  eyes  of  the  poor 
gentleman  as  he  said  the  words. — *'  Let  us  go  among  them  ; 
we  have  to  find  a  place  in  some  division  for  this  new  recruit 
— give  me  your  hand." 

Gashford  slid  his  cold,  insidious  palm  into  his  master's 
grasp,  and  so,  hand  in  hand,  and  followed  still  by  Barnaby 
and  by  his  mother,  too,  they  mingled  with  the  concourse. 

They  had  by  this  time  taken  to  their  singing  again,  and  as 
their  leader  passed  between  their  ranks,  they  raised  their 
voices  to  their  utmost.  Many  of  those  who  were  banded  to- 
gether to  support  the  religion  of  their  country,  even  unto 
death,  had  never  heard  a  hymn  or  psalm  in  all  their  lives. 
But  these  fellows  having  for  the  most  part  strong  lungs,  and 
being  naturally  fond  of  singing,  chanted  any  ribaldry  or 
nonsense  that  occurred  to  them,  feeling  pretty  certain  that 
it  would  not  be  detected  in  the  general  chorus,  and  not  car- 
ing much  if  it  were.  Many  of  these  voluntaries  were  sung 
under  the  very  nose  of  Lord  George  Gordon,  who,  quite  un- 
conscious of  their  burden,  passed  on  with  his  usual  stiff  and 
solemn  deportment,  very  much  edified  and  delighted  by  the 
pious  conduct  of  his  followers. 

So  they  went  on  and  on,  up  this  line  and  down  that,  round 
the  exterior  of  this  circle,  and  on  every  side  of  that  hollow 
square  ;  and  still  there  were  lines  and  squares  and  circles 
out  of  number  to  review.  The  day  being  now  intensely  hot 
and  the  sun  striking  down  his  fiercest  rays  upon  the  field, 
those  who  carried  heavy  banners  began  to  grow  faint  and 
weary  ;  most  of  the  number  assembled  were  fain  to  pull  off 
their  neckcloths  and  throw  their  coats  and  waistcoats  open  ; 
and  some,  toward  the  center,  quite  overpowered  by  the  ex- 
cessive heat,  which  was,  of  course,  rendered  more  unendur- 
able by  the  multitude  around  them,  lay  down  upon  the 
grass  and  offered  all  they  had  about  them  for  a  drink  of 
water.  Still,  no  man  left  the  ground,  not  even  those  who 
were  so  distressed  ;  still,  Lord  George,  streaming  from  every 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  361 

pore,  went  on  with  Gashford  ;  and  still,  Barnaby  and  his 
mother  followed  close  behind  them. 

They  had  arrived  at  the  top  of  a  long  line  of  some  eight 
hundred  men  in  single  file,  and  Lord  George  had  turned  his 
head  to  look  back  when  a  loud  cry  of  recognition — in  that 
peculiar  and  half-stifled  tone  which  a  voice  has  when  it  is 
raised  in  the  open  air  and  in  the  midst  of  a  great  concourse 
of  persons  —was  heard,  and  a  man  stepped  with  a  shout  of 
laughter  from  the  rank  and  smote  Barnaby  on  the  shoulders 
with  his  heavy  hand. 

"  How  now  !  Barnaby  Rudge  !  Why,  where  have  you 
been  these  hundred  years  ?" 

Barnaby  had  been  thinking  within  himself  that  the  smell 
of  the  trodden  grass  brought  back  his  old  days  at  cricket, 
when  he  was  a  young  boy  and  played  at  Chigwell  Green. 
Confused  by  this  sudden  and  boisterous  address,  he  stared 
in  a  bewildered  manner  at  the  man,  and  could  scarcely  say, 
"  What  !     Hugh  !  " 

"Hugh!"  echoed  the  other;  "ay,  Hugh  —  Maypole 
Hugh  !  You  remember  my  dog  ?  He's  alive  now,  and 
will  know  you,  I  warrant.  What,  you  wear  the  color,  do 
you  ?     Well  done  !     Ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

"You  know  this  young  man,  I  see,"  said  Lord  George. 

"  Know  him,  my  lord  !  as  well  as  I  know  my  right  hand. 
My  captain  knows  him.     We  all  know  him." 

"Will  you  take  him  into  your  division  ?  " 

"  It  hasn't  in  it  a  better  nor  a  nimbler  nor  a  more  active 
man  than  Barnaby  Rudge,"  said  Hugh.  "  Show  me  the  man 
who  says  it  has.  Fall  in,  Barnaby.  He  shall  march,  my 
lord,  between  me  and  Dennis  ;  and  he  shall  carry,"  he  added, 
taking  a  flag  from  the  hand  of  a  tired  man  who  tendered  it, 
"  the  gayest  silken  streamer  in  this  valiant  army." 

"  In  the  name  of  God,  no  ! "  shrieked  the  widow,  darting 
forward.  "  Barnaby — my  lord — see — he'll  come  back — Barn- 
aby— Barnaby  !  " 

"  Women  in  the  field  ?  "  cried  Hugh,  stepping  between 
them  and  holding  her  oflF.     "  Holloa  ;     My  captain  there  !  " 

"  What's  the  matter  here  ? "  cried  Simon  Tappertit,  brist- 
ling up  in  great  heat.     "  Do  you  call  this  order  ?  " 

"  Nothing  like  it,  captain,"  answered  Hugh,  still  holding 
her  back  with  his  outstretched  hand.  "It's  against  all  or- 
ders. Ladies  are  carrying  off  our  gallant  soldiers  from  their 
duty.  The  word  of  command,  captain  !  They're  filing  off 
the  ground.     Quick  !  " 


362  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  Close  !  "  cried  SiniDn,  with  the  whole  power  of  his  lungs. 
"Form!     March!" 

She  was  thrown  to  the  ground  ;  the  whole  field  was  in 
motion  ;  Barnaby  was  whirled  away  into  the  heart  of  a  dense 
mass  of  men,  and  she  saw  him  no  more. 


CHAPTER    XLI 

The  mob  had  been  divided  from  its  first  assemblage  into 
four  divisions  ;  the  London,  the  Westminster,  the  South- 
wark,  and  the  Scotch.  Each  of  these  divisions  being  sub- 
divided into  various  bodies,  and  these  bodies  being  drawn 
up  in  various  forms  and  figures,  the  general  arrangement 
was,  except  to  the  few  chiefs  and  leaders,  as  unintelligible  as 
the  plan  of  a  great  battle  to  the  meanest  soldier  in  the  field. 
It  was  not  without  its  method,  however  ;  for,  in  a  very  short 
space  of  time  after  being  put  in  motion,  the  crowd  had  re- 
solved itself  into  three  great  parties,  and  were  prepared,  as 
had  been  arranged,  to  cross  the  river  by  different  bridges, 
and  make  for  the  House  of  Commons  in  separate  detach- 
ments. 

At  the  head  of  that  division  v/hich  had  Westminster  Bridge 
for  its  approach  to  the  scene  of  action,  Lord  George  Gordon 
took  his  post  ;  with  Gashford  at  his  right  hand,  and  sundry 
ruffians,  of  most  unpromising  appearance,  forming  a  kind  of 
staff  about  him.  The  conduct  of  a  second  party,  whose 
route  lay  by  Blackfriars,  was  intrusted  to  a  committee  of 
management,  including  perhaps  a  dozen  men  ;  while  the 
third,  which  was  to  go  by  London  Bridge,  and  through  the 
main  streets,  in  order  that  their  numbers  and  their  serious 
intentions  might  be  the  better  known  and  appreciated  by  the 
citizens,  were  led  by  Simon  Tappertit  (assisted  by  a  few 
subalterns,  selected  from  the  Brotherhood  of  United  Bull- 
dogs), Dennis  the  hangman,  Hugh,  and  some  others. 

The  word  of  command  being  given,  each  of  these  great 
bodies  took  the  road  assigned  to  it,  and  departed  on  its  way, 
in  perfect  order  and  profound  silence.  That  which  went 
through  the  city  greatly  exceeded  the  others  in  number,  and 
was  of  such  prodigious  extent  that  when  the  rear  began  to 
move,  the  front  was  nearly  four  miles  in  advance,  notwith- 
standing that  the  men  marched  three  abreast  and  followed 
very  close  upon  each  other. 

At  the  head  of  this  party,  in  the  place  where  Hugh,  in  the 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  363 

madness  of  his  humor,  had  stationed  him,  and  walking  be- 
tween that  dangerous  companion  and  the  hangman,  went 
Barnaby  ;  as  many  a  man  among  the  thousands  who  looked 
on  that  day  afterward  remembered  well.  Forgetful  of  all 
other  things  in  the  ecstasy  of  the  moment,  his  face  flushed 
and  his  eyes  sparkling  with  delight,  heedless  of  the  weight 
of  the  crreat  banner  he  carried,  and  mindful  only  of  its  tlash- 
incr  in  tlie  sun  and  rustling  in  the  summer  breeze,  on  he  went, 
proud,  happy,  elated  past  all  telling  :— the  only  hght-hearted, 
undesigning  creature,  in  the  whole  assembly. 

''  What  do  you  think  of  this  ?  "  asked  Hugh,  as  they  passed 
through  the  crowded  streets,  and  looked  up  at  the  windows 
which  were  thronged  with  spectators.  "  They  have  all  turned 
out  to  see  our  flags  and  streamers.  Eh,  Barnaby  ?  Why, 
Barnaby 's  the  greatest  man  of  all  the  pack  !  His  flag  s  the 
largest  of  the  lot,  the  brightest  too.  There's  nothmg  m  the 
show  like  Barnaby.     All  eyes  are  turned  on  him.     Ha,  ha, 

ha  '  " 

''"Don't  make  that  din,  brother,"  growled  the  hangman, 
glancing  with  no  very  approving  eyes  at  Barnaby  as  he 
spoke  •  "  I  hope  he  don't  think  there's  nothing  to  be  done, 
but  carrying  that  there  piece  of  blue  rag,  like  a  boy  at  a 
breaking  up.  You're  ready  for  action,  I  hope,  eh  ?  You,  i 
mean,"  he  added,  nudging  Barnaby  roughly  with  his^elbow. 
"  What  are  you  staring  at  ?     Why  don't  you  speak  ? 

Barnaby  had  been  gazing  at  his  flag,  and  looked  vacantly  ^ 
from  his  questioner  to  Hugh,  .,   ,     ,  u  u- 

"  He  don't  understand  your  way,"  said  the  latter.  f;*-^^^' 
I'll  explain  it  to  him.     Barnaby,  old  boy,  attend  to  me." 

"  I'll  attend,"  said  Barnaby,  looking  anxiously  round  ; 
''  but  I  wish  I  could  see  her  somewhere."  ^^ 

'*  See  who  ?  "  demanded  Dennis,  m  a  gruff  tone.  You 
an't  in  love,  I  hope,  brother?  That  an't  the  sort  of  thing 
for  us,  you  know.     We  mustn't  have  no  love  here."  ^^ 

''  She  would  be  proud  indeed  to  see  me  now,  eh  Hugh  ? 
said  Barnaby.     "  Wouldn't  it  make  her  glad  to  see  me  at 
the  head  of  this  large  show  ?     She'd  cry  for  joy,  I  know  she 
would.     Where  ca^l  she  be  ?     She  never  sees  me  at  my  best, 
and  what  do  I  care  to  be  gay  and  fine  if  s/ie's  not  by  ?  ' 

"  Whv  what  player's  this  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Dennis,  with  su- 
preme disdain.     ''We  ain't    got  no  sentimental  members 

among  us,  I  hope."  .,„.,«  tx  .        1    ^  n 

"  Don't  be  uneasy,  brother,"  cried  Hugh.  He  s  only  talk- 
ing of  his  mother." 


364  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  Of  his  what  ?  "  said  Mr.  Dennis,  with  a  strong  oath. 

''  His  mother." 

"  And  have  I  combined  myself  with  this  here  section,  and 
turned  out  on  this  here  memorable  day,  to  hear  men  talk 
about  their  mothers!  "  growled  Mr.  Dennis,  with  extreme  dis- 
gust. "  The  notion  of  a  man's  sweetheart's  bad  enough,  but 
a  man's  mother  !  " — and  here  his  disgust  was  so  extreme  that 
he  spat  upon  the  ground,  and  could  say  no  more. 

"  Barnaby's  right,"  cried  Hugh  with  a  grin,  "  and  I  say  it. 
Lookee,  bold  lad.  If  she's  not  here  to  see,  it's  because  I've 
provided  for  her,  and  sent  half  a  dozen  gentlemen,  every 
one  of  'em  with  a  blue  flag  (but  not  half  as  fine  as  yours), 
to  take  her,  in  state,  to  a  grand  house  all  hung  round  with 
gold  and  silver  banners,  a.nd  every  thing  else  you  please, 
where  she'll  wait  till  you  come,  and  want  for  nothing." 

"Ah!"  p.aid  Barnaby,  his  face  beaming  with  delight: 
**  have  you  indeed  ?  That's  a  good  hearing.  That's  fine  ! 
Kind  Hugh  !  " 

**  But  nothing  to  what  will  come,  bless  you,"  retorted 
Hugh,  with  a  wink  at  Dennis,  who  regarded  his  new  com- 
panion in  arms  with  great  astonishment. 

"  No,  indeed  ?  "  cried  Barnaby. 

"  Nothing  at  all,"  said  Hugh.  "  Money,  cocked  hats  and 
feathers,  red  coats  and  gold  lace  ;  all  the  fine  things  there 
are,  ever  were,  or  will  be  ;  will  belong  to  us  if  we  are  true 
to  that  noble  gentleman — the  best  mian  in  the  world — carry 
our  flags  for  a  few  days,  and  keep  'em  safe.  That's  all 
we've  got  to  do." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  cried  Barnaby,  with  glistening  eyes,  as  he 
clutched  his  pole  the  tighter  ;  *'  I  warrant  you  I  keep  this 
one  safe,  then.  You  have  put  it  in  good  hands.  You  know 
me,  Hugh.     Nobody  shall  wrest  this  flag  away." 

"Well  said!"  cried  Hugh.  "Ha,  ha!  Nobly  said! 
That's  the  old  stout  Barnaby,  that  I  have  climbed  and  leaped 
with,  many  and  many  a  day — I  knew  I  was  not  mistaken  in 
Barnaby.  Don't  you  see,  man,"  he  added  in  a  whisper,  as 
he  slipped  to  the  other  side  of  Dennis,  "  that  the  lad's  a 
natural,  and  can  be  got  to  do  any  thing,  if  you  take  him  the 
right  way.  Letting  alone  the  fun  he  is,  he's  worth  a  dozen 
men,  in  earnest,  as  you'd  find  if  you  tried  a  fall  with  him. 
Leave  him  to  me.  You  shall  soon  see  whether  he's  of 
use  or  not." 

Mr.  Dennis  received  these  explanatory  remarks  with- 
many  nods  and  winks,  and  softened  his  behavior  toward 


^  BARNABY  RUDGE.  365 

Barnaby  from  that  moment.  Hugh,  laying  his  finger  on  his 
nose,  stepped  back  into  his  former  place,  and  they  proceeded 
in  silence. 

It  was  between  two  and  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
when  the  three  great  parties  met  at  Westminster,  and,  uniting 
into  one  huge  mass,  raised  a  tremendous  shout.  This  was 
not  only  done  in  token  of  their  presence,  but  as  a  signal  to 
those  o'n  whom  the  task  devolved,  that  it  was  time  to  take 
possession  of  the  lobbies  of  both  Houses,  and  of  the  various 
avenues  of  approach,  and  of  the  gallery  stairs.  To  the  last- 
named  place,  Hugh  and  Dennis,  still  with  their  pupil  be- 
tween them,  rushed  straightway  ;  Barnaby  havmg  given  nis 
flag  into  the  hands  of  one  of  their  own  party,  who  kept  them 
at  the  outer  door.  Their  followers  pressing  on  behind,  they 
were  borne  as  on  a  great  wave  to  the  very  doors  of  the 
gallery,  where  it  was  impossible  to  retreat,  even  if  they  had 
been  so  inclined,  by  reason  of  the  throng  which  choked  up 
the  passages.  It  is  a  familiar  expression  in  describing  a 
great  crowd,  that  a  person  might  have  walked  upon  the 
people's  heads.  In  this  case  it  was  actually  done  ;  for  a  boy 
who  had  by  some  means  got  among  the  concourse,  and  was 
in  imminent  danger  of  suffocation,  climbed  to  the  shoulders 
of  a  man  beside  him  and  walked  upon  the  people's  hats  and 
heads  into  the  open  street ;  traversing  in  his  passage  the 
whole  length  of  two  staircases  and  a  long  gallery.  Nor  was 
the  swarm  without  less  dense  ;  for  a  basket  which  had  been 
tossed  into  the  crowd,  was  jerked  from  head  to  head,  and 
shoulder  to  shoulder,  and  went  spinning  and  whirling  on 
above  them,  until  it  was  lost  to  view,  without  ever  once  fall- 
ing in  among  them  or  coming  near  the  ground. 

Through  this  vast  throng,  sprinkled  doubtless  here  and 
there  with  honest  zealots,  but  composed  for  the  most  part  of 
the  very  scum  and  refuse  of  London,  whose  growth  was  fos- 
tered by  bad  criminal  laws,  bad  prison  regulations,  and  the 
worst  conceivable  police,  such  of  the  members  of  both 
houses  of  parliament  as  had  not  taken  the  precaution  to  be 
already  at  their  posts,  were  compelled  to  fight  and  force 
their  way.  Their  carriages  were  stopped  and  broken  ;  the 
wheels  wrenched  off ;  the  glasses  shivered  to  atoms  ;  the 
panels  beaten  in  ;  drivers,  footmen,  and  masters,  pulled  froin 
their  seats  and  rolled  in  the  mud.  Lords,  commoners,  and 
reverend  bishops,  with  little  distinction  of  person  or  party, 
were  kicked  and  pinched  and  hustled  ;  passed  from  hand  to 
hand  through  various  stages  of  ill-usage  ;  and  sent  to  their 


366  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

fellow-senators  at  last  with  their  clothes  hanging  in  ribbons 
about  them,  their  bagwigs  torn  off,  themselves  speechless  and 
breathless,  and  their  persons  covered  with  the  powder 
which  had  been  cuffed  and  beaten  out  of  their  hair.  One 
lord  was  so  long  in  the  hands  of  the  populace,  that  the 
peers  as  a  body  resolved  to  sally  forth  and  rescue  him,  and 
were  in  the  act  of  doing  so,  when  he  happily  appeared 
among  them  covered  with  dirt  and  bruises,  and  hardly  to  be 
recognized  by  those  who  knev/  him  best.  The  noise  and 
uproar  were  on  the  increase  every  moment.  The  air  was 
filled  with  execrations,  hoots,  and  bowlings.  The  mob  raged 
and  roared  like  a  mad  monster  as  it  was,  unceasingly,  and 
each  new  outrage  served  to  swell  its  fury. 

Within  doors,  matters  were  even  more  threatening.  Lord 
George — preceded  by  a  man  who  carried  an  immense  peti- 
tion on  a  porter's  knot  through  the  lobby  to  the  door  of  the 
House  of  Commons,  where  it  was  received  by  two  officers  of 
the  House  who  rolled  it  up  to  the  table  ready  for  presenta- 
tion— had  taken  his  seat  at  an  early  hour,  before  the  speaker 
went  to  prayers.  His  followers  pouring  in  at  the  same  time, 
the  lobby  and  all  the  avenues  were  immediately  filled,  as  we 
have  seen.  Thus  the  members  were  not  only  attacked  in 
their  passage  through  the  streets,  but  were  set  upon  within 
the  very  walls  of  parliament  ;  while  the  tumult,  both  within 
and  without,  was  so  great,  that  those  who  attempted  to 
speak  could  scarcely  hear  their  own  voices  ;  far  less,  consult 
upon  the  course  it  would  be  wise  to  take  in  such  extremity, 
or  animate  each  other  to  dignified  and  firm  resistance.  So 
sure  as  any  member,  just  arrived,  with  dress  disordered  and 
disheveled  hair,  came  straggling  through  the  crowd  in  the 
lobby,  it  yelled  and  screamed  in  triumph  ;  and  when  the 
door  of  the  House,  partially  and  cautiously  opened  by  those 
within  for  admission,  gave  them  a  momentary  glimpse  of  the 
interior,  they  grew  more  wild  and  savage,  like  beasts  at  the 
sight  of  prey,  and  made  a  rush  against  the  portal  which 
strained  its  locks  and  bolts  in  their  staples,  and  shook  the 
very  beams. 

The  strangers'  gallery,  which  was  immediately  above  the 
door  of  the  house,  had  been  ordered  to  be  closed  on  the 
first  rumor  of  disturbance,  and  was  empty  ;  save  that  now 
and  then  Lord  George  took  his  seat  there,  for  the  conven- 
ience of  coming  to  the  head  of  the  stairs  which  led  to  it,  and 
repeating  to  the  people  what  had  passed  within.  It  was  on 
these  stairs  that  Barnaby,  Hugh,  and    l)ennis  were  posted. 


THE    PO..    SWKPT     THE    .,K    .buVE    T„.      ..^p,,-,    ,,,,,,    ^.,„    ^^^ 
MAX  S   SADDLE   WAS   EMPTV   jx   AN   OSTANT." 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  367 

There  were  two  flights,  short,  steep,  and  narrow,  running 
parallel  to  each  other,  and  leading  to  two  little  doors  com- 
municating with  a  low  passage  which  opened  on  a  gallery. 
Between  them  was  a  kind  of  well,  or  unglazed  skylight,  for  the 
admission  of  light  and  air  into  the  lobby,  which  might  be 
some  eighteen  or  twenty  feet  below. 

Upon  one  of  these  little  staircases — not  that  at  the  head 
of  which  Lord  George  appeared  from  time  to  time,  but  the 
other — Gashford  stood  with  his  arm  upon  the  banister,  and 
his  cheek  resting  upon  his  hand,  with  his  usual  crafty  as- 
pect. Whenever  he  varied  this  attitude  in  the  slightest  de- 
gree— so  much  as  by  the  gentlest  motion  of  his  arm — the 
uproar  was  certain  to  increase,  not  merely  there,  but  in  the 
lobby  below  ;  from  which  place,  no  doubt,  some  man  who 
acted  as  fugleman  to  the  rest,  was  constantly  looking  up 
and  watching  him. 

"  Order,"  cried  Hugh,  in  a  voice  which  made  itself  heard 
even  above  the  roar  and  tumult,  as  Lord  George  appeared  at 
the  top  of  the  staircase.     "  News  !  "     News  from  my  lord  !  " 

The  noise  continued,  notwithstanding  his  appearance, 
until  Gashford  looked  round.  There  was  silence  immedi- 
ately— even  among  the  people  in  the  passages  without,  and 
on  the  other  staircases,  who  could  neither  see  nor  hear,  but 
to  whom,  notwithstanding,  the  signal  was  conveyed  with 
marvelous  rapidity. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Lord  George,  who  was  very  pale  and 
agitated,  "  we  must  be  firm.  They  talk  of  delays,  but  we 
must  have  no  delays.  They  talk  of  taking  your  petition  into 
consideration  next  Tuesday,  but  we  must  have  it  considered 
now.  Present  appearances  look  bad  for  our  success,  but 
we  must  succeed,  and  will  !  " 

"  We  must  succeed,  and  will  !  "  echoed  the  crowd.  And 
so  among  their  shouts  and  cheers  and  other  cries,  he  bowed 
to  them  and  retired,  and  presently  came  back  again.  There 
was  another  gesture  from  Gashford,  and  a  dead  silence  di- 
rectly. 

^'  I  am  afraid,"  he  said,  this  time,  "  that  we  have  little 
reason,  gentlemen,  to  hope  for  any  redress  from  the  pro- 
ceedings of  parliament.  But  we  must  redress  our  own  griev- 
ances, we  must  meet  again,  we  must  put  our  trust  in  Provi- 
dence, and  it  will  bless  our  endeavors." 

This  speech  being  a  little  more  temperate  than  the  last, 
was  not  so  favorably  received.  When  the  noise  and  exas- 
peration were  at  their  height,    he  came    back  once  more, 


368  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

and  told  them  that  the  alarm  had  gone  forth  for  many 
miles  round  ;  that  when  the  king  heard  of  their  assemblage 
together  in  that  great  body,  he  had  no  doubt  his  majesty 
would  send  down  private  orders  to  h^ve  their  wishes  com- 
plied with  ;  and — with  the  manner  c^  his  speech  as  child- 
ish, irresolute,  and  uncertain  as  his  matter — was  proceeding 
in  this  strain,  when  two  gentlemen  suddenly  appeared  at  the 
door  where  he  stood,  and  pressing  past  him  and  coming  a 
step  or  two  lower  down  upon  the  stairs,  confronted  the 
people. 

The  boldness  of  this  action  quite  took  them  by  surprise. 
They  were  not  the  less  disconcerted,  when  one  of  the  gen- 
tlemen turning  to  Lord  George,  spoke  thus — in  a  loud  voice 
that  they  might  hear  him  well,  but  quite  coolly  and  collect- 
edly. 

"  You  may  tell  these  people,  if  you  please,  my  lord,  that  I 
am  General  Conway,  of  Avhom  they  have  heard  ;  and  that  I, 
oppose  this  petition,  and  all  their  proceedings,  and  yours. 
I  am  a  soldier,  you  may  tell  them,  and  I  will  protect  the 
freedom  of  this  place  with  my  sword.  You  see,  my  lord, 
that  the  members  of  this  House  are  all  in  arms  to-day  ;  you 
know  that  the  entrance  to  it  is  a  narrow  one  ;  you  can  not  be 
ignorant  that  there  are  men  within  these  walls  who  are  de- 
termined to  defend  that  pass  to  the  last,  and  before  whom 
many  lives  must  fall  if  your  adherents  persevere.  Have  a 
care  what  you  do." 

"  And  my  Lord  George,"  said  the  other  gentleman,  address- 
ing him  in  like  manner,  "  I  desire  them  to  hear  this,  from 
me — Colonel  Gordon — your  near  relation.  If  a  man  among 
this  crowd,  whose  uproar  strikes  us  deaf,  crosses  the  thres- 
hold of  the  House  of  Commons,  I  swear  to  run  my  sword 
that  moment — not  into  i^.is,  but  into  your  body  !  " 

With  that,  they  stepped  back  again,  keeping  their  faces 
toward  the  crowd  ;  took  each  an  arm  of  the  misguided  no- 
bleman ;  drew  him  into  the  passage,  and  shut  the  door  ; 
which  they  directly  locked  and  fastened  on  the  inside. 

This  was  so  quickly  done,  and  the  demeanor  of  both  gen- 
tlemen— who  were  not  young  men  either — was  so  gallant 
and  resolute,  that  the  crowd  faltered  and  stared  at  each 
other  with  irresolute  and  timid  looks.  Many  tried  to  turn 
toward  the  door  ;  some  of  the  faintest-hearted  cried  they 
^ctd  best  go  back,  and  called  to  those  behind  to  give  way  ; 
and  the  panic  and  confusion  were  increasing  rapidly,  when. 
Gashford  whispered  Hugh. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  369 

•*  What  now  !  "  Hugh  roared  aloud,  turning  toward  them, 
"  Why  go  back  ?  Where  can  you  do  better  than  here,  boys  ? 
One  good  rush  against  these  doors  and  one  bellow  at  the 
same  time,  will  do  the  business.  Rush  on,  then  !  As  to  the 
door  below,  let  those  stand  back  who  are  afraid.  Let  those 
who  are  not  afraid,  try  who  shall  be  the  first  to  pass  it.  Here 
goes  !     Look  out  down  there  I  " 

Without  the  delay  of  an  instant,  he  threw  himself  head- 
long over  the  banisters  into  the  lobby  below.  He  had 
hardly  touched  the  ground  when  Barnaby  was  at  his  side. 
The  chaplain's  assistant,  and  some  members  who  were 
imploring  the  people  to  retire,  immediately  withdrew  ; 
and  then,  with  a  great  shout,  both  crowds  threw  them- 
selves against  the  doors  pell-mell,  and  besieged  the  House 
in  earnest. 

At  that  moment,  when  a  second  onset  must  have  brought 
them  into  collision  with  those  who  stood  on  the  defensive 
within,  in  which  case  great  loss  of  life  and  bloodshed 
would  inevitably  have  ensued — the  hindmost  portion  of 
the  crowd  gave  way,  and  the  rumor  spread  from  mouth 
to  mouth  that  a  messenger  had  been  dispatched  by  wa- 
ter for  the  military^  who  were  forming  in  the  street^ 
Fearful  of  sustaining  a  charge  in  the  narrow  passages  in 
which  they  were  so  closely  wedged  together,  the  throng 
poured  out  as  impetuously  as  they  had  flocked  in.  As 
the  whole  stream  turned  at  once,  Barnaby  and  Hugh 
went  with  it  ;  and  so,  fighting  and  struggling  and  tram- 
pling on  fallen  men  and  being  trampled  on  in  turn  them- 
selves, they  and  the  whole  mass  floated  by  degrees  into 
the  open  street,  where  a  large  detachment  of  the  Guards, 
both  horse  and  foot,  came  hurrying  up,  clearing  the  ground 
before  them  so  rapidly  that  the  people  seemed  to  melt  away 
as  they  advanced. 

The  word  of  command  to  halt  being  given,  the  soldiers 
formed  across  the  street ;  the  rioters,  breathless  and  ex- 
hausted with  their  late  exertions,  formed  likewise,  though  in 
a  very  irregular  and  disorderly  manner.  The  commanding 
ofiicer  rode  hastily  into  the  open  space  between  the  two 
bodies,  accompanied  by  a  magistrate  and  an  officer  of  the 
House  of  Commons,  for  whose  accommodation  a  couple  of 
troopers  had  hastily  dismounted.  The  Riot  Act  was  read, 
but  not  a  man  stirred. 

In  the  first  rank  of  the  insurgents,  Barnaby  and  Hugh 
stood  side  by  side.      Somebody  had  thrust  into  Barnaby 's 


370  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

hands,  when  he  came  out  into  the  street,  his  precious 
flag ;  which  being  now  rolled  up  and  tied  round  the  pole, 
looked  like  a  giant  quarterstaff  as  he  grasped  it  firmly 
and  stood  upon  his  guard.  If  ever  man  believed  with 
his  whole  heart  and  soul  that  he  was  engaged  in  a  just 
cause,  and  that  he  was  bound  to  stand  by  his  leader  to 
the  last,  poor  Barnaby  believed  it  of  himself  and  Lord 
George  Gordon. 

After  an  ineffectual  attempt  to  make  himself  heard,  the 
magistrate  gave  the  word,  and  the  Horse  Guards  came 
riding  in  among  the  crowd.  But,  even  then,  he  galloped 
here  and  there,  exhorting  the  people  to  disperse  ;  and 
although  heavy  stones  were  thrown  at  the  men,  and  some 
were  desperately  cut  and  bruised,  they  had  no  orders  but  to 
make  prisoners  of  such  of  the  rioters  as  were  the  most  active, 
and  to  drive  the  people  back  with  the  flat  of  their  sabers. 
As  the  horses  came  in  among  them,  the  throng  gave  way  at 
many  points,  and  the  Guards,  following  up  their  advantage, 
were  rapidly  clearing  the  ground,  when  two  or  three  of  the 
foremost,  who  were  in  a  manner  cut  off  from  the  rest  by  the 
people  closing  round  them,  made  straight  toward  Barnaby 
and  Hugh,  who  had  no  doubt  been  pointed  out  as  the  two 
men  who  dropped  into  the  lobby  :  laying  about  them  now 
with  some  effect,  and  inflicting  on  the  more  turbulent  of  their 
opponents  a  few  slight  flesh  wounds,  under  the  influence  of 
which  a  man  dropped,  here  and  there,  into  the  arms  of  his 
fellows,  amid  much  groaning  and  confusion. 

At  the  sight  of  gashed  and  bloody  faces,  seen  for  a  mo- . 
ment  in  the  crowd,  then  hidden  by  the  press  around  them, 
Barnaby  turned  pale  and  sick.  But  he  stood  his  ground, 
and  grasping  his  pole  more  firmly  yet,  kept  his  eye  fixed  upon 
the  nearest  soldier — nodding  his  head  meanwhile,  as  Hugh, 
with  a  scowling  visage,  whispered  in  his  ear. 

The  soldier  came  spurring  on,  making  his  horse  rear  as  the 
people  pressed  about  him,  cutting  at  the  hands  of  those  who 
would  have  grasped  his  rein  and  forced  his  charger  back,  and 
waving  to  his  comrades  to  follow — and  still  Barnaby,  without 
retreating  an  inch,  waited  for  his  coming.  Some  called  to 
him  to  fly,  and  some  were  in  the  very  act  of  closing  round 
him,  to  prevent  his  being  taken,  when  the  pole  swept  into 
the  air  above  the  people's  heads,  and  the  man's  saddle  was 
empty  in  an  instant. 

Then,  he  and  Hugh  turned  and  fled,  the  crowd  opening  to 
let  them  pass  and  closing  up  again  so  quickly  that  there  was 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  37i 

no  clew  to  the  course  they  had  taken.  Panting  for  breath, 
hot,  dusty,  and  exhausted  with  fatigue,  they  reached  the 
river  side  in  safety,  and  getting  into  a  boat  with  all  dispatch, 
were  soon  out  of  any  immediate  danger. 

As  they  glided  down  the  river,  they  plainly  heard  the  peo- 
ple cheering  ;  and  supposing  they  might  have  forced  the 
soldiers  to  retreat,  lay  upon  their  oars  for  a  few  minutes, 
uncertain  whether  to  return  or  not.  But  the  crowd  passing 
along  Westminster  Bridge,  soon  assured  them  that  the  pop- 
ulace were  dispersing  ;  and  Hugh  rightly  guessed  from  this, 
that  they  had  cheered  the  magistrate  for  offering  to  dismiss 
the  military  on  condition  of  their  immediate  departure  to 
their  several  homes,  and  that  he  and  Barnaby  were  better 
where  they  were.  He  advised,  therefore,  that  they  should 
proceed  to  Blackfriars,  and,  going  ashore  at  the  bridge, 
make  the  best  of  their  way  to  The  Boot  ;  where  there  was  not 
only  good  entertainment  and  safe  lodging,  but  where  they 
would  certainly  be  joined  by  many  of  their  late  companions. 
Barnaby  assenting,  they  decided  on  this  course  of  action, 
and  pulled  for  Blackfriars  accordingly. 

They  landed  at  the  critical  time,  and  fortunately  for  them- 
selves at  the  right  moment  For,  coming  into  Fleet  Street, 
they  found  it  in  an  unusual  stir  ;  and  inquiring  the  cause, 
were  told  that  a  body  of  Horse  Guards  had  just  galloped 
past,  and  that  they  were  escorting  some  rioters  whom  they 
had  made  prisoners  to  Newgate  for  safety.  Not  at  all  ill- 
pleased  to  have  so  narrowly  escaped  the  cavalcade,  they  lost 
no  more  time  in  asking  questions,  but  hurried  to  The  Boot 
with  as  much  speed  as  Hugh  considered  it  prudent  to  make, 
without  appearing  singular  or  attracting  an  inconvenient 
share  of  public  notice. 

CHAPTER    L. 

They  were  among  the  first  to  reach  the  tavern,  but  they 
had  not  been  there  many  minutes  when  several  groups  of 
men  who  had  formed  part  of  the  crowd,  came  straggling  in. 
Among  them  were  Simon  Tappertit  and  Mr.  Dennis  ;  both 
of  whom,  but  especially  the  latter,  greeted  Barnaby  with  the 
utmost  warmth,  and  paid  him  many  comphments  on  the 
prowess  he  had  shown, 

"  Which,"  said  Dennis  with  an  oath,  as  he  rested  his  blud- 
geon in  a  corner  with  his  hat  upon  it,  and  took  his  seat  at 


372  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

the  same  table  with  them,  ''  it  does  me  good  to  think  of. 
There  was  a  opportunity  !  But  it  led  to  nothing.  For  my 
part,  I  don't  know  what  would.  There's  no  spirit  among  the 
people  in  these  here  times.  Bring  something  to  eat  and 
drink  here.     I'm  disgusted  with  humanity." 

"  On  what  account  ? "  asked  Mr.  Tappertit,  who  had  been 
quenching  his  fiery  face  in  a  half-gallon  can.  Don't  you  con- 
sider this  a  good  beginning,  mister  ?  " 

"  Give  me  security  that  it  an't  a  ending,"  rejoined  the 
hangman.  "  When  that  soldier  went  down,  we  might  have 
made  London  ours  ;  but  no  ; — we  stand  and  gape,  and  look 
on — the  justice  (I  wish  he  had  had  a  bullet  in  each  eye,  as 
he  would  have  had,  if  we'd  gone  to  work  my  way)  says  *  My 
lads,  if  you'll  give  me  your  word  to  disperse,  I'll  order  off 
the  military,' — our  people  sets  up  a  hurrah,  throws  up  the 
game  with  the  winning  cards  in  their  hands,  and  skulks  away 
like  a  pack  of  tame  curs  as  they  are.  Ah,"  said  the  hang- 
man, in  a  tone  of  deep  disgust,  "  it  makes  me  blush  for  my 
feller  creetures.     I  wish  I  had  been  born  a  ox,  I  do  !  " 

*'  You'd  have  been  quite  as  agreeable  a  character  if  you 
had  been,  I  think,"  returned  Simon  Tappertit,  going  out  in 
a  lofty  manner. 

*'  Don't  be  too  sure  of  that,"  rejoined  the  hangman,  calling 
after  him  ;  "  if  I  was  a  horned  animal  at  the  present  mo- 
ment, with  the  smallest  grain  of  sense,  I'd  toss  every  man  in 
this  company,  excepting  them  two,"  meaning  Hugh  and 
Barnaby,  "  for  his  manner  of  conducting  himself  this  day." 

With  which  mournful  review  of  their  proceedings,  Mr. 
Dennis  sought  consolation  in  cold  boiled  beef  and  beer  ; 
but  without  at  all  relaxing  the  grim  and  dissatisfied  expres- 
sion of  his  face,  the  gloom  of  which  was  rather  deepened 
than  dissipated  by  their  grateful  influence. 

The  company  who  were  thus  libeled  might  have  retaliated 
by  strong  words,  if  not  by  blows,  but  they  were  dispirited 
and  worn  out.  The  greater  part  of  them  had  fasted  since 
morning  ;  all  had  suffered  extremely  from  the  excessive 
heat  ;  and  between  the  day's  shouting,  exertion,  and  excite- 
ment, many  had  quite  lost  their  voices,  and  so  much  of  their 
strength  that  they  could  hardly  stand.  Then  they  were  un- 
certain what  to  do  next,  fearful  of  the  conseqaences  of  what 
tliey  had  done  already,  and  sensible  that  after  all  they  had 
carried  no  point,  but  had  indeed  left  matters  worse  than  they 
had  found  them.  Of  those  who  had  come  to  The  Boot, 
many  dropped   off  within   a   hour  ;  such  of    them   as  were 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  373 

really  honest  and  sincere,  never  after  the  morning's  experi- 
ence, to  return,  or  to  hold  any  communication  with  their 
late  companions.  Others  remained  but  to  refresh  them- 
selves, and  then  went  home  desponding  ;  others  who  had 
theretofore  been  regular  in  their  attendance,  avoided  the 
place  altogether.  The  half-dozen  prisoners  whom  the  Guards 
had  taken  were  magnified  by  report  into  half  a  hundred  at 
least  ;  and  their  friends^  being  faint  and  sober,  so  slackened 
in  their  energy,  and  so  drooped  beneath  these  dispiriting  in- 
fluences, that  by  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  Dennis,  Hugh 
and  Barnaby,  were  left  alone.  Even  they  were  fast  asleep 
upon  the  benches,  when  Gashford's  entrance  roused  them. 

''Oh!  yow  are  here  then?"  said  the  secretary,  "Dear 
me  !  " 

"  Why,  where  should  we  be.  Muster  Gashford  ? "  Dennis 
rejoined,  as  he  rose  into  a  sitting  posture, 

''  Oh  nowhere,  nowhere,"  he  returned  with  excessive  mild- 
ness. "  The  streets  are  filled  with  blue  cockades.  I  rather 
thought  you  might  have  been  among  them,  1  am  glad  you 
are  not." 

"  You  have  orders  for  us,  master,  then  }''  said  Hugh, 

"  Oh,  dear,  no.  Not  I.  No  orders,  my  good  fellow. 
What  orders  should  I  have  ?    You  are  not  in  my  service," 

"  Muster  Gashford,"  remonstrated  Dennis,  "we  belong  to 
the  cause,  don't  we  ?" 

"  The  cause  !  "  repeated  the  secretary,  looking  at  him  in 
a  sort  of  abstraction.  "  There  is  no  cause.  The  cause  is 
lost," 

;•'  Lost : " 

"  Oh  yes.  You  have  heard,  I  suppose  ?  The  petition  is 
rejected  by  a  hundred  and  ninety-two,  to  six.  It's  quite 
final.  We  might  have  spared  ourselves  some  trouble.  That, 
and  my  lord's  vexation,  are  the  only  circumstances  I  regret. 
I  am  quite  satisfied  in  all  other  respects." 

As  he  said  this,  he  took  a  penknife  from  his  pocket,  and 
putting  his  hat  upon  his  knee,  began  to  busy  himself  in  rip- 
ping off  the  blue  cockade  which  he  had  worn  all  day  ;  at  the 
same  time  humming  a  psalm  tune  which  had  been  very  popu- 
lar in  the  morning,  and  dwelling  on  it  with  a  gentle  regret. 

His  two  adherents  looked  at  each  other,  and  at  him,  as  if 
they  were  at  a  loss  how  to  pursue  the  subject.  At  length 
Hugh,  after  some  elbowing  and  winking  between  himself  and 
Mr.  Dennis,  ventured  to  stay  his  hand,  and  to  ask  him  why 
he  meddled  with  that  ribbon  in  his  hat. 


374  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  Because,"  said  the  secretary,  looking  up  with  something 
between  a  snarl  and  a  smile,  *'  because  to  sit  still  and  wear 
it,  or  to  fall  asleep  and  wear  it.  is  a  mockery.  That's  all, 
friend." 

"  What  would  you  have  us  do,  master  ?"  cried  Hugh. 

"  Nothing,"  returned  Gashford,  shrugging  his  shoulders, 
"  nothing.  When  my  lord  was  reproached  and  threatened 
for  standing  by  you,  I,  as  a  prudent  man,  would  have  had 
you  do  nothing.  When  the  soldiers  were  trampling  you 
under  their  horses'  feet,  I  would  have  had  you  do  nothing. 
When  one  of  them  was  struck  down  by  a  daring  hand,  and  I 
saw  confusion  and  dismay  in  all  their  faces,  I  would  have  had 
you  do  nothing — ^just  what  you  did,  in  short.  This  is  the 
young  man  who  had  so  little  prudence  and  so  much  bold- 
ness.    Ah  !  I  am  sorry  for  him." 

''  Sorry,  master  !  "  cried  Hugh. 

"  Sorry,  Muster  Gashford  !  "  echoed  Dennis. 

"  In  case  there  should  be  a  proclamation  out  to-morrow, 
offering  five  hundred  pounds,  or  some  such  trifle,  for  liis  ap- 
prehension -y.  and  in  case  it  should  include  another  man  who 
dropped  into  the  lobby  from  the  stairs  above,"  said  Gash- 
ford, coldly;  '*  still  do  nothing." 

"  Fire  and  fury,  master  !  ''  cried  Hugh,  starting  up.  ''  What 
have  we  done,  that  you  should  talk  to  us  like  this  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  returned  Gashford  with  a  sneer.  *'  If  you  are 
cast  into  prison  ;  if  the  young  man — "  here  he  looked  hard 
at  Barnaby's  attentive  face — ''is  dragged  from  us  and  from 
his  friends  ;  perhaps  from  people  whom  he  loves,  and  whom 
his  death  would  kill ;  is  thrown  into  jail,  brought  out  and 
hanged  before  their  eyes  ;  still,  do  nothing.  You'll  find  it 
your  best  policy,  I  have  no  doubt." 

"Come  on!"  cried  Hugh,  striding  toward  the  door. 
"  Dennis — Barnaby — come  on  ;  " 

"Where?  To  do  v;hat .?''  said  Gashford,  slipping  past 
him,  and  standing  with  his  back  against  it. 

"Anywhere!  Anything'"  cried  Hugh.  *' Stand  aside, 
master,  or  the  window  will  serve  our  turn  as  well.  Let  us 
out !  ''■ 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  You  are  of  such — of  such  an  impetuous 
nature/'  said  Gashford,  changing  his  manner  for  one  of  the 
utmost  good-fellowship  and  the  pleasantest  raillery  ;  "  you 
are  such  an  excitable  creature — but  you'll  drink  with  me 
before  you  go  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes — certainly,"  growled  Dennis,  drawing  his  sleeve 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  375 

across  his  thirsty  h'ps.  '^  No  malice,  brother.  Drink  with 
Muster  Gashford  ! " 

Hugh  wiped  his  heated  brow,  and  relaxed  into  a  smile. 
The  artful  secretary  laughed  outright. 

"  Some  liquor  here  !  Be  quick,  or  he'll  not  stop,  even  for 
that.  He  is  a  man  of  such  desperate  ardor  !  "  said  the 
smooth  secretary,  whom  j\Ir.  Dennis  corroborated  with  sun- 
dry nods  and  muttered  oaths — "  Once  roused,  he  is  a  fellow 
of  such  fierce  determination  !  " 

Hugh  poised  his  sturdy  arm  aloft,  and  clapping  Barnaby 
on  the  back,  bade  him  fear  nothing.  They  shook  hands  to- 
gether— poor  Barnaby  evidently  possessed  with  the  idea  that 
he  was  among  the  most  virtuous  and  disinterested  heroes  in 
the  world — and  Gashford  laughed  again. 

"  I  hear,"  he  said  smoothly,  as  he  stood  among  them  with 
a  great  measure  of  liquor  in  his  hand,  and  filled  their  glasses 
as  quickly  and  as  often  as  they  chose,  "  I  hear,  but  I  can  not 
say  whether  it  be  true  or  false — that  the  men  who  are  loiter- 
ing in  the  streets  to-night  are  half  disposed  to  pull  down  a 
Romish  chapel  or  two,  and  that  they  only  want  leaders.  I 
even  heard  mention  of  those  in  Duke  Street,  Lincoln's  Inn 
Fields,  and  in  Warwick  Street,  Golden  Square  ;  but  common 
report,  you  know — You  are  not  going  ?" 

— "  To  do  nothing,  master,  eh  ?  "  cried  Hugh.  "  No  jails 
and  halter  for  Barnaby  and  me.  They  must  be  frightened 
out  of  that.     Leaders  are  wanted,  are  they  ?     Now  boys  !  " 

"  A  most  impetuous  fellow  !  "  cried  the  secretary.  "  Ha, 
ha  !  A  courageous,  boisterous,  most  vehement  fellow  I  A 
man  who " 

There  was  no  need  to  finish  the  sentence,  for  they  had 
rushed  out  of  the  house,  and  were  far  beyond  hearing.  He 
stopped  in  the  middle  of  a  laugh,  listened,  drew  on  his  gloves, 
and,  clasping  his  hands  behind  him,  paced  the  deserted  room 
for  a  long  time,  then  bent  his  steps  toward  the  busy  town, 
and  walked  into  the  streets. 

They  were  filled  with  people,  for  the  rumor  of  that  day's 
proceedings  had  made  a  great  noise.  Those  persons  who 
did  not  care  to  leave  home,  were  at  their  doors  or  windows, 
and  one  topic  of  discourse  prevailed  on  every  side.  Some 
reported  that  the  riots  were  effectually  put  down  ;  others, 
that  they  had  broken  out  again  ;  some  said  that  Lord 
George  Gordon  had  been  sent  under  a  strong  guard  to  the 
Tower  ;  others,  that  an  attempt  had  been  made  upon  the 
king's  life,  that  the  soldiers  had  been  asain  called  out,  and 


376  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

that  the  noise  of  musketry  in  a  distant  part  of  the  town  had 
been  plainly  heard  within  an  hour.  As  it  grew  darker,  these 
stories  became  more  direful  and  mysterious  ;  and  often, 
when  some  frightened  passenger  ran  past  with  tidings  that 
the  rioters  were  not  far  off,  and  were  coming  up,  the  doors 
were  shut  and  barred,  lower  windows  made  secure,  and  as 
much  consternation  engendered  as  if  the  city  were  invaded 
by  a  foreign  army. 

Gashford  walked  stealthily  about,  listening  to  all  he  heard, 
and  diffusing  or  confirming,  whenever  he  had  an  opportu- 
nity, such  false  intelligence  as  suited  his  own  purpose  ;  and, 
busily  occupied  in  this  way,  turned  into  Holborn  for  the 
twentieth  time,  when  a  great  many  women  and  children 
came  flying  along  the  street — often  panting  and  looking 
back — and  the  confused  murmur  of  numerous  voices  struck 
upon  his  ear.  Assured  by  these  tokens,  and  by  the  red  light 
which  began  to  flash  upon  the  houses  on  either  side,  that 
some  of  his  friends  were  indeed  approaching,  he  begged  a 
moment's  shelter  at  a  door  which  opened  as  he  passed,  and 
running  with  some  other  persons  to  an  upper  window,  looked 
out  upon  the  crowd. 

They  had  torches  among  them,  and  the  chief  faces  were 
distinctly  visible.  That  they  had  been  engaged  in  the  destruc- 
tion of  some  building  was  sufficiently  apparent,  and  that  it 
was  a  Catholic  place  of  worship  was  evident  from  the  spoils 
they  bore  as  trophies,  which  were  easily  recognizable  for  the 
vestments  of  priests,  and  rich  fragments  of  altar  furniture. 
Covered  with  soot,  and  dirt,  and  dust,  and  lime  ;  their  garments 
torn  to  rags  ;  their  hair  hanging  wildly  about  them  ;  their 
hands  and  faces  jagged  and  bleeding  with  the  wounds  of 
rusty  nails  ;  Barnaby,  Hugh,  and  Dennis  hurried  on  before 
them  all,  like  hideous  madmen.  After  them,  the  dense 
throng  came  fighting  on  ;  some  singing  ;  some  shouting  in 
triumph  ;  some  quarreling  among  themselves  ;  some  men- 
acing the  spectators  as  they  passed  ;  some  with  great  wooden 
fragments,  on  which  they  spent  their  rage  as  if  they  had 
been  alive,  rending  them  limb  from  limb,  and  hurling  the 
scattered  morsels  high  into  the  air  ;  some  in  a  drunken 
state,  unconscious  of  the  hurts  they  had  received  from  fall- 
ing bricks,  and  stones,  and  beams  ;  one  borne  upon  a  shut- 
ter, in  the  very  midst,  covered  with  a  dingy  cloth,  a  senseless, 
ghastly  heap.  Thus,  a  vision  of  coarse  faces,  with  here  and 
there  a  blot  of  flaring,  smoky  light  ;  a  dream  of  demon  heads 
and  savage  eyes,  and  sticks  and  iron  bars  uplifted  in  the 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  377 

air,  and  whirled  about  ;  a  bewildering  horror,  in  which  so 
much  was  seen,  and  yet  so  little,  which  seemed  so  long,  and 
yet  so  short,  in  which  there  were  so  many  phantoms,  not  to 
be  forgotten  all  through  life,  and  yet  so  many  things  that 
could  not  be  observed  in  one  distracting  glimpse — it  flitted 
onward,  and  was  gone. 

As  it  passed  away  upon  its  work  of  wrath  and  ruin,  a 
piercing  scream  was  heard.  A  knot  of  persons  ran  toward 
the  spot  ;  Gashford,  who  just  then  emerged  into  the  street, 
among  them.  He  was  on  the  outskirts  of  the  little  concourse, 
and  could  not  see  or  hear  what  passed  within  ;  but  one  who 
had  a  better  place,  informed  him  that  a  widow  woman  had 
descried  her  son  among  the  rioters. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  said  the  secretary,  turning  his  face  home- 
ward. "  Well  !  I  think  this  looks  a  little  more  like  busi- 
ness !  " 


CHAPTER  LI. 

Promising  as  these  outrages  were  to  Gashford's  view,  and 
much  like  business  as  they  looked,  they  extended  that  night 
no  further.  The  soldiers  were  again  called  out,  again  they 
took  half  a  dozen  prisoners,  and  again  the  crowd  dispersed 
after  a  short  and  bloodless  scuffle.  Hot  and  drunken  though 
they  were,  they  had  not  yet  broken  all  bounds  and  set  all  law 
and  government  at  defiance.  Something  of  their  habitual 
deference  to  the  authority  erected  by  society  for  its  own  pre- 
servation yet  remained  among  them,  and  had  its  majesty 
been  vindicated  in  time,  the  secretary  would  have  had  to 
digest  a  bitter  disappointment. 

By  midnight,  the  streets  were  clear  and  quiet,  and,  save 
that  there  stood  in  two  parts  of  the  town  a  heap  of  nodding 
walls  and  pile  of  rubbish,  where  there  had  been  at  sunset  a 
rich  and  handsome  building,  every  thing  wore  its  usual  as- 
pect. Even  the  Catholic  gentry  and  tradesmen,  of  whom 
there  were  many  resident  in  different  parts  of  the  city  and 
its  suburbs,  had  no  fear  for  their  lives  or  property,  and  but 
little  indignation  for  the  wrong  they  had  already  sustained 
in  the  plunder  and  destruction  of  their  temples  of  worship. 
An  honest  confidence  in  the  government  under  whose  pro- 
tection they  had  lived  for  many  years,  and  a  well-founded 
reliance  on  the  good  feeling  and  right  thinking  of  the  great 
mass  of  the  community,  with  whom,  notwithstanding  their 


378  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

religious  differences,  they  were  every  day  in  habits  of  confi- 
dential, affectionate,  and  friendly  intercourse,  re-assured 
them,  even  under  the  excesses  that  had  been  committed  ; 
and  convinced  them  that  they  who  were  Protestants  in  any 
thing  but  the  name,  were  no  more  to  be  considered  as  abet- 
tors of  these  disgraceful  occurrences,  than  they  themselves 
were  chargeable  with  the- uses  of  the  block,  the  rack,  the 
gibbet,  and  the  stake  in  cruel  Mary's  reign. 

The  clock  was  on  the  stroke  of  one,  when  Gabriel  Varden, 
with  his  lady  and  Miss  Miggs,  sat  waiting  in  the  little  parlor. 
This  fact  ;  the  toppling  wicks  of  the  dull,  wasted  candles  ; 
the  silence  that  prevailed ;  and,  above  all,  the  nightcaps  of 
both  maid  and  matron,  were  sufficient  evidence  that  they 
had  been  prepared  for  bed  some  time  ago,  and  had  some 
reason  for  sitting  up  so  far  beyond  their  usual  hour. 

If  any  other  corroborative  testimony  had  been  required, 
it  would  have  been  abundantly  furnished  in  the  actions  of 
Miss  Miggs,  who,  having  arrived  at  that  restless  state  and 
sensitive  condition  of  the  nervous  system  which  are  the  re- 
sult of  long  watching,  did,  by  a  constant  rubbing  and  tweak- 
ing of  her  nose,  a  perpetual  change  of  position  (arising  from 
the  sudden  growth  of  imaginary  knots  and  knobs  in  her 
chair),  a  frequent  friction  of  her  eyebrows,  the  incessant  re- 
currence of  a  small  cough,  a  small  groan,  a  gasp,  a  sigh,  a 
sniff,  a  spasmodic  start,  and  by  other  demonstrations  of  that 
nature,  so  file  down  and  rasp,  as  it  were,  the  patience  of  the 
locksmith,  that  after  looking  at  her  in  silence  for  some  time, 
he  at  last  broke  out  into  this  apostrophe  : 

"  Miggs,  my  good  girl,  go  to  bed — do  go  to  bed.  You're 
really  worse  than  the  dripping  of  a  hundred  water-butts  out- 
side the  window,  or  the  scratching  of  as  many  mice  behind 
the  wainscot.  I  can't  bear  it.  Do  go  to  bed,  Miggs.  To 
oblige  me — do." 

*'  You  haven't  got  nothing  to  untie,  sir,"  returned  Miss 
Miggs,  "  and  therefore  your  requests  does  not  surprise  me. 
But  missis  has — and  while  you  sit  up,  mim  " — she  added, 
turning  to  the  locksmith's  wife,  **  I  couldn't,  no,  not  if 
twenty  times  the  quantity  of  cold  water  was  aperiently  run- 
ning down  my  back  at  this  moment,  go  to  bed  with  a  quiet 
spirit." 

Having  spoken  these  words.  Miss  Miggs  made  divers 
efforts  to  rub  her  shoulders  in  an  impossible  place,  and 
shivered  from  head  to  foot  ;  thereby  giving  the  beholders  to 
understand  that  the  imaginary  cascade  was  still  in  full  flow, 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  379 

but  that  a  sense  of  duty  upheld  her  under  that  and  all  other 
sufferings,  and  nerved  her  to  endurance. 

Mrs.  Varden  being  too  sleepy  to  speak,  and  Miss  Miggs 
having,  as  the  phrase  is,  said  her  say,  the  locksmith  had 
nothing  for  it  but  to  sigh  and  be  as  quiet  as  he  could. 

But  to  be  quiet  with  such  a  basilisk  before  him  was  im- 
possible. If  he  looked  another  way,  it  was  worse  to  feel 
that  she  was  rubbing  her  cheek,  or  twitching  her  ear,  or 
winking  her  eye,  or  making  all  kinds  of  extraordinary  shapes 
with  her  nose,  than  to  see  her  do  it.  If  she  was  for  a 
moment  free  from  any  of  these  complaints,  it  was  only 
because  of  her  foot  being  asleep,  or  of  her  arm  having  got 
the  fidgets,  or  of  her  leg  being  doubled  up  with  the  cramp, 
or  of  some  other  horrible  disorder  which  racked  her  whole 
frame.  If  she  did  enjoy  a  moment's  ease,  then  with  her 
eyes  shut  and  her  mouth  wide  open,  she  would  be  seen  to 
sit  very  stiff  and  upright  in  her  chair  ;  then  to  nod  a  little 
further  forward,  and  stop  with  a  jerk  ;  then  to  nod  a  little 
further  forward,  and  to  stop  with  another  jerk;  then  to  recover 
herself  ;  then  to  come  forward  again — lower — lower — lower 
— by  very  slow  degrees,  until,  just  as  it  seemed  impossible 
that  she  could  preserve  her  balance  for  another  instant,  and 
the  locksmith  was  about  to  call  out  in  agony,  to  save  her 
from  dashing  down  upon  her  forehead  and  fracturing  her 
skull,  then  all  of  a  sudden  and  without  the  smallest  notice, 
she  would  come  upright  and  rigid  again  with  her  eyes  open, 
and  in  her  countenance  an  expression  of  defiance,  sleepy  but 
yet  most  obstinate,  which  plainly  said  "I've  never  once 
closed  'em  since  I  looked  at  you  last,  and  I'll  take  my  oath 
of  it  !" 

At  length  after  the  clock  had  struck  two,  there  was  a 
sound  at  the  street  door,  as  if  somebody  had  fallen  against 
the  knocker  by  accident.  Miss  Miggs  immediately  jumping 
up  and  clapping  her  hands,  cried  with  a  drowsy  mingling 
of  the  sacred  and  profane,  "  Ally  Looyer,  mini  !  there's  Sim- 
mun's  knock  !  " 

"  Who's  there  ?  "  said  Gabriel. 

'Me!"  cried  the  well-known  voice  of  Mr.  Tappertit, 
Gabriel  opened  the  door,  and  gave  him  admission. 

He  did  not  cut  a  very  insinuating  figure,  for  a  man  of  his 
stature  suffers  in  a  crowd  ;  and  having  been  active  in  yester- 
day morning's  work,  his  dress  was  literally  crushed  from 
head  to  foot  ;  his  hat  being  beaten  out  of  all  shape,  and  his 
shoes  trodden  down  at  heel  like  slippers.     His  coat  fluttered 


380  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

in  strips  about  him,  the  buckles  were  torn  away  both  from 
his  knees  and  feet,  half  his  neckerchief  was  gone,  and  the 
bosom  of  his  shirt  was  rent  to  tatters.  Yet  notwithstanding 
all  these  personal  disadvantages  ;  despite  his  being  very 
weak  from  heat  and  fatigue  ;  and  so  begrimed  with  mud  and 
dust  that  he  might  have  been  in  a  case,  for  any  thing  of  the 
real  texture  (either  of  his  skin  or  apparel)  that  the  eye  could 
discern  ;  he  stalked  haughtily  into  the  parlor,  and  throwing 
himself  into  a  chair,  and  endeavoring  to  thrust  his  hands 
into  the  pockets  of  his  small-clothes,  which  were  turned 
inside  out  and  displayed  upon  his  legs,  like  tassels,  surveyed 
the  household  with  a  gloomy  dignity. 

"  Simon,"  said  the  locksmith  gravely,  ''how  comes  it  that 
you  return  home  at  this  time  of  night,  and  in  this  condition  ? 
Give  me  an  assurance  that  you  have  not  been  among  the 
rioters,  and  I  am  satisfied." 

"Sir,"  replied  Mr.  Tappertit,  with  a  contemptuous  look, 
"  I  wonder  at  your  assurance  in  making  such  demands." 

*'  You  have  been  drinking,"  said  the  locksmith. 

"  As  a  general  principle,  and  in  the  most  offensive  sense 
of  the  words,  sir,"  returned  his  journeyman  with  great  self- 
possession,  "  I  consider  you  a  liar.  In  that  last  observation 
you  have  unintentionally — unintentionally,  sir — struck  upon 
the  truth." 

*'  Martha,"  said  the  locksmith,  turning  to  his  wife,  and 
shaking  his  head  sorrowfully,  while  a  smile  at  the  absurd 
figure  before  him  still  played  upon  his  face,  "  I  trust  it  may 
turn  out  that  this  poor  lad  is  not  the  victim  of  the  knaves 
and  fools  we  have  so  often  had  words  about,  and  who  have 
done  so  much  harm  to-day.  If  he  has  been  at  Warwick 
Street  or  Duke  Street  to-night — " 

"  He  has  been  at  neither,  sir,"  cried  Mr.  Tappertit,  in  a  loud 
voice,  which  he  suddenly  dropped  into  a  whisper  as  he  re- 
peated, with  eyes  fixed  upon  the  locksmith,  "  he  has  been  at 
neither." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it  with  all  my  heart,"  said  the  locksmith,  in 
a  serious  tone  ;  "  for  if  he  had  been,  and  it  could  be  proved 
against  him,  Martha,  your  great  association  would  have 
been  to  him  the  cart  that  draws  men  to  the  gallows  and 
leaves  them  hanging  in  the  air.  It  would,  as  sure  as  we're 
alive  !  " 

Mrs.  Varden  was  too  much  scared  by  Simon's  altered  man- 
ner and  appearance,  and  by  the  accounts  of  the  rioters  which 
had  reached  her   ears   that  night,  to  offer  any  retort,  or  to 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  381 

have  recourse  to  her  usual  matrimonial  policy.  Miss  Miggs 
wrung  her  hands,  and  wept. 

"  He  was  not  at  Duke  Street,  or  at  Warwick  Street,  G. 
Varden,"  said  Simon,  sternly  ;  "  but  he  was  at  Westminster. 
Perhaps,  sir,  he  kicked  a  county  member,  perhaps,  sir,  he 
tapped  a  lord — you  may  stare,  sir,  I  repeat  it — blood  flowed 
from  noses,  and  perhaps  he  tapped  a  lord.  Who  knows? 
This,"  he  added,  putting  his  hand  in  his  waistcoat-pocket, 
and  taking  out  a  large  tooth,  at  the  sight  of  which  both  Miggs 
and  Mrs.  Varden  screamed,  "  this  was  a  bishop's.  Beware, 
G.  Varden  !  " 

"  Now,  I  would  rather,"  said  the  locksmith  hastily,  "  have 
paid  five  hundred  pounds,  than  had  this  come  to  pass.  You 
idiot,  do  you  know  what  peril  you  stand  in  ?  " 

"  I  know  it,  sir,"  replied  his  journeyman,  "and  it  is  my 
glory.  I  was  there,  every  body  saw  me  there.  I  was  con- 
spicuous, and  prominent.     I  will  abide  the  consequences." 

The  locksmith,  really  disturbed  and  agitated,  paced  to 
and  fro  in  silence— glancing  at  his  former  'prentice  every 
now  and  then — and  at  length  stopping  before  him,  said  : 

"  Get  to  bed,  and  sleep  for  a  couple  of  hours  that  you  may 
wake  penitent,  and  with  some  of  your  senses  about  you.  Be 
sorry  for  what  you  have  done,  and  we  will  try  to  save  you. 
If  I  call  him  by  five  o'clock,"  said  Varden,  turning  hurriedly 
to  his  wife,  "  and  he  washes  himself  clean  and  changes  his 
dress,  he  may  get  to  the  Tower  stairs,  and  away  by  the 
Gravesend  tide-boat,  before  any  search  is  made  for  him. 
From  there  he  can  easily  get  on  to  Canterbury,  where  your 
cousin  will  give  him  work  until  this  storm  has  blown  over.  I 
am  not  sure  that  I  do  right  in  screening  him  from  the  pun- 
ishment he  deserves,  but  he  has  lived  in  this  house,  man  and 
boy,  for  a  dozen  years,  and  I  should  be  sorry  if  for  this  one 
day's  work  he  made  a  miserable  end.  Lock  the  front  door, 
Miggs,  and  show  no  light  toward  the  street  when  you  go  up- 
stairs.    Quick,  Simon  !     Get  to  bed  !  " 

"  And  do  you  suppose,  sir,"  retorted  Mr.  Tappertit,  with 
a  thickness  and  slowness  of  speech  which  contrasted  forcibly 
with  the  rapidity  and  earnestness  of  his  kind-hearted 
master—"  and  do  you  suppose,  sir,  that  I  am  base  and  mean 
enough  to  accept  your  servile  proposition  ?     Miscreant  ?  " 

"  Whatever  you  please,  Sim,  but  get  to  bed.  Every  min- 
ute is  of  consequence.     The  light  here,  Miggs  !  " 

"Yes,  yes,  oh  do  !  Go  to  bed  directly,"  cried  the  two 
women  together. 


382  BAHNABY  RUDGE. 

Mr.  Tappertit  stood  upon  his  feet,  and  pushing  his  chair 
away  to  show  that  he  needed  no  assistance,  answered,  sway- 
ing himself  to  and  fro,  and  managing  his  head  as  if  it  had  no 
connection  whatever  with  his  body  : 

"You  spoke  of  Miggs,  sir — Miggs  may  be  smothered  !  " 

"Oh,  Simmun  !  "  ejaculated  that  young  lady  in  a  faint 
voice.  "  Oh,  mim  !  Oh,  sir  !  Oh,  goodness  gracious,  what  a 
turn  he  has  give  me  !  " 

"  This  family  may  all  be  smothered,  sir,"  returned  Mr. 
Tappertit,  after  glancing  at  her  with  a  smile  of  ineffable 
disdain,  "  excepting  Mrs.  V.  I  have  come  here,  sir,  for  her 
sake,  this  night.  Mrs.  Varden  take  this  piece  of  paper.  It's 
a  protection,  ma'am.     You  may  need  it." 

With  these  words  he  held  out  at  arm's-length,  a  dirty  crum- 
pled scrap  of  writing.  The  locksmith  took  it  from  him, 
opened  it,  and  read  as  follows  : 

"  All  good  friends  to  our  cause  I  hope  will  be  particular, 
and  do  no  injury  to  the  property  of  any  true  Protestant.  1 
am  well  assured  that  the  proprietor  of  this  house  is  a  staunch 
and  worthy  friend  of  the  cause. 

*'  George  Gordon." 

"  What's  this  ? "  said  the  locksmith,  with  an  altered  face. 

"  Something  that  will  do  you  good  service,  young  feller," 
replied  his  journeyman,  "  as  you'll  find.  Keep  that  safe  and 
where  you  can  lay  your  hand  upon  it  in  an  instant.  And 
chalk  '  No  Popery  '  on  your  door  to-morrow  night,  and  for  a 
week  to  come — that's  all." 

"This  is  a  genuine  document,"  said  the  locksmith,  "I 
know,  for  I  have  seen  the  hand  before.  What  threat  does  it 
imply  ?     What  devil  is  abroad  ?  " 

"  A  fiery  devil,"  retorted  Sim  ;  "  a  flaming,  furious  devil. 
Don't  you  put  yourself  in  its  way,  or  you're  done  for,  my 
buck.     Be  warned  in  time,  G.  Varden.     Farewell  !  " 

But  here  the  two  women  threw  themselves  in  his  way — 
especially  Miss  Miggs,  who  fell  upon  him  with  such  fervor 
that  she  pinned  him  against  the  wall — and  conjured  him  in 
moving  words  not  to  go  forth  till  he  was  sober  ;  to  listen  to 
reason  ;  to  think  of  it  ;  to  take  some  rest,  and  then  determine. 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  "  that  my  mind  is  made 
up.  My  bleeding  country  calls  me  and  I  go  !  Miggs,  if 
you  don't  get  out  of  the  way,  I'll  pinch  you." 

Miss  Miggs,   still  clinging   to  the    rebel,  screamed  once 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  383 

vociferously  ;  but  whether  in  the  distraction  of  her  mind,  or 
because  of  his  having  executed  his  threat,  is  uncertain. 

"  Release  me,"  said  Simon,  struggling  to  free  himself  from 
her  chaste,  but  spider-like  embrace.  "  Let  me  go  !  I  have 
made  arrangements  for  you  in  an  altered  state  of  society, 
and  mean  to  provide  for  you  comfortably  in  life — there  ! 
Will  that  satisfy  you  ? " 

"Oh,  Simmun  !  "  cried  Miss  Miggs.  "  Oh,  blessed  Sim- 
mun  !  Oh,  mim  !  what  are  my  feelings  at  this  conflicting 
moment  !  " 

Of  a  rather  turbulent  description,  it  would  seem  ;  for  her 
nightcap  had  been  knocked  off  in  the  scuffle,  and  she  was 
on  her  knees  upon  the  floor,  making  a  strange  revelation  of 
blue  and  yellow  curl-papers,  straggling  locks  of  hair,  tags  of 
stay-laces,  and  strings  of  it's  impossible  to  say  what  ;  pant- 
ing for  breath,  clasping  her  hands,  turning  her  eyes  upward, 
shedding  abundance  of  tears,  and  exhibiting  various  other 
symptoms  of  the  acutest  mental  suffering. 

"  I  leave,"  said  Simon,  turning  to  his  master,  with  an  utter 
disregard  of  Miggs's  maidenly  affliction, ''  a  box  of  things  up- 
stairs. Do  what  you  like  with  'em.  /  don't  want  'em. 
I'm  never  coming  back  here,  any  more.  Provide  yourself, 
sir,  with  a  journeyman  ;  I'm  my  country's  journeyman  ; 
henceforward  that's  my  line  of  business." 

"  Be  what  you  like  in  two  hours'  time,  but  now  go  up  to 
bed,"  returned  the  locksmith,  planting  himself  in  the  door- 
way.    '*  Do  you  hear  me  }     Go  to  bed  !  " 

"  I  hear  you,  and  defy  you,  Varden,"  rejoined  Simon  Tap- 
pertit.  "  This  night,  sir,  I  have  been  in  the  country,  plan- 
ning an  expedition  which  shall  fill  your,  bell-hanging  soul 
with  wonder  and  dismay.  The  plot  demands  my  utmost 
energy.     Let  me  pass  !  " 

"  I'll  knock  you  down  if  you  come  near  the  door,"  replied 
the  locksmith.     "  You  had  better  go  to  bed  !  " 

Simon  made  no  answer,  but  gathering  himself  up  as  straigh :    fj 
as  he  could,  plunged  head   foremost  at   his  old  master,  and 
the  two  went  driving  out  into  the  workshop  together,  plying 
their  hands  and  feet  so  briskly  that   they  looked  like  half  a 
dozen,  while  Miggs  and  Mrs.  Varden   screamed   for  twelve. 

It  would  have  been  easy  for  Varden  to  knock  his  old  'pren- 
tice down,  and  bind  him  hand  and  foot  ;  but  as  he  was  loath 
to  hurt  him  in  his  then  defenseless  state,  he  contented  him- 
self with  parrying  his  blows  when  he  could,  taking  them  in 
perfect  good  part  when  he  could  not.  and  keeping  between 


384  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

him  and  the  door,  until  a  favorable  opportunity  should  pre- 
sent itself  for  forcing  him  to  retreat  up-stairs,  and  shutting 
him  up  in  his  own  room.  But,  in  the  goodness  of  his  heart, 
he  calculated  too  much  upon  his  adversary's  weakness,  and 
forgot  that  drunken  men  who  have  lost  the  power  of  walk- 
ing steadily,  can  often  run.  Watching  his  time,  Simon  Tap- 
pertit  made  a  cunning  shov\^  of  falling  back,  staggered  un- 
expectedly forward,  brushed  past  him,  opened  the  door  (he 
knew  the  trick  of  that  lock  well),  and  Tiarted  down  the  street 
like  a  mad  dog.  The  locksmith  paused  for  a  moment  in  the 
excess  of  his  astonishment,  and  then  gave  chase„ 

It  was  an  excellent  season  for  a  run,  for  all  that  silent  hour 
the  streets  were  deserted,  the  air  was  cool,  and  the  flying  fig- 
ure before  him  distinctly  visible  at  a  great  distance,  as  it 
sped  away,  with  a  long  gaunt  shadow  following  at  its  heels. 
But  the  short-winded  locksmitli  had  no  chance  against  a  man 
of  Sim's  youth  and  spare  figure,  though  the  day  had  been 
when  he  could  have  run  him  down  in  no  time.  The  space 
between  them  rapidly  increased,  and  as  the  rays  of  the  ris- 
ing sun  streamed  upon  Simon  in  the  act  of  turning  a  distant 
corner,  Gabriel  Varden  was  fain  to  give  up,  and  sit  down  on 
a  door-step  to  fetch  his  breath.  Simon  meanwliile,  without 
once  stopping,  tied  at  the  same  degree  of  swiftness  to  The 
Boot,  where,  as  he  well  knew,  some  of  his  company  were 
lying,  and  at  which  respectable  hostelry — for  he  had  already 
acquired  the  distinction  of  being  in  great  peril  of  the  law — 
a  friendly  watch  had  been  expecting  him  all  night,  and  was 
even  now  on  the  lookout  for  his  coming. 

"  Go  thy  ways,  Sim,  go  thy  ways,"  said  the  locksmith,  as 
soon  as  he  could  speak.  "  I  have  done  my  best  for  thee, 
poor  lad,  and  would  have  saved  thee,  but  the  rope  is  round 
thy  neck,  I  fear." 

So  saying,  and  shaking  his  head  in  a  very  sorrowful  and 
disconsolate  manner,  he  turned  back,  and  soon  re-entered 
his  own  house,  where  Mrs.  Varden  and  the  faithful  JMiggs 
had  been  anxiously  expecting  his  return. 

Now  Mrs.  Varden  (and  by  consequence  Miss  Miggs  like- 
wise) was  impressed  with  a  secret  misgiving  that  she  had 
done  wrong  ;  that  she  had,  to  the  utmost  of  her  small  means, 
aided  and  abetted  the  growth  of  disturbances,  the  end  of 
which  it  was  impossible  to  foresee  ;  that  she  had  led  remotely 
to  the  scene  which  had  just  passed  ;  and  that  the  locksmith's 
time  for  triumph  and  reproach  had  now  arrived  indeed. 
And  so  strongly  did  Mrs.  Varden  feel  this,  and  so  crestfallen 


BARNABY   RUDGE.  385 

was  she  in  consequence,  that  while  her  husband  was  pur- 
suing their  lost  journeyman,  she  secreted  under  her  chair 
the  little  red-brick  dwelling-house  with  the  yellow  roof,  lest 
it  should  furnish  new  occasion  for  reference  to  the  painful 
theme  ;  and  now  hid  the  same  still  more  with  the  skirts  of 
her  dress. 

But  it  happened  that  the  locksmith  had  been  thinking  of 
this  very  article  on  his  way  home,  and  that,  coming  into  the 
room  and  not  seeing  it,  he  at  once  demanded  where  it  was. 

Mrs.  Varden  had  no  resource  but  to  produce  it,  which  she 
did  with   many  tears,  and  broken  protestations  that  if  she 

could  have  known 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  Varden,  *'  of  course — I  know  that.  I 
don't  mean  to  reproach  you,  my  dear.  But  recollect  from 
this  time  that  all  good  things  perverted  to  evil  purposes,  are 
worse  than  those  which  are  naturally  bad.  A  thoroughly 
wicked  woman,  is  wicked  indeed.  When  religion  goes 
wrong,  she  is  very  wrong,  for  the  same  reason.  Let  us  say 
no  more  about  it,  my  dear." 

So  he  dropped  the  red-brick  dwelling-house  on  the  floor, 
and  setting  his  heel  upon  it,  crushed  it  into  pieces.  The 
half-pence,  and  sixpences,  and  other  voluntary  contributions, 
rolled  about  in  all  directions,  but  nobody  offered  to  touch 
them,  or  to  take  them  up. 

"  That,"  said  the  locksmith,  "  is  easily  disposed  of,  and  I 
would  to  heaven  that  every  thing  growing  out  of  the  same 
society  could  be  settled  as  easily." 

"  It' happens  very  fortunately,  Varden,"  said  his  wife,  with 
her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  "  that  in  case  any  more  dis- 
turbances should  happen— which  I  hope  not ;    I  sincerely 

hope  not " 

"  I  hope  so  too,  my  dear." 

" — That  in  case  any  should  occur,  we  have  the  piece  of 
paper  which  that  poor  misguided  young  man  brought."^ 

''Ay,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  locksmith,  turning  quickly 
round.     "  Where  is  that  piece  of  paper  ? " 

Mrs.  Varden  stood  aghast  as  he  took  it  from  her  out- 
stretched hand,  tore  it  into  fragments,  and  threv/  them  under 
the  grate. 

"Not  use  it?"  she  said. 

"  Use  it  !  "  cried  the  locksmith.  "  No  !  Let  them  come 
and  pull  the  roof  about  our  ears  ;  let  them  burn  us  out  of 
house  and  home  ;  I'd  neither  have  the  protection  of  their 
leader,  nor  chalk   their  howl  upon  my  door,  though,  for  not 


^^6  BARxVABY  RUDGE. 

doing  it,  they  shot  me  on  my  own  threshold.  Use  it !  Let 
them  come  and  do  their  worst.  The  first  man  who  crosses 
my  door-step  on  such  an  errand  as  theirs  had  better  be  a 
hundred  miles  away.  Let  him  look  to  it.  The  others  may 
have  their  will.  I  wouldn't  beg  or  buy  them  off,  if  instead 
of  every  pound  of  iron  in  the  place  there  was  a  hundred 
weight  of  gold.  Get  you  to  bed,  Martha.  I  shall  take  down 
the  shutters  and  go  to  work." 

"  So  early  !  "  said  his  wife. 

"  Ay,"  replied  the  locksmith  cheerily,  "  so  early.  Come 
when  they  may,  they  shall  not  find  us  skulking  and  hiding, 
as  if  we  feared  to  take  our  portion  of  the  light  of  day,  and 
left  it  all  to  them.  So  pleasant  dreams  to  you,  my  dear,  and 
cheerful  sleep  !  " 

With  that  he  gave  his  wife  a  hearty  kiss,  and  bade  her  de- 
lay no  longer,  or  it  would  be  time  to  rise  before  she  lay  down 
to  rest.  Mrs.  Varden  quite  amiably  and  meekly  walked  up- 
stairs, followed  by  Miggs,  who,  although  a  good  deal  sub- 
dued, could  not  refrain  from  sundry  stimulative  coughs  and 
sniffs  by  the  way,  or  from  holding  up  her  hands  in  astonish- 
ment at  the  daring  conduct  of  master. 


CHAPTER  LIL 

A  mob  is  usually  a  creature  of  very  mysterious  existence, 
particularly  in  a  large  city.  Where  it  comes  from  or  whither 
it  goes  few  men  can  tell.  Assembling  and  dispersing  with 
equal  suddenness,  it  is  as  difficult  to  follow  to  its  various 
sources  as  the  sea  itself ;  nor  does  the  parallel  stop  here,  for 
the  ocean  is  not  more  fickle  and  uncertain,  more  terrible 
when  roused,  more  unreasonable,  or  more  cruel. 

The  people  who  were  boisterous  at  Westminster  upon  the 
Friday  morning,  and  were  eagerly  bent  upon  the  work  of 
devastation  in  Duke  Street  and  Warwick  Street  at  night,  were 
in  the  mass,  the  same.  Allowing  for  the  chance  accessions 
of  which  any  crowd  is  morally  sure  in  a  town  where  there 
must  always  be  a  large  number  of  idle  and  profligate  persons, 
one  and  the  same  mob  was  at  both  places.  Yet  they  spread 
themselves  in  various  directions  when  they  dispersed  in  the 
afternoon,  made  no  appointment  for  re-assembling,  had  no 
definite  purpose  or  design,  and  indeed  for  any  thing  they 
knew,  were  scattered  beyond  the  hope  of  future  union. 

At  The  Boot,  which,  as  has  been  shown,  was  in  a  manner 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  387 

the  head-quarters  of  the  rioters,  there  were  not  upon  this  Fri- 
day night,  a  dozen  people.  Some  slept  in  the  stable  and  out- 
houses, some  in  the  common  room,  some  two  or  three  in  beds. 
The  rest  were  in  their  usual  homes  or  haunts.  Perhaps  not 
a  score  in  all  lay  in  the  adjacent  fields  and  lanes,  and  under 
hay-stacks,  or  near  the  warmth  of  the  brick-kilns,  who  had 
not  their  accustomed  place  of  rest  beneath  the  open  sky. 
As  to  the  public  ways  within  the  town,  they  had  their  ordi- 
nary nightly  occupants,  and  no  others  ;  the  usual  amount  of 
vice  and  wretchedness,  but  no  more. 

The  experience  of  one  evening,  however,  had  taught  the 
reckless  leaders  of  disturbance,  that  they  had  but  to  show 
themselves  in  the  streets,  to  be  immediately  surrounded  by 
materials  which  they  could  only  have  kept  together  when 
their  aid  was  not  required,  at  great  risk,  expense,  and  trouble. 
Once  possessed  of  this  secret,  they  were  as  confident  as  if 
twenty  thousand  men,  devoted  to  their  will,  had  been  en- 
camped about  them,  and  assumed  a  confidence  which  could 
not  have  been  surpassed,  though  that  had  really  been  the 
case.  All  day  Saturday,  they  remained  quiet.  On  Sunday, 
they  rather  studied  how  to  keep  their  men  within  call,  and  in 
full  hope,  than  to  follow  out,  by  any  fierce  measure,  their  first 
day's  proceedings. 

"  I  hope,"  said  Dennis,  as,  with  a  loud  yawn,  he  raised  his 
body  from  a  heap  of  straw  on  which  he  had  been  sleeping, 
and  supporting  his  head  upon  his  hand,  appealed  to  Hugh  on 
Sunday  morning,  "  that  Muster  Gashford  allows  some  rest  ? 
Perhaps  he'd  have  us  at  work  again  already,  eh  ? " 

"  It's  not  his  way  to  let  matters  drop,  you  may  be  sure  of 
that,"  growled  Hugh  in  answer.  "  I'm  in  no  humor  to  stir 
yet,  though.  I'm  as  stiff  as  a  dead  body,  and  as  full  of  ugly 
scratches  as  if  I  had  been  fighting  all  day  yesterday  with 
wild  cats." 

"  You've  so  much  enthusiasm,  that's  it,"  said  Dennis,  look- 
ing with  great  admiration  at  the  uncombed  head,  matted 
beard,  and  torn  hands  and  face  of  the  wild  figure  before  him  ; 
"  you're  such  a  devil  of  a  fellow.  You  hurt  yourself  a  hun- 
dred times  more  than  you  need,  because  you  will  be  fore- 
most in  every  thing,  and  will  do  more  than  the  rest." 

*'  For  the  matter  of  that, "returned  Hugh,  shaking  back  his 
ragged  hair  and  glancing  toward  the  door  of  the  stable  in 
which  they  lay  ;  "  there's  one  yonder  as  good  as  me.  What 
did  I  tell  you  about  him  ?  Did  I  say  he  was  Avorth  a  dozen, 
when  you  doubted  him  ?  " 


388  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

Mr.  Dennis  rolled  lazily  over  upon  his  breast,  and  resting 
his  chin  upon  his  hand  in  imitation  of  the  attitude  in  which 
Hugh  lay,  said,  as  he  too  looked  toward  the  door  : 

"  Ay,  ay,  you  knew  him,  brother^  you  knew  him.  But  who'd 
suppose  to  look  at  that  chap  now,  that  he  could  be  the  man 
he  is  !  Isn't  it  a  thousand  cruel  pities,  brother,  that  instead 
of  taking  his  nat'ral  rest  and  qualifying  himself  for  further 
exertions  in  this  here  /honorable  cause,  he  should  be  playing 
at  soldiers  like  a  boy  ?  And  his  cleanliness  too  !  "  said  Mr. 
Dennis,  who  certainly  had  no  reason  to  entertain  a  fellow 
feeling  with  any  body  who  was  particular  on  that  score  ; 
''  what  weakness  he's  guilty  of,  with  respect  to  his  cleanliness  ! 
At  five  o'clock  this  morning,  there  he  was  at  the  pump, 
though  any  one  would  think  he  had  gone  through  enough 
the  day  before  yesterday  to  be  pretty  fast  asleep  by  that  time. 
But  no — when  I  woke  for  a  minute  or  two,  there  he  was  at 
the  pump,  and  if  you'd  seen  him  sticking  them  peacock's 
feathers  into  his  hat  when  he'd  done  washing — ah  !  I'm  sorry 
he's  such  an  imperfect  character,  but  the  best  on  us  is  in- 
complete in  some  point  of  view  or  another." 

The  subject  of  this  dialogue  and  of  these  concluding  re- 
marks, which  were  uttered  in  a  tone  of  philosophical  medi- 
tation, was,  as  the  reader  will  have  divined,  no  other  than 
Barnaby,  who,  with  his  flag  in  his  hand,  stood  sentry  in  the 
little  patch  of  sunlight  at  the  distant  door,  or  walked  to  and 
fro  outside  singing  softly  to  himself,  and  keeping  time  to  the 
music  of  some  clear  church  bells.  Whether  he  stood  still, 
leaning  with  both  hands  on  the  flag-staff,  or,  bearing  it  upon 
his  shoulder,  paced  slowly  up  and  down,  the  careful  arrange- 
ment of  his  poor  dress,  and  his  erect  and  lofty  bearing, 
showed  how  high  a  sense  he  had  of  the  great  importance  of 
his  trust,  and  how  happy  and  how  proud  it  made  him.  To 
Hugh  and  his  companion,  who  lay  in  a  dark  corner  of  the 
shed,  he,  and  the  sunlight,  and  the  peaceful  Sabbath  sound 
to  which  he  made  response,  seemed  like  a  bright  picture 
framed  by  the  door,  and  set  off  by  the  stable's  blackness. 
The  whole  formed  such  a  contrast  to  themselves,  as  they 
lay  wallowing,  like  some  obscene  animals,  in  their  squalor  and 
wickedness  on  the  two  heaps  of  straw,  that  for  a  few  moments 
they  looked  on  without  speaking,  and  felt  almost  ashamed. 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Hugh,  at  length,  carrying  it  off  w^th  a  laugh  ; 
"  he's  a  rare  fellow  is  Barnaby,  and  can  do  more,  with  less 
rest,  or  meat,  or  drink,  than  any  of  us.  As  to  his  soldiering, 
/  put  him  on  duty  there." 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  389 

"Then  there  was  an  object  in  it,  and  a  proper  good  one 
too,  I'll  be  sworn,"  retorted  Dennis,  with  a  broad  grin,  and 
an  oath  of  the  same  quality.     "  What  was  it,  brother  ? " 

"  Why,  you  see,"  said  Hugh,  crawling  a  little  nearer  to 
him,  "  that  our  noble  captain  yonder  came  in  yesterday 
morning,  rather  the  worse  for  liquor,  and  was — like  you  and 
me — ditto  last  night." 

Dennis  looked  to  where  Simon  Tappertit  lay  coiled  upon 
a  truss  of  hay,  snoring  profoundly,  and  nodded. 

''And  our  noble  captain,"  continued  Hugh,  with  another 
laugh,  "  our  noble  captain  and  I  have  planned  for  to-morrow 
a  roaring  expedition,  with  good  profit  in  it." 

"  Again'  the  Papists  ?  "  asked  Dennis,  rubbing  his  hands. 

*'  Ay,  against  the  Papists — against  one  of  'em,  at  least, 
that  some  of  us,  and  1  for  one,  owe  a  good  heavy  grudge 
to." 

"  Not  Muster  Gashford's  friend  that  he  spoke  to  us  about 
in  my  house,  eh  ?  "  said  Dennis,  brimful  of  pleasant  expecta- 
tion. 

"  The  same  man,"  said  Hugh. 

"  That's  your  sort,"  cried  Mr.  Dennis,  gayly  shaking  hands 
with  him,  "  that's  the  kind  of  game.  Let's  have  revenges  and 
injuries,  and  all  that,  and  we  shall  get  on  twice  as  fast.  Now 
you  talk,  indeed  I  " 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  The  captain,"  added  Hugh,  "  has  thoughts 
of  carrying  off  a  woman  in  the  bustle,  and — ha,  ha,  ha  ! — and 
so  have  I  !  " 

Mr.  Dennis  received  this  part  of  the  scheme  with  a  wry 
face,  observing  that  as  a  general  principle  he  objected  to 
women  altogether,  as  being  unsafe  and  slippery  persons  on 
whom  there  was  no  calculating  with  any  certainty,  and  who 
were  never  in  the  same  mind  for  four-and-twenty  hours  at  a 
stretch.  He  might  have  expatiated  on  this  suggestive  theme 
at  much  greater  length,  but  that  it  occurred  to  him  to  ask 
what  connection  existed  between  the  proposed  expedition 
and  Barnaby's  being  posted  at  the  stable-door  as  sentry  ;  to 
which  Hugh  cautiously  replied  in  these  words  : 

"  Why,  the  people  we  mean  to  visit  were  friends  of  his, 
once  upon  a  time,  and  I  know  that  much  of  him  to  feel  pretty 
sure  that  if  he  thought  we  were  going  to  do  them  any  harm, 
he'd  be  no  friend  to  our  side,  but  would  lend  a  ready  hand 
to  the  other.  So  I've  persuaded  him  (for  I  know  him  of  old) 
that  Lord  George  had  picked  him  out  to  guard  this  place  to- 
morrow while  we're  away,  and  that  it's  a  great  honor — and 


390       ^  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

so  he's  on  duty  now,  and  as  proud  of  it  as  if  he  was  a  general. 
Ha,  ha  !  What  do  you  say  to  me  for  a  careful  man  as  well 
as  a  devil  of  a  one  ? " 

Mr.  Dennis  exhausted  himself  in  compliments,  and  then 
added  : 

"  But-about  the  expedition  itself " 

"  About  that,"  said  Hugh,  "  you  shall  hear  all  particulars 
from  me  and  the  great  captain  conjointly  and  both  together 
— for  see,  he's  waking  up.  Rouse  yourself,  lion-heart.  Ha, 
ha  !  Put  a  good  face  upon  it,  and  drink  again.  Another 
hair  of  the  dog  that  bit  you,  captain  !  Call  for  drink  ! 
There's  enough  of  gold  and  silver  cups  and  candlesticks 
buried  underneath  my  bed,"  he  added,  rolling  back  the 
straw,  and  pointing  to  where  the  ground  was  newly  turned, 
''  to  pay  for  it,  if  it  was  a  score  of  casks  full.  Drink,  cap- 
tain !  " 

Mr.  Tappertit  received  these  jovial  promptings  with  a  very 
bad  grace,  being  much  the  worse,  both  in  mind  and  body,  for 
his  two  nights  of  debauch,  and  but  indifferently  able  to 
stand  upon  his  legs.  With  Hugh's  assistance,  however,  he 
contrived  to  stagger  to  the  pump  ;  and  having  refreshed 
himself  with  an  abundant  draught  of  cold  water,  and  a 
copious  shower  of  the  same  refreshing  liquid  on  his  head 
and  face,  he  ordered  some  rum  and  milk  to  be  served  ;  and 
upon  that  innocent  beverage  and  some  biscuits  and  cheese 
made  a  pretty  hearty  meal.  That  done,  he  disposed  himself 
in  an  easy  attitude  on  the  ground  beside  his  two  compan- 
ions (who  were  carousing  after  their  own  tastes),  and  pro- 
ceeded to  enlighten  Mr.  Dennis  in  reference  to  to-morrow  s 
project. 

'I'hat  their  conversation  was  an  interesting  one  was  ren- 
dered manifest  by  its  length,  and  by  the  close  attention  of  all 
three.  That  it  was  not  of  an  oppressively  grave  character, 
but  was  enlivened  by  various  pleasantries  arising  out  of  the 
subject,  was  clear  from  their  loud  and  frequent  roars  of 
laughter,  which  startled  Barnaby  on  his  post,  and  made  him 
wonder  at  their  levity.  But  he  was  not  summoned  to  join 
them,  until  they  had  eaten,  and  drunk,  and  slept,  and  talked 
together  for  some  hours  ;  not,  indeed,  until  the  twilight  ; 
when  they  informed  him  that  they  were  about  to  make  a 
sliglit  demonstration  in  the  streets — just  to  keep  the  people's 
hands  in,  as  it  was  Sunday  night,  and  the  public  might  other- 
wise be  disappointed — and  that  he  was  free  to  accompany 
them  if  he  would. 


BARNABY  RlJDGE.  391 

Without  the  slightest  preparation,  saving  that  they  car- 
ried clubs  and  vvore  the  blue  cockade,  they  sallied  out  into 
the  streets  ;  and,  with  no  more  settled  design  than  that  of 
doing  as  much  mischief  as  they  could,  paraded  them  at  ran- 
dom. Their  numbers  rapidly  increasing,  they  soon  divided 
into  parties  ;  and  agreeing  to  meet  by  and  by,  in  the  fields 
near  Welbeck  Street,  scoured  the  town  in  various  directions. 
The  largest  body,  and  that  which  augmented  with  the  great- 
est rapidity,  was  the  one  to  which  Hugh  and  Barnaby  be- 
longed. This  took  its  way  toward  Moorfields,  where  there 
was  a  rich  chapel,  and  in  which  neighborhood  several  Catho- 
lic families  were  known  to  reside. 

Beginning  with  the  private  houses  so  occupied,  they  broke 
open  the  doors  3': a  windows  ;  and  while  they  destroyed  the 
furniture  and  left  but  the  bare  walls,  made  a  sharp  search 
for  tools  and  engines  of  destruction,  such  as  hammers,  pok- 
ers, axes,  saws,  and  such  like  instruments.  Many  of  the 
rioters  made  belts  of  cord,  of  handkerchiefs,  or  any  material 
they  found  at  hand,  and  wore  these  weapons  as  openly  as 
pioneers  upon  a  field-day.  There  was  not  the  least  disguise 
or  concealment — indeed,  on  this  night,  very  little  excitement 
or  hurry.  From  the  chapels,  they  tore  down  and  took  away 
the  very  altars,  benches,  pulpits,  pews,  and  flooring  ;  from 
the  dwelling-houses,  the  very  wainscoting  and  stairs.  This 
Sunday  evening's  recreation  they  pursued  like  mere  workmen 
who  had  a  certain  task  to  do,  and  did  it.  Fifty  resolute  men 
might  have  turned  them  at  any  moment ;  a  single  company 
of  soldiers  could  have  scattered  them  like  dust  ;  but  no 
man  interposed,  no  authority  restrained  them,  and,  except 
by  the  terrified  persons  who  fled  from  their  approach,  they 
were  as  little  heeded  as  if  they  were  pursuing  their  law- 
ful occupations  with  the  utmost  sobriety  and  good  con- 
duct. 

In  the  same  manner,  they  marched  to  the  place  of  rendez- 
vous agreed  upon,  made  great  fires  in  the  fields,  and  reserv- 
ing the  most  valuable  spoils,  burned  the  rest.  Priesdy  gar- 
ments, images  of  saints,  rich  stuffs  and  ornaments,  altar-fur- 
niture and  household  goods,  were  cast  into  the  flames,  and 
shed  a  glare  on  the  whole  country  round  ;  but  they  danced 
and  howled  and  roared  about  these  fires  till  they  were  tired, 
and  were  never  for  an  instant  checked. 

As  the  main  body  filed  off  from  this  scene  of  action  and 
passed  down  Welbeck  Street  they  came  upon  Gashford  who 
had  been  a  witness    of  their  proceedings,  and  was   walking 


39^  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

stealthily  along  the  pavement.  Keeping  up  with  him,  and 
yet  not  seeming  to  speak,  Hugh  muttered  in  his  ear  : 

''  Is  this  better,  master  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Gashford.     ''  It  is  not." 

"  What  would  you  have  ? "  said  Hugh.  *'  Fevers  are  never 
at  their  height  at  once.     They  must  get  on  by  degrees." 

''  I  would  have  you,"  said  Gashford,  pinching  his  arm 
with  such  malevolence  that  his  nails  seemed  to  meet  in  the 
skin  ;  "  I  would  have  you  put  some  meaning  into  your  work. 
Fools  !  can  you  make  no  better  bonfires  than  of  rags  and 
scraps  ?     Can  you  burn  nothing  whole  ?  " 

"A  little  patience,  master,"  said  Hugh.  "Wait  but  a 
few  hours,  and  you  shall  see.  Look  for  a  redness  in  the  sky 
to-morrow  night." 

With  that  he  fell  back  into  his  place  beside  Barnaby  ; 
and  when  the  secretary  looked  after  him,  both  were  lost  in 
the  crowd. 


CHAPTER  LIII. 

The  next  day  was  ushered  in  by  merry  peals  of  bells,  and 
by  the  firing  of  the  Tower  guns  ;  flags  were  hoisted  on  many 
of  the  church-steeples  ;  the  usual  demontrations  were  made 
in  honor  of  the  anniversary  of  the  king's  birthday  ;  and 
every  man  went  about  his  pleasure  or  business  as  if  the  city 
were  in  perfect  order,  and  there  was  no  half  smoldering 
embers  in  its  secret  places,  which  on  the  approach  of  night 
would  kindle  up  again  and  scatter  ruin  and  dismay  abroad. 
The  leaders  of  the  riot,  rendered  still  more  daring  by  the 
success  of  last  night  and  by  the  booty  they  had  acquired, 
kept  steadily  together,  and  only  thought  of  implicating  the 
mass  of  their  followers  so  deeply  that  no  hope  of  pardon  or 
reward  might  tempt  them  to  betray  their  more  notorious 
confederates  into  the  hands  of  justice. 

Indeed  the  sense  of  having  gone  too  far  to  be  forgiven,  held 
the  timid  together  no  less  than  the  bold.  Many  who  would 
readily  have  pointed  out  the  foremost  rioters  and  given  evi- 
dence against  them,  felt  that  escape  by  that  means  was  hope- 
less, when  their  verv  act  had  been  observed  by  scores  of  people 
who  had  taken  no  part  in  the  disturbances  ;  who  had  suffered 
in  their  persons,  peace,  or  property,  by  the  outrages  of  the 
mob  ;  who  would  be  most  willing  witnesses  ;  and  wlicm  the 
government  would,  no  doubt,  prefer  to  any  king's  evidence 


BARNABV   RUDGE.  393 

that  might  be  offered.  Many  of  this  class  had  deserted 
their  usual  occupations  on  the  Saturday  morning  ;  some  had 
been  seen  by  their  employers  active  in  the  tumult  ;  others 
knew  they  must  be  suspected,  and  that  they  would  be  dis- 
charged if  they  returned  ;  others  had  been  desperate  from 
the  beginning,  and  comforted  themselves  with  the  homely 
proverb,  that  being  hanged  at  all,  they  might  as  well  be 
hanged  for  a  sheep  as  a  lamb.  They  all  hoped  and  be- 
lieved, in  a  greater  or  less  degree,  that  the  government  they 
seemed  to  have  paralyzed,  would,  in  its  terror,  come  to 
terms  with  them  in  the  end,  and  suffer  them  to  make  their 
own  conditions.  The  least  sanguine  among  them  reasoned 
with  himself  that,  at  the  worst,  they  were  too  many  to  be  all 
punished,  and  that  he  had  as  good  a  chance  of  escape  as  any 
other  man.  The  great  mass  never  reasoned  or  thought  at  all, 
but  were  stimulated  by  their  own  headlong  passions,  by  pov- 
erty, by  ignorance,  by  the  love  of  mischief,  and  the  hope  of 
plunder. 

One  other  circumstance  is  worthy  of  remark ;  and  that 
is,  that  from  the  moment  of  their  first  outbreak  at  West- 
minster, every  symptom  of  order  or  preconcerted  arrange- 
ment among  them  vanished.  When  they  divided  into  par- 
ties and  ran  to  different  quarters  of  the  town,  it  was  on  the 
spontaneous  suggestion  of  the  moment.  Each  party  swelled 
as  it  went  along,  like  rivers  as  they  roll  toward  the  sea  ;  new 
leaders  sprang  up  as  they  were  wanted,  disappeared  when 
the  necessity  was  over,  and  reappeared  at  the  next  crisis. 
Each  tumult  took  shape  and  form  from  the  circumstances  of 
the  moment  ;  sober  workmen,  going  home  from  their  day's 
labor,  were  seen  to  cast  down  their  baskets  of  tools  and  be- 
come rioters  in  an  instant  ;  mere  boys  on  errands  did  the 
like.  In  a  word,  a  moral  plague  ran  through  the  city. 
The  noise,  and  hurry,  and  excitement,  had  for  hundreds 
and  hundreds  an  attraction  they  had  no  firmness  to 
resist.  The  contagion  spread  like  a  dread  fever  ;  an  in- 
fectious madness,  as  yet  not  near  its  height,  seized  on  new 
victims  every  hour,  and  society  began  to  tremble  at  their 
ravings. 

It  was  between  two  and  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
when  Gashford  looked  into  the  lair  described  in  the  last 
chapter,  and  seeing  only  Barnaby  and  Dennis  there,  inquired 
for  Hugh. 

He  was  out,  Barnaby  told  him  ;  had  gone  out  more  than  an 
hour  ago  ;  and  had  not  yet  returned. 


394  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  Dennis  ! "  said  the  smiling  secretary,  in  his  smoothest 
voice,  as  he  sat  down  cross-legged  on  a  barrel,  "  Dennis  !  " 

The  hangman  struggled  into  a  sitting  posture  directly,  and 
with  his  eyes  wide  open,  looked  toward  him. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Dennis  ?  "  said  Gashford,  nodding.  "  I 
hope  you  have  suffered  no  inconvenience  from  your  late  ex- 
ertions, Dennis  ?  " 

"  I  always  will  say  of  you.  Muster  Gashford,"  returned  the 
hangman,  staring  at  him,  "  that  that  'ere  quiet  way  of  yours 
might  almost  wake  a  dead  man.  It  is,"  he  added,  with  a 
muttered  oath — still  staring  at  him  in  a  thoughtful  manner — 
"  so  awful  sly  !  " 

"  So  dintinct,  eh,  Dennis  ?  " 

"  Distinct !  "  he  answered,  scratching  his  head  and  keeping 
his  eyes  upon  the  secretary's  face  ;  "  I  seem  to  hear  it,  Muster 
Gashford,  in  my  wery  bones." 

^'  I  am  very  glad  your  sense  of  hearing  is  so  sharp,  and 
that  I  succeed  in  making  myself  so  intelligible,"  said 
Gashford,  in  his  unvarying,  even  tone.  "  Where  is  your 
friend  ?  " 

Mr.  Dennis  looked  round  as  in  expectation  of  beholding 
him  asleep  upon  his  bed  of  straw  ;  then  remembering  he  had 
seen  him  go  out,  replied  : 

*'  I  can't  say  where  he  is,  Muster  Gashford,  I  expected  him 
back  afore  now.  I  hope  it  isn't  time  that  we  was  busy. 
Muster  Gashford  ? " 

"  Nay,"  said  the  secretary,  "  who  should  know  that  as  well 
as  you  ?  How  can  I  tell  you,  Dennis  ?  You  are  perfect 
master  of  your  own  actions,  you  know,  and  accountable  to 
nobody — except  sometimes  to  the  law,  eh  ?  " 

Dennis,  who  was  very  much  baffled  by  the  cool  matter-of- 
course  manner  of  this  reply,  recovered  his  self-possession  on 
his  professional  pursuits  being  referred  to,  and  pointing  to- 
ward Barnaby,  shook  his  head  and  frowned. 

"  Hush  !  "  cried  Barnaby. 

"  Ah  !  Do  hush  about  that.  Muster  Gashford,"  said  the 
hangman  in  a  low  voice,  "  pop'lar  prejudices — you  always 
forget — well,  Barnaby,  my  lad,  what's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  I  hear  him  coming,"  he  answered.  "  Hark  !  Do  you 
mark  that  ?  That's  his  foot  !  Bless  you,  I  know  his  step, 
and  his  dog's  too.  Tramp,  tramp,  pit-pat,  on  they  come 
together,  and,  ha,  ha,  ha  ! — and  there  they  are  !  "  he  cried 
joyfully,  welcoming  Hugh  with  both  hands,  and  then  patting 
him  fondly  on  the  back,  as  if   instead  of  being  the  rough 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  395 

companion  he  was,  he  had  been  one  of  the  most  prepossess- 
ing of  men.  ''  Here  he  is,  and  safe  too  !  I  am  ghid  to  see 
him  back  again,  old  Hugh  !  " 

"  I'm  a  Turk  if  he  don't  give  me  a  warmer  welcome  always 
than  any  man  of  sense,"  said  Hugh,  shaking  hands  with  him 
with  a  kind  of  ferocious  friendship,  strange  enough  to  see. 
'*  How  are  you,  boy  ?  " 

"  Hearty  !  "  cried  Barnaby,  waving  his  hat.  "  Ha.  ha,  ha  ! 
And  merry  too,  Hugh  !  And  ready  to  do  any  thing  for  the 
good  cause,  and  the  right,  and  to  help  the  kind,  mild,  pale- 
faced  gentleman — the  lord  they  used  so  ill — eh,  Hugh  ?  " 

"  Ay  !  "  returned  his  friend,  dropping  his  hand,  and  look- 
ing at  Gashford  for  an  instant  with  a  changed  expression  be- 
fore he  spoke  to  him.     "  Good-day,  master  !  " 

"And  good-day  to  you,"  replied  the  secretary,  nursing  his 
leg.  "  And  many  good  days — whole  years  of  them,  I  hope. 
You  are  heated." 

*'  So  w^ouldyou  have  been,  master,"  said  Hugh,  wiping  his 
face,  "if  you'd  been  running  here  as  fast  as  I  have." 

"  You  know  the  news  then  ?  Yes,  I  supposed  you  would 
have  heard  it." 

"  News  !  what  news  ?  " 

*'  You  don't  ? "  cried  Gashford,  raising  his  eyebrows  with 
an  exclamation  of  surprise.  "  Dear  me  !  Come  ;  then  I  am 
the  first  to  make  you  acquainted  with  y  >ur  distinguished  po- 
sition, after  all.  Do  you  see  the  King's  Arms  a-top  ?"  he 
smilingly  asked,  as  he  took  a  large  paper  from  his  pocket, 
unfolded  it,  and  held  it  out  for  Hugh's  inspection. 

"  Well  !  "  said  Hugh.     "  What's  that  to  me  ?  " 

"  Mach.  A  great  deal,"  replied  the  secretary.  "Read 
it." 

"  I  told  you,  th*e  first  time  I  saw  you,  that  I  couldn't  read," 
said  Hugh,  impatiently.     "  What  in  the  devil's  name's  inside 

"  It  is  a  proclamation  from  the  king  in  council,"  said 
Gashford,  "dated  to-day,  and  offering  a  reward  of  five  hun- 
dred pounds — five  hundred  pounds  is  a  great  deal  of  money, 
and  a  large  temptation  to  some  people — to  anyone  who  will 
discover  the  person  or  persons  most  active  in  demolishing 
those  chapels  on  Saturday  night." 

"  Is  that  all?"  cried  Hugh,  with  an  indifferent  air.  "I 
knew  of  that." 

"  Truly  I  might  have  known  you  did,"  said  Gashford, 
smiling,  and  folding  up  the  document  again.     "  Your  friend, 


396  BARNABY   RUDGP:. 

I  might  have  guessed — indeed  I  did  guess — was  sure  to  tell 
you." 

**  My  friend  !  "  stammered  Hugh,  with  an  unsuccessful 
effort  to  appear  surprised.     "  What  friend  ?  " 

"  Tut,  tut — do  you  suppose  I  don't  know  where  you  have 
been  ?  "  retorted  Gashford,  rubbing  his  hands,  and  beating 
the  back  of  one  on  the  pahii  of  the  other,  and  looking  at  him 
with  a  cunning  eye.  "  How  dull  you  think  me  !  Shall  I  say 
his  name  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Hugh,  with  a  hasty  glance  toward  Dennis. 

"You  have  also  heard  from  him,  no  doubt,"  resumed  the 
secretary,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "  that  the  rioters  who  have 
been  taken  (poor  fellows)  are  committed  for  trial,  and  that 
some  very  active  witnesses  have  had  the  temerity  to  appear 
against  them.  Among  others — "  and  here  he  clenched  his 
teeth,  as  if  he  would  suppress  by  force  some  violent  words 
that  rose  upon  his  tongue,  and  spoke  very  slowly.  "  Among 
others,  a  gentleman  who  saw  the  work  going  on  in  Warwick 
Street ;  a  Catholic  gentleman  ;  one  Haredale." 

Hugh  would  have  prevented  his  uttering  the  word,  but  it 
was  out  already.  Hearing  the  name,  Barnaby  turned  swiftly 
round. 

"  Duty,  duty,  bold  Barnaby  !  "  cried  Hugh,  assuming  his 
wildest  and  most  rapid  manner,  and  thrusting  into  his  hand 
his  staff  and  flag,  which  leaned  against  the  wall.  "  Mount 
guard  without  loss  of  time,  for  we  are  off  upon  our  expedi- 
tion. Up,  Dennis,  and  get  ready  !  Take  care  that  no  one 
turns  the  straw  upon  my  bed,  brave  Barnaby  ;  we  know 
what's  underneath  it — eh  ?  Now,  master,  quick  !  What 
you  have  to  say,  say  speedily,  for  the  little  captain  and  a 
cluster  of  'em  are  in  the  fields,  and  only  waiting  for  us. 
Sharp's  the  word,  and  strike's  the  action.     Quick  !  " 

Barnaby  was  not  proof  against  this  bustle  and  dispatch. 
The  look  of  mingled  astonishment  and  anger  which  had  ap- 
peared in  his  face  when  he  turned  toward  them,  faded  from 
it  as  the  words  passed  from  his  memory,  like  breath  from  a 
polished  mirror  ;  and  grasping  the  weapon  which  Hugh 
forced  upon  him,  he  proudly  took  his  station  at  the  door, 
beyond  their  hearing. 

"  You  might  have  spoiled  our  plans,  master,"  said  Hugh. 
**  Vo2^,  too,  of  all  men  !  " 

"  Who  would  have  supposed  tha:  /le  would  be  so  quick  ?  " 
urged  Gashford. 

''  He's  as  quick  sometimes— I  don't  mean  with  his  hands, 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  397 

for  that  you  know,  but  with  his  head — as  you  or  any  man," 
said  Hugh.  "  Dennis,  it's  time  we  were  going  ;  they're 
waiting  for  us  ;  I  came  to  tell  you.  Reach  me  my  stick  and 
belt.  Here  !  Lend  a  hand,  master.  Fling  this  over  my 
shoulder,  and  buckle  it  behind,  will  you  ?  " 

"  Brisk' as  ever  !  "  said  the  secretary,  adjusting  it  for  him 
as  he  desired. 

*'  A  man  need  be  brisk  to-day,  there's  brisk  work  a-foot." 

"  There  is,  is  there  ?  "  said  Gashford.  He  said  it  with 
such  a  provoking  assumption  of  ignorance  that  Hugh,  look- 
ing over  his  shoulder  and  angrily  down  upon  him,  replied  : 

"  Is  there  !  You  know  there  is  !  Who  knows  better  than 
you,  master,  that  the  first  great  step  to  be  taken  is  to  make 
examples  of  these  witnesses  and  frighten  all  men  from  ap- 
pearing against  us  or  any  of  our  body  any  more  ?" 

"  There's  one  we  know  of,"  returned  Gashford,  with  an  ex- 
pressive smile,  "  who  is  at  least  as  well  informed  upon  that 
subject  as  you  or  I." 

"  If  we  mean  the  same  gentleman,  as  I  suppose  we  do," 
Hugh  rejoined  softly,  "  I  tell  you  this — he's  as  good  and 
quick  information  about  every  thing  as — "  here  he  paused 
and  looked  round,  as  if  to  make  quite  sure  that  the  person 
in  question  was  not  within  hearing,  "  as  Old  Nick  himself. 
Have  you  done  that,  master?     How  slow  you  are  !  " 

"  It's  quite  fast  now,"  said  Gashfor-d,  rising.  ''  I  say — you 
didn't  find  that  your  friend  disapproved  of  to-day's  little  ex- 
pedition ?  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  It  is  fortunate  it  jumps  so  well 
with  the  witness's  policy  ;  for,  once  planned,  it  must  have 
been  carried  out.     And  now  you  are  going,  eh  ? " 

"  Now  we  are  going,  master  !  "  Hugh  replied.  ^''  Any 
parting  words  ? " 

"  Oh  dear,  no,"  said  Gashford  sweetly.     *'  None  !  " 

"  You're  sure  ?  "  cried  Hugh,  nudging  the  grinning  Dennis. 

**  Quite  sure,  eh.  Muster  Gashford  ! "  chuckled  the  hang- 
man. 

Gashford  paused  a  moment,  struggling  with  his  caution 
and  his  malice  ;  then  putting  himself  between  the  two  men 
and  laying  a  hand  upon  the  arm  of  each,  said  in  a  cramped 
whisper  : 

"  Do  not,  my  good  friends — I  am  sure  you  will  not — for- 
get our  talk  one  night — in  your  house,  Dennis — about  this 
person.  No  mercy,  no  quarter,  no  two  beams  of  his  house 
to  be  left  standing  where  the  builder  placed  them.  Fire, 
the  saying  goes,  is  a  good  servant,  but  a  bad  master.     Make 


393  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

it  his  master  ;  he  deserves  no  better.  But  I  am  sure  you 
will  be  firm,  I  am  sure  you  will  be  very  resolute,  I  am  s^ure 
you  will  remember  that  he  thirsts  for  your  lives,  and  those  of 
all  your  brave  companions.  If  you  ever  acted  like  stanch 
fellows,  you  will  do  so  to-day.  Won't  you,  Dennis — won't 
you,  Hugh  ? " 

The  two  looked  at  him,  and  at  each  other  ;  then  bursting 
into  a  roar  of  laughter,  brandished  their  staves  above  their 
heads,  shook  hands,  and  hurried  out. 

When  they  had  been  gone  a  little  time  Gashford  fol- 
lowed. They  were  yet  in  sight  and  hastening  to  that  part  of 
the  adjacent  fields  in  which  their  fellows  had  already  mus- 
tered ;  Hugh  was  looking  back  and  flourishing  his  hat  to 
Barnaby,  who,  delighted  with  his  trust,  replied  in  the  same 
way,  and  then  resumed  his  pacing  up  and  down  before  the 
stable  door,  where  his  feet  had  worn  a  path  already.  And 
when  Gashford  himself  was  far  distant,  and  looked  back  for 
the  last  time,  he  was  still  walking  to  and  fro,  with  the  same 
measured  tread  ;  the  most  devoted  and  the  blithest  cham- 
pion that  ever  maintained  a  post,  and  felt  his  heart  lifted  up 
with  a  brave  sense  of  duty  and  determination  to  defend  it  to 
the  last. 

Smiling  at  the  simplicity  of  the  poor  idiot,  Gashford  be- 
took himself  to  Welbeck  Street  by  a  different  path  from  that 
which  he  knew  the  rioters  would  take,  and  sitting  down  be- 
hind a  curtain  in  one  of  the  upper  windows  of  Lord  George 
Gordon's  house,  waited  impatiently  for  their  coming.  They 
were  so  long,  that  although  he  knew  it  had  been  settled  they 
should  come  that  way,  he  had  a  misgiving  they  must  have 
changed  their  plans  and  taken  some  other  route.  But  at 
length  the  roar  of  voices  was  heard  in  the  neighboring 
fields,  and  soon  afterward  they  came  thronging  past  in  a 
great  body. 

However,  they  were  not  all,  nor  nearly  all,  in  one  body, 
but  were,  as  he  soon  found,  divided  into  four  parties,  each 
of  which  stopped  before  the  house  to  give  three  cheers  and 
then  went  on,  the  leaders  crying  out  in  what  direction  they 
were  going,  and  calling  on  the  spectators  to  join  them.  The 
first  detachment,  carrying,  by  way  of  banners,  some  relics  of 
the  havoc  they  had  made  in  the  Moorfields,  proclaimed  that 
they  Avere  on  their  way  to  Chelsea,  whence  they  would  re- 
turn in  the  same  order,  to  make  of  the  spoil  they  bore  a 
great  bonfire  near  at  hand.  The  second  gave  out  that  they 
were  Iwund   for  Wapping  to  destroy  a  chapel  ;  the  third, 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  399 

thaf  their  place  of  destination  was  East  Smithfield,  and  their 
object  the  same.  All  this  was  done  in  broad,  bright,  sum- 
mer day.  Gay  carriages  and  chairs  stopped  to  let  them  pass 
or  turned  back  to  avoid  them  ;  people  on  foot  stood  aside 
in  doorways,  or  perhaps  knocked  and  begged  permission  to 
stand  at  a  window  or  in  the  hall  until  the  rioters  had  passed  ; 
but  nobody  interfered  with  them,  and  when  they  had  gone 
by  every  thing  went  on  as  usual. 

There  still  remained  the  fourth  body,  and  for  that  the  sec- 
retary looked  with  a  most  intense  eagerness.  At  last  it  came 
up.  It  was  numerous,  and  composed  of  picked  men  ;  for 
as  he  gazed  down  among  them  he  recognized  many  upturned 
faces  which  he  knew  well— those  of  Simon  Tappertit,  Hugh, 
and  Dennis  in  the  front,  of  course.  They  halted  and 
cheered,  as  the  others  had  done  ;  but  when  they  moved 
again,  they  did  not,  like  them,  proclaim  what  design  they 
had.  Hugh  merely  raised  his  hat  upon  the  bludgeon  he 
carried,  and  glancing  at  a  spectator  on  the  opposite  side  of 
the  way,  was  gone.  .... 

Gashford  followed  the  direction  of  his  glance  instinctively 
and  saw,  standing  on  the  pavement,  and  wearing  the  blue 
cockade,  Sir  John  Chester.  He  held  his  hat  an  inch  or  two 
above  his  head,  to  propitiate  the  mob  ;  and,  resting  grace- 
fully on  his  cane,  smiling  pleasantly,  and  displaying  his  dress 
and  person  to  the  very  best  advantage,  looked  on  m  the  most 
tranquil  state  imaginable.  For  all  that,  and  quick  and 
dextrous  as  he  was,  Gashford  had  seen  him  recognize  Hugh 
with  the  air  of  a  patron.  He  had  no  longer  any  eyes  for 
the  crowd,  but  fixed  his  keen  regards  upon  Sir  John. 

He  stood  in  the  same  place  and  posture  until  the  last  man 
in  the  concourse  had  turned  the  corner  of  the  street  ;  then 
very  deliberately  took  the  blue  cockade  out  of  his  hat  ;  put 
it  carefully  in  his  pocket,  ready  for  the  next  emergency  ; 
refreshed  himself  with  a  pinch  of  snuff  ;  put  up  his  box  ; 
and  was  walking  slowly  off,  when  a  passing  carriage  stopped, 
and  a  lady's  hand  let  down  the  glass.  Sir  John's  hat  was 
off  again  immediately.  After  a  minute's  conversation  at  the 
carriage-window,  in  which  it  was  apparent  that  he  was  vastly 
entertaining  .,on  the  subject  of  the  mob,  he  stepped  lightly 
in,  and  was  driven  away. 

The  secretarv  smiled,  but  he  had  other  thoughts  to  dwell 
upon  and  soon^  dismissed  the  topic.  Dinner  was  brought 
him,  but  he  sent  it  down  untasted  ;  and,  in  restless  pacings 
up  and  down  the  room,  and  constant  glances  at  the  clock, 


400  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

and  many  futile  efforts  to  sit  down  and  read,  or  go  to  sleep, 
or  look  out  of  the  window,  consumed  four  weary  hours. 
When  the  dial  told  him  thus  much  time  had  crept  away, 
he  stole  up-stairs  to  the  top  of  the  house,  and  coming  out 
upon  the  roof  sat  down,  with  his  face  toward  the  east. 

Heedless  of  the  fresh  air  that  blew  upon  his  heated  brow, 
cf  the  pleasant  meadows  from  which  he  turned,  of  the  piles 
of  roofs  and  chimneys  upon  which  he  looked,  of  the  smoke 
and  rising  mist  he  vainly  sought  to  pierce,  of  the  shrill  cries 
of  children  at  their  evening  sports,  the  distant  hum  and  tur- 
moil of  the  town,  the  cheerful  country  breath  that  rustled 
past  to  meet  it,  and  to  droop,  and  die  ;  he  watched,  and 
watclied,  tilll  it  was  dark — save  for  the  specks  of  light  that 
twinkled  in  the  streets  below  and  far  away — and,  as  the 
darkness  deepened,  strained  his  gaze  and  grew  more 
eager  yet. 

"  Nothing  but  gloom  in  that  direction,  still  !  "  he  mut- 
tered restlessly.  "  Dog  !  where  is  the  redness  in  the  sky  you 
promised  me  !  " 


CHAPTER   LIV. 

Rumors  of  the  prevailing  disturbances  had,  by  this  time, 
begun  to  be  pretty  generally  circulated  through  the  towns 
and  villages  round  London,  and  the  tidings  were  every- 
where received  with  that  appetite  for  the  marvelous  and 
love  of  the  terrible  which  have  probably  been  among  the 
natural  characteristics  of  mankind  since  the  creation  of  the 
world.  These  accounts,  however,  appeared,  to  many  per- 
sons at  that  day — as  they  would  to  us  at  the  present,  but 
that  we  know  them  to  be  matter  of  history — so  monstrous 
and  improbable,  that  a  great  number  of  those  who  were 
resident  at  a  distance,  and  who  were  credulous  enough  on 
other  points,  were  really  unable  to  bring  their  minds  to 
believe  that  such  things  could  be  ;  and  rejected  the  intelli- 
gence they  received  on  all  hands,  as  wholly  fabulous  and 
absurd. 

Mr.  Willet — not  so  much,  perhaps,  on  account  of  his  hav- 
ing argued  and  settled  the  matter  with  himself,  as  by  reason 
of  his  constitutional  obstinacy — was  one  of  those  who  posi- 
tively refused  to  entertain  the  current  topic  for  a  moment. 
On  this  very  evening,  and  perhaps  at  the  very  time  when 
Gasliford  kept  his  solitary  watch,  old  John  was  so  red  in  the 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  401 

face  with  perpetually  shaking  his  head  in  contradiction  of 
his  three  ancient  cronies  and  pot  companions,  that  he  was 
quite  a  phenomenon  to  behold,  and  lighted  up  the  Maypole 
porch  wherein  they  sat  together,  like  a  monstrous  carbuncle 
in  a  fairy  tale. 

"Do  you  think,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Willet,  looking  hard  at 
Solomon  Daisy — for  it  was  his  custom  in  cases  of  personal 
altercation  to  fasten  upon  the  smallest  man  in  the  party — 
"  do  you  think,  sir,  that  I'm  a  born  fool  ? " 

"  No,  no,  Johnny,"  returned  Solomon,  looking  round  upon 
the  little  circle  of  which  he  formed  a  part  ;  "we  all  know 
better  than  that.     You're  no  fool,  Johnny.     No,  no  !  " 

Mr.  Cobb  and  Mr.  Parkes  shook  their  heads  in  unison,  mut- 
tering, "  No,  no,  Johnny,  not  you!  "  But  as  such  compliments 
had  usually  the  effect'  of  making  Mr.  Willet  rather  more 
dogged  than  before,  he  surveyed  them  with  a  look  of  deep 
disdain,  and  returned  for  answer  : 

"  Then  what  do  you  mean  by  coming  here,  and  telling  me 
that  this  evening  you're  a-going  to  walk  up  to  London  to- 
gether— you  three — you — and  have  the  evidence  of  your 
own  senses  ?  An't,"  said  Mr.  Willet,  putting  his  pipe  in  his 
mouth  with  an  air  of  solemn  disgust,  "  an't  the  evidences  of 
my  senses  enough  for  you  ?  " 

"  But  we  haven't  got  it,  Johnny,"  pleaded  Parkes,  humbly. 

"You  haven't  got  it,  sir  ?"  repeated  Mr.  Willet,  eying  him 
from  top  to  toe.  "  You  haven't  got  it,  sir  ?  You  have  got 
it,  sir.  Don't  I  tell  you  that  His  blessed  Majesty  King 
George  the  Third  would  no  more  stand  a  rioting  and  rollick- 
ing in  his  streets,  than  he'd  stand  being  crowded  over  by  his 
own  parliament  ? " 

"  Yes,  Johnny,  but  that's  your  sense — not  your  senses,"  said 
the  adventurous  Mr.  Parkes. 

"Howdoj'^w  know,"  retorted  John,  with  great  dignity. 
"  You're  a  contradicting  pretty  free,  you  are,  sir.  How  do 
you  know  which  it  is  ?     I  am  not  aware  I  ever  told  you,  sir." 

Mr.  Parkes,  finding  himself  in  the  position  of  having  got 
into  metaphysics  without  exactly  seeing  his  way  out  of  them, 
stammered  forth  an  apology  and  retreated  frorn  the  argu- 
ment. There  ensued  a  silence  of  some  ten  minutes  or  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  at  the  expiration  of  which  _  period,  Mr. 
Willet  was  observed  to  rumble  and  shake  with  laughter, 
and  presently  remarked,  in  reference  to  his  late  adversary, 
"  that  he  hoped  he  had  tackled  him  enough."  Thereupon 
Messrs.    Cobb    and     Daisy    laughed,    and     nodded,    and 


402  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

Parkes  was  looked  upon  as  thoroughly  and  effectually  put 
down. 

"  Do  you  suppose  if  all  this  was  true,  that  Mr.  Haredale 
would  be  constantly  away  from  home,  as  he  is  ? "  said  John, 
after  another  silence.  '*  Do  you  think  he  wouldn't  be  afraid 
to  leave  his  house  with  them  two  young  women  in  it,  and 
only  a  couple  of  men  or  so  ?  " 

''Ay,  but  then  you  know,"  returned  Solomon  Daisy,  *'  his 
house  is  a  goodish  way  out  of  London,  and  they  do  say  that 
the  rioters  won't  go  more  than  two  mile,  or  three  at  the  fur- 
thest, off  the  stones.  Besides  you  know  some  of  the  Catholic 
gentlefolk  have  actually  sent  trinkets  and  such-like  down 
here  for  safety — at  least,  so  the  story  goes." 

"  The  story  goes!"  said  Mr.  Willet  testily,  "Yes,  sir. 
The  story  goes  that  you  saw  a  ghost  last  March.  But  no- 
body believes  it." 

"  Well  !  "  said  Solomon,  rising,  to  divert  the  attention  of 
his  two  friends,  who  tittered  at  this  retort ;  **  believed  or  dis- 
believed, it's  true  ;  and  true  or  not,  if  we  mean  to  go  to  Lon- 
don, we  must  be  going  at  once.  So  shake  hands,  Johnny, 
and  good-night." 

"  I  shall  shake  hands,"  returned  the  landlord,  putting  his 
into  his  pockets,  ''  with  no  man  as  goes  to  London  on  such 
nonsensical  errands." 

The  three  cronies  were  therefore  reduced  to  the  necessity 
of  shaking  his  elbows  ;  having  performed  that  ceremony,  and 
brought  from  the  house  their  hats,  and  sticks,  and  great-coats, 
they  bade  him  good-night  and  departed  ;  promising  to  bring 
him  on  the  morrow  full  and  true  accounts  of  the  real  state  of 
the  city,  and  if  it  were  quiet,  to  give  him  the  full  merit  of  his 
victory. 

John  Willet  looked  after  them,  as  they  plodded  along  the 
road  in  the  rich  glow  of  a  summer  evening  ;  and  knocking 
the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe,  laughed  inwardly  at  their  folly,  un- 
til his  sides  were  sore.  When  he  had  quite  exhausted  him- 
self— which  took  some  time,  for  he  laughed  as  slowly  as  he 
thought  and  spoke — he  sat  himself  comfortably  with  his  back 
to  the  house,  put  his  legs  upon  the  bench,  then  his  apron 
over  his  face,  and  fell  sound  asleep. 

How  long  he  slept,  matters  not  ;  but  it  was  for  no  brief 
space,  for  when  he  awoke,  the  rich  light  had  faded,  the 
somber  hues  of  night  were  falling  fast  upon  the  landscape, 
and  a  few  bright  stars  were  already  twinkling  over  head. 
The  birds  were  all  cit  roost,  the  daisies  on  the  green  had 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  403 

closed  their  fairy  hoods,  the  honeysuckle  twining  round  the 
porch  exhaled  its  perfume  in  a  twofold  degree,  as  though  it 
lost  its  coyness  at  that  silent  time  and  loved  to  shed  its  fra- 
grance on  the  night  ;  the  ivy  scarcely  stirred  its  deep  green 
leaves.     How  tranquil,  and  how  beautiful  it  was  ! 

Was  there  no  sound  in  the  air,  beside  the  gentle  rustling 
of  the  trees  and  the  grasshopper's  merry  chirp  ?  Hark  ! 
Something  very  faint  and  distant,  not  unlike  the  murmuring 
in  a  sea-shell.  Now  it  grew  louder,  fainter  now,  and  now  it 
altogether  died  away.  Presently,  it  came  again,  subsided, 
came  once  more,  grew  louder,  fainter — swelled  into  a  roar. 
It  was  on  the  road,  and  varied  with  its  windings.  All  at 
once  it  burst  into  a  distinct  sound — the  voices,  and  the 
tramping  feet  of  many  men. 

It  is  questionable  v/hether  old  John  Willet,  even  then, 
would  have  thought  of  the  rioters  but  for  the  cries  of  his  cook 
and  housemaid,  who  ran  screaming  up-stairs  and  locked 
themselves  into  one  of  the  old  garrets — shrieking  dismally 
when  they  had  done  so,  by  way  of  rendering  their  place  of 
refuge  perfectly  secret  and  secure.  These  two  females  did 
afterward  depone  that  Mr.  Willet  in  his  consternation 
uttered  but  one  word,  and  called  that  up  the  stairs  in  a  sten- 
torian voice,  six  distinct  times.  But  as  this  word  w^as  a 
monosyllable,  which,  however  inoffensive  when  applied  to 
the  quadruped  it  denotes,  is  highly  reprehensible  when  used 
in  connection  with  females  of  unimpeachable  character, 
many  persons  were  inclined  to  believe  that  the  young  women 
labored  under  the  same  hallucination  caused  by  excessive 
fear  ;  and  that  their  ears  deceived  them. 

Be  this  as  it  may,  John  Willet,  in  whom  the  very  utter- 
most extent  of  dull-headed  perplexity  supplied  the  place  of 
courage,  stationed  himself  in  the  porch,  and  waited  for  their 
coming  up.  Once,  it  dimly  occurred  to  him  that  there  was 
a  kind  of  door  to  the  house,  which  had  a  lock  and  bolts  ;  and 
at  the  same  time  some  shadowy  ideas  of  shutters  to  the  lower 
windows,  flitted  through  his  brain.  But  he  stood  stock  s*":ll, 
looking  down  the  road  in  the  direction  in  which  the  noise 
was  rapidly  advancing,  and  did  not  so  much  as  take  his 
hands  out  of  his  pockets. 

He  had  not  to  wait  long.  A  dark  mass,  looming  through 
a  cloud  of  dust,  soon  became  visible  ;  the  mob  quickened 
their  pace  ;  shouting  and  whooping  like  savages,  they  came 
rushing  on  pell-mell  ;  and  in  a  few  seconds  he  was  bandied 
from  hand  to  hand,  in  the  heart  of  a  crowd  of  men. 


404  BARNABY   RUDGE. 

"  Halloo  !  "  cried  a  voice  he  knew,  as  the  man  who  spoke 
came  cleaving  through  the  throng,  ''  Where  is  he  ?  Give 
him  to  me.  Don't  hurt  him.  How  now,  old  Jack  !  Ha,  ha, 
ha  !  " 


Mr.  Willet  looked  at  him,  and  saw  it  was  Hugh  ;  but  he 
said  nothing,  and  thought  nothing. 

"  These  lads  are  thirsty  and  must  drink  !  "  cried  Hugh, 
thrusting  him  back  toward  the  house.  "  Bustle,  Jack,  bustle. 
Show  us  the  best — the  very  best — the  over-proof  that  you 
keep  for  your  own  drinking,  Jack  ! " 

John  faintly  articulated  the  words,  "Who's  to  pay  ?  " 

"  He  says  '  Who's  to  pay  ? '  "  cried  Hugh,  with  a  roar  of 
laughter  which  was  loudly  echoed  by  the  crowd.  Then 
turning  to  John,  he  added,  "  Pay  I     Why,  nobody." 

John  stared  round  at  the  mass  of  faces.  Some  grinning, 
some  fierce,  some  lighted  up  by  torches,  some  indistinct, 
some  dusky  and  shadowy  ;  some  looking  at  him,  some  at  his 
house,  some  at  each  other — and  while  he  was,  as  he  thought, 
in  the  very  act  of  doing  so,  found  himself,  without  any  con- 
sciousness of  having  moved,  iv»  the  bar  ;  sitting  down  in  an 
arm-chair,  and  watching  the  destruction  of  his  property,  as 
if  it  were  some  queer  play  or  entertainment,  of  an  astonishing 
and  stupefying  nature,  but  having  no  reference  to  himself — 
that  he  could  make  out — at  all. 

Yes.  Here  was  the  bar — the  bar  that  the  boldest  never 
entered  without  special  invitation — the  sanctuary,  the  mys- 
tery, the  hallowed  ground  ;  here  it  was,  crammed  with  men, 
clubs,  sticks,  torches,  pistols  ;  filled  with  a  deafening  noise, 
oaths,  shouts,  screams,  hootings  ;  changed  all  at  once  into 
a  bear-garden,  a  madhouse,  an  infernal  temple  ;  men  dart- 
ing in  and  out,  by  door  and  window,  smashing  the  glass, 
turning  the  taps,  drinking  liquor  out  of  china  punchbowls, 
sitting  astride  of  casks,  smoking  private  and  personal  pipes, 
cutting  down  the  sacred  grove  of  lemons,  hacking  and  hew- 
ing at  the  celebrated  cheese,  breaking  open  inviolable 
drawers,  putting  things  in  their  pockets  which  didn't  belong 
to  them,  dividing  his  own  money  before  his  own  eyes,  wan- 
tonly wasting,  breaking,  pulling  down  and  tearing  up  ;  noth- 
ing quiet,  nothing  private  ;  men  everywhere — above,  below, 
overhead,  in  the  bedrooms,  in  the  kitchen,  in  the  yard,  in  the 
stables — clambering  in  at  the  windows  when  there  were  doors 
wide  open  ;  dropping  out  of  windows  when  the  stairs  were 
handy  ;  leaping  over  the  banisters  into  chasms  of  passages  ; 
new  faces  and  figures  presenting  themselves  every  instant— 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  405 

some  veiling,  some  singing,  some  fighting,  some  breaking 
glass  and  crockery,  some  laying  the  dust  with  the  liquor  they 
couldn'<-  drink,  some  ringing  the  bells  till  they  pulled  them 
down,  others  beating  them  with  pokers  till  they  beat  them 
into  fragments  ;  more  men  still — more,  more,  more — swarm- 
ing on  Hke  insects  ;  noise,  smoke,  light,  darkness,  frolic, 
anger,  laughter,  groans,  plunder,  fear,  and  ruin  ! 

Nearly  all  the  time  while  John  looked  on  at  this  bewilder- 
ing scene,  Hugh  kept  near  him  ;  and  though  he  was  the 
loudest,  wildest,  most  destructive  villain  there,  he  saved  his 
old  master's  bones  a  score  of  times.  Nay,  even  when  Mr. 
Tappertit,  excited  by  liquor,  came  up,  and  in  assertion  of 
his  prerogative  politely  kicked  John  Willet  on  the  shins, 
Hugh  bade  him  return  the  compliment ;  and  if  old  John 
had  had  sufficient  presence  of  mind  to  understand  this  whis- 
pered direction,  and  to  profit  by  it,  he  might  no  doubt,  under 
Hugh's  protection,  have  done  so  with  impunity. 

At  length  the  band  began  to  re-assemble  outside  the  house, 
and  to  call  to  those  within  to  join  them,  for  they  were  losing 
time.  These  murmurs  increasing,  and  attaining  a  high  pitch, 
Hugh,  and  some  of  those  who  yet  lingered  in  the  bar,  and 
who  plainly  were  the  leaders  of  the  troop,  took  counsel 
together,  apart,  as  to  what  was  to  be  done  with  John,  to 
keep  him  quiet  until  their  Chigwell  work  was  over.  Some 
proposed  to  set  the  house  on  fire  and  leave  him  in  it ;  oth- 
ers, that  he  should  be  reduced  to  a  state  of  temporary  in- 
sensibility, by  knocking  him  on  the  head  ;  others,  that  he 
should  be  sworn  to  sit  where  he  was  until  to-morrow  at  the 
same  hour  ;  others,  again,  that  he  should  be  gagged  and 
taken  off  with  them,  under  a  sufficient  guard.  All  of  these 
propositions  being  overruled,  it  was  concluded,  at  last,  to 
bind  him  in  his  chair,  and  the  word  was  passed  for  Dennis. 

"Look'ee  here  Jack!"  said  Hugh,  striding  up  to  him; 
"  we  are  going  to  tie  you,  hand  and  foot,  but  otherwise  you 
won't  be  hurt.     D'ye  hear  ?  " 

John  Willet  looked  at  another  man,  as  if  he  didn't 
know  which  was  the  speaker,  and  muttered  something  about 
an  ordinary  Sunday  at  two  o'clock. 

"You  won't  be  hurt,  I  tell  you,  Jack— do  you  hear 
me  ? "  roared  Hugh,  impressing  the  assurance  upon  him 
by  means  of  a  heavy  blow  on  the  back.  "  He's  so  dead 
scared,  he^s  wool-gathering,  I  think.  Give  him  a  drop  of 
something  to  drink  here.     Hand  over,  one  of  you." 

A   glass  of  liquor  being  passed    forward;   Hugh  poured 


4o6  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

the  contents  down  old  John's  throat.  Mr.  Willet  feebly- 
smacked  his  lips,  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  and 
inquired  what  was  to  pay,  adding,  as  he  looked  vacantly 
round,  that  he  believed  there  was  a  trifle  of  broken 
glass 

"  He's  out  of  his  senses  for  the  time,  it's  my  belief,"  said 
Hugh,  after  shaking  him,  without  any  visible  effect  upon  his 
system,  until  his  keys  rattled  in  his  pocket. 

"  Where's  that  Dennis  ?  " 

The  word  was  again  passed,  and  presently  Mr.  Dennis, 
with  a  long  cord  bound  about  his  middle,  something  after 
the  manner  of  a  friar,  came  hurrying  in  attended  by  a  body- 
guard of  half  a  dozen  of  his  men. 

"  Come  !  Be  alive  here  !  "  cried  Hugh,  stamping  his  foot 
upon  the  ground.     "  Make  haste  !  " 

Dennis,  with  a  wink  and  a  nod,  unwound  the  cord  from 
about  his  person,  and  raising  his  eyes  to  the  ceiling  looked 
all  over  it,  and  round  the  walls  and  cornice,  with  a  curious 
eye  ;  then  shook  his  head. 

*'  Move,  man,  can't  you  !  "  cried  Hugh,  with  another  impa- 
tient stamp  of  his  foot.  ''  Are  we  to  wait  here,  till  the  cry 
has  gone  for  ten  miles  round,  and  our  work's  interrupted  ?  " 

''  It's  all  very  fine  talking,  brother,"  answered  Dennis,  step- 
ping toward  him  ;  "  but  unless  " — and  here  he  whispered  in 
his  ear — "  unless  we  do  it  over  the  door,  it  can't  be  done  at 
all  in  this  here  room." 

"  What  can't  ?  "  Hugh  demanded. 

"  What  can't  ?  "  retorted  Dennis.  *'  Why,  the  old  man 
can't." 

"  Why,  you  weren't  going  to  hang  him  !  "  cried  Hugh. 

"No,  brother?"  returned  the  hangman  with  a  stare. 
"What  else?" 

Hugh  made  no  answer,  but  snatching  the  rope  from 
his  companion's  hand,  proceeded  to  bind  John  himself  ; 
but  his  very  first  move  was  so  bungling  and  unskillful, 
that  Mr.  Dennis  entreated,  almost  with  tears  in  his  eyes, 
that  he  might  be  permitted  "to  perform  the  duty.  Hugh 
consenting,  he  achieved  it  in  a  twinkling. 

"  There,"  he  said,  looking  mournfully  at  John  Willet, 
who  displayed  no  more  emotion  in  his  bonds  than  he 
had  shown  out  of  them.  "  That's  what  I  call  pretty  and 
workmanlike.  He's  quite  a  picter  now.  But,  brother, 
just  a  word  with  you — now  that  he's  ready  trussed,  is 
one    may  say,  wouldn't    it  be  better  for  all  parties  if    we 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  407 

was  to  work  him  off  ?  It  would  read  uncommon  well  in 
the  newspapers,  it  would  indeed.  The  public  would  think 
a   great  deal  more  on  us  !  " 

Hugh,  inferring  what  his  companion  meant,  rather  from 
his  gestures  than  his  technical  mode  of  expressing  himself 
(to  which,  as  he  was  ignorant  of  his  calling,  he  wanted  the 
clew),  rejected  this  proposition  for  the  second  time,  and 
gave  the  word  "  Forward  !  "  which  was  echoed  by  a  hun- 
dred voices  from  without, 

"  To  the  Warren  !  "  shouted  Dennis,  as  he  ran  out,  fol- 
lowed by  the  rest.     '*  A  witness's  house,  my  lads  !  " 

A  loud  yell  followed,  and  the  whole  throng  hurried  off, 
mad  for  pillage  and  destruction.  Hugh  lingered  behind  for 
a  few  moments  to  stimulate  himself  with  more  drink,  and 
to  set  all  the  taps  running,  a  few  of  which  had  accidentally 
been  spared  ;  then,  glancing  around  the  despoiled  and 
plundered  room,  through  whose  shattered  window  the  riot- 
ers had  thrust  the  Maypole  itself — for  even  that  had 
been  sawed  down — lighted  a  torch,  clapped  the  mute  and 
motionless  John  Willet  on  the  back,  and  waving  his  light 
about  his  head,  and  uttering  a  fierce  shout,  hastened  after 
his  companions. 


CHAPTER  LV. 

John  Willet,  left  alone  in  his  dismantled  bar,  continued 
to  sit  staring  about  him  ;  awake  as  to  his  eyes,  certainly,  but 
with  all  his  powers  of  reason  and  reflection  in  a  sound  and 
dreamless  sleep.  He  looked  round  upon  the  room  which 
had  been  for  years,  and  was  within  an  hour  ago,  the  pride 
of  his  heart  ;  and  not  a  muscle  of  his  face  was  moved.  The 
night,  without,  looked  black  and  cold  through  the  dreary 
gaps  in  the  casement  ;  the  precious  liquids,  now  nearly 
leaked  away,  dripped  with  a  hollow  sound  upon  the  floor  ; 
the  Maypole  peered  ruefully  in  through  the  broken  window, 
like  the  bowsprit  of  a  wrecked  ship  ;  the  ground  might  have 
been  the  bottom  of  the  sea,  it  was  so  strewn  with  precious 
fragments.  Currents  of  air  rushed  in,  as  the  old  doors 
jarred  and  creaked  upon  their  hinges;  the  candles  flick- 
ered and  guttered  down,  and  made  long  winding-sheets  ; 
the  cheery  deep  red  curtains  flapped  and  fluttered  idly  in 
the  wind  ;  even  the  stout  Dutch  kegs,  overthrown  and 
lying  empty  in  dark   corners,    seemed  the   mere  husks  of 


4o8  liARNABV   RUDGE. 

good  fellows  whose  jollity  had  departed,  and  who  couid 
kindle  with  a  friendly  glow  no  more.  John  saw  this  deso- 
lation, and  yet  saw  it  not.  He  was  perfectly  contented  to 
sit  there,  staring  at  it,  and  felt  no  more  indignation  or  dis- 
comfort in  his  bonds  than  if  they  had  been  robes  of  honor. 
So  far  as  he  was  personally  concerned,  old  Time  lay  snoring, 
and  the  world  stood  still. 

Save  for  the  dripping  from  the  barrels,  the  rustling  of 
such  light  fragments  of  destruction  as  the  wind  affected, 
and  the  dull  creaking  of  the  open  doors,  all  was  profoundly 
quiet  :  indeed,  these  sounds,  like  the  ticking  of  the  death- 
watch  in  the  night,  only  made  the  silence  they  invaded 
deeper  and  more  apparent.  But  quiet  or  noisy,  it  was  all 
one  to  John.  If  a  train  of  heavy  artillery  could  have  come 
up  and  commenced  ball  practice  outside  the  window,  it 
would  have  been  all  the  same  to  him.  He  was  a  long  way 
beyond  surprise.     A  ghost  couldn't  have  overtaken  him. 

By  and  by  he  heard  a  footstep — a  hurried,  and  yet  cau- 
tious footstep — coming  on  toward  the  house.  It  stopped, 
advanced  again,  and  then  seemed  to  go  quite  round  it , 
having  done  that,  it  came  beneath  the  window,  and  a  head 
looked  in. 

It  was  strongly  relieved  against  the  darkness  outside  by 
the  glare  of  the  guttering  candles.  A  pale,  worn,  withered 
face  ;  the  eyes — but  that  was  owing  to  its  gaunt  condition — 
unnaturally  large  and  bright  ;  the  hair,  a  grizzled  black. 
It  ^ave  a  searching  glance  all  around  the  room,  and  a  deep 
voice  said  : 

"  Are  you  alone  in  this  house  ?  " 

John  made  no  sign,  though  the  question  was  repeated 
twice  and  he  heard  it  distinctly.  After  a  moment's  pause, 
the  man  got  in  at  the  window.  John  was  not  at  all  sur- 
prised at  this,  either.  There  had  been  so  much  getting  in 
and  out  of  window  in  the  course  of  the  last  hour  or  so, 
that  he  had  quite  forgotten  the  door,  and  seemed  to  have 
lived  among  such  exercises  from  infancy. 

The  man  wore  a  large,  dark,  faded  cloak,  and  a  slouched 
hat  ;  he  walked  up  close  to  John,  and  looked  at  him.  Johfi 
T-eturned  the  compliment  with  interest. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  sitting  thus  ? "  said  the  man. 

John  considered,  but  nothing  came  of  it. 

"  Which  way  have  the  party  gone  ? " 

Some  wandering  speculations  relative  lo  the  fashion  of 
the  stranger's   boots,  got   into    Mr.  Willet's  rnind   by   some 


BARNABY   RUDGE.  409 

accident  or  other,  but  they  got   out  again   in   a  hurry,  and 
left  him  in  his  former  state. 

"You  would  do  well  to  speak,"  said  the  man  ;  "you 
may  keep  a  whole  skin,  though  you  have  nothing  else  left 
that  can  be  hurt.     Which  way  have  the  party  gone  ?  " 

"  That  !  "  said  John,  finding  his  voice  all  at  once,  and  nod- 
ding with  perfect  good  faith — he  couldn't  point ;  he  was  so 
tightly  bound — in  exactly  the  opposite  direction  to  the  right 
one.  ■ 

"  You  lie  !"  said  the  man  angrily,  and  with  a  threatening 
gesture.     "  I  came  that  way.     You  would  betray  me." 

It  was  so  evident  that  John's  imperturbability  was  not 
assumed,  but  was  the  result  of  the  late  proceedings  under 
his  roof,  that  the  man  staid  his  hand  in  the  very  act  of 
striking  him,  and  turned  away. 

John  looked  after  him  without  so  much  as  a  twitch  in  a 
single  nerve  of  his  face.  He  seized  a  glass,  and  holding  it 
under  one  of  the  little  casks  until  a  few  drops  were  collected, 
drank  them  greedily  off ;  then  throwing  it  down  upon  the 
floor  impatiently,  he  took  the  vessel  in  his  hands  and  drained 
it  into  his  throat.  Some  scraps  of  bread  and  meat  were 
scattered  about,  and  on  these  he  fell  next  ;  eating  them 
with  voracity,  and  pausing  every  now  and  then  to  listen  for 
some  fancied  noise  outside.  When  he  had  refreshed  him- 
self ift  this  manner  with  violent  haste,  and  raised  another 
barrel  to  his  lips,  he  pulled  his  hat  upon  his  brow  as  though 
he  were  about  to  leave  the  house,  and  turned  to  John. 

"  Where  are  your  servants  ?  " 

Mr.  Willet  indistinctly  remembered  to  have  heard  the 
rioters  calling  to  them  to  throw  the  key  of  the  room  in  which 
they  were,  out  of  window,  for  their  keeping.  He  therefore 
replied,  "Locked  up." 

"  Well  for  them  if  they  remain  quiet,  and  well  for  you  if 
you  do  the  like,"  said  the  man.  "Now  show  me  the  way 
the  party  went." 

This  time  Mr.  Willet  indicated  it  correctly.  The  man 
was  hurrying  to  the  door,  when  suddenly  there  came  to- 
ward them  on  the  wind,  the  loud  and  rapid  tolling  of  an 
alarm  bell,  and  then  a  bright  and  vivid  glare  streamed 
up,  which  illumined,  not  only  the  whole  chamber,  but  all 
the  country. 

It  was  not  the  sudden  change  from  darkness  to  this  dread- 
ful light,  it  was  not  the  sound  of  distant  shrieks  and  shouts 
of  triumph,  it  was  not  this  dread  invasion  of  the  serenity  and 


4IO  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

peace  of  night,  that  drove  the  man  back  as  though  a  thun- 
derbolt had  struck  him.  It  was  the  Bell.  If  the  ghastliest 
shape  the  human  mind  has  ever  pictured  in  its  wildest 
dreams  had  risen  up  before  him,  he  could  not  have  staggered 
backward  from  its  touch,  as  he  did  from  the  first  sound  of 
that  loud  iron  voice.  With  eyes  that  started  from  his  head, 
his  limbs  convulsed,  his  face  most  horrible  to  see,  he  raised 
one  arm  high  up  in  the  air,  and  holding  something  visionary- 
back  and  down,  with  his  other  hand,  drove  at  it  as  though 
he  held  a  knife  and  stabbed  it  to  the  heart.  He  clutched 
his  hair,  and  stopped  his  ears,  and  traveled  madly  round 
and  round  ;  then  gave  a  frightful  cry,  and  with  it  rushed 
away  :  still,  still,  the  Bell  tolled  on  and  seemed  to  follow 
him — louder  and  louder,  hotter  and  hotter  yet.  The  glaive 
grew  brighter,  the  roar  of  voices  deeper  ;  the  crash  of  heavy 
bodies  falling  shook  the  air  ;  bright  streams  of  sparks  rose 
up  into  the  sky  ;  but  louder  than  them  all — rising  faster  far, 
to  heaven — a  million  times  more  fierce  and  furious  — pouring 
forth  dreadful  secrets  after  its  long  silence — speaking  the 
language  of  the  dead — the  Bell — the  Bell  ! 

What  hunt  of  specters  could  surpass  that  dread  pursuit 
and  flight  !  Had  there  been  a  legion  of  them  on  his  track, 
he  could  have  better  borne  it.  They  would  have  had  a  be- 
ginning and  an  end,  but  here  all  space  was  full.  The  one 
pursuing  voice  was  everywhere  :  it  sounded  in  the  earth,  the 
air  ;  shook  the  long  grass,  and  howled  among  the  trembling 
trees.  The  echoes  caught  it  up,  the  owls  hooted  as  it  flew 
upon  the  breeze,  the  nightingale  was  silent  and  hid  herself 
among  the  thickest  boughs  :  it  seemed  to  goad  and  urge  the 
angry  fire,  and  lash  it  into  madness  ;  every  thing  was  steeped 
in  one  prevailing  red  ;  the  glow  was  everywhere  ;  nature 
was  drenched  in  blood  :  still  the  remorseless  crying  of  that 
awful  voice — the  Bell,  the  Bell  ! 

It  ceased  ;  but  not  in  his  ears.  The  knell  was  at  his  heart. 
No  work  of  man  had  ever  voice  like  that  which  sounded 
there,  and  warned  him  that  it  cried  unceasingly  to  heaven. 
Who  could  hear  that  bell,  and  not  know  what  it  said  ! 
There  was  murder  in  its  every  note — cruel,  relentless,  savage 
murder — the  murder  of  a  confiding  man,  by  one  who  held  his 
every  trust.  Its  ringing  summoned  phantoms  from  their 
graves.  What  face  was  that,  in  which  a  friendly  smile  changed 
to  a  look  of  half  incredulous  horror,  which  stiffened  for 
a  moment  into  one  of  pain,  then  changed  again  into  an  im- 
ploring glance  at  heaven,  and  so  fell  idly  down  with  upturned 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  41 1 

eyes,  like  the  dead  stags'  he  had  often  peeped  at  when  a 
little  child  :  shrinking  and  shuddering — there  was  a  dreadful 
thing  to  think  of  now  ! — and  clinging  to  an  apron  as  he 
looked  !  He  sank  upon  the  ground,  and  groveling  down  as  if 
he  would  dig  himself  a  place  to  hide  in,  covered  his  face  and 
ears  ;  but  no,  no,  no — a  hundred  walls  and  roofs  of  brass 
would  not  shut  out  that  bell,  for  in  it  spoke  the  wrathful 
voice  of  God,  and  from  thr.t  voice,  the  whole  wide  universe 
could  not  afford  a  refuge  ! 

While  he  rushed  up  and  down,  not  knowing  where  to  turn, 
and  while  he  lay  crouching  there,  the  work  went  briskly  on 
indeed.  When  they  left  the  Maypole,  the  rioters  formed 
into  a  solid  body,  :.nd  advanced  at  a  quick  pace  toward  the 
Warren.  Rumor  of  their  approach  having  gone  before,  they 
found  the  garden-doors  fast  closed,  the  windows  made  secure, 
and  the  house  profoundly  dark  :  not  a  light  being  visible  in 
any  portion  of  the  building.  After  some  fruitless  ringing  at 
the  bells,  and  beating  at  the  iron  gates,  they  drew  off  a  few 
paces  to  reconnoiter,  and  confer  upon  the  course  it  would 
be  best  to  take. 

Very  little  conference  was  needed,  when  all  were  bent 
upon  one  desperate  purpose,  infuriated  with  liquor,  and 
flushed  with  successful  riot.  The  word  being  given  to  sur- 
round the  house,  some  climbed  the  gates,  or  dropped  into 
the  shallow  trench  and  scaled  the  garden  wall,  while  others 
pulled  down  the  solid  iron  fence,  and  while  they  made  a 
breach  to  enter  by,  made  deadly  weapons  of  the  bars.  The 
house  being  completely  encircled,  a  small  number  of  men 
were  dispatched  to  break  open  a  toolshed  in  the  garden  ; 
and  during  their  absence  on  this  errand,  the  remainder  con- 
tented themselves  with  knocking  violently  at  the  doors,  and 
calling  to  those  within,  to  come  down  and  open  them  on 
peril  of  their  lives. 

No  answer  being  returned  to  this  repeated  summons,  and 
the  detachment  who  had  been  sent  away,  coming  back  with 
an  accession  of  pickaxes,  spades,  and  hoes,  they — together 
with  those  who  had  such  arms  already,  or  carried  (as  many 
did)  axes,  poles,  and  crow-bars — struggled  into  the  fore- 
most rank,  ready  to  beset  the  doors  and  windows.  They 
had  not  at  this  time  more  than  a  dozen  lighted  torches 
among  them  ;  but  when  these  preparations  were  completed, 
flaming  links  were  distributed  and  passed  from  hand  to 
hand  with  such  rapidity  that,  in  a  minute's  time,  at  least 
two-thirds  of  the  whole  roaring  mais  bore,  each  man  in  his 


412  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

hand,  a  blazing  brand.  ^Vhirling  these  about  their  heads 
they  raised  a  loud  shout,  and  fell  to  work  upon  the  doors 
and  windows. 

Amid  the  clattering  of  heavy  blows,  the  rattling  of 
broken  glass,  the  cries  and  execrations  of  the  mob,  and  all 
the  din  and  turmoil  of  the  scene,  Hugh  and  his  friends  kept 
together  at  the  turret-door  where  Mr.  Haredale  had  last  ad- 
mitted him  and  old  John  Willet  ;  and  spent  their  united 
force  on  that.  It  was  a  strong  old  oaken  door,  guarded  by 
good  bolts  and  a  heavy  bar,  but  it  soon  went  crashing  in 
upon  the  narrow  stairs  behind,  and  made,  as  it  were,  a  plat- 
form to  facilitate  their  tearing  up  into  the  rooms  above. 
Almost  at  the  same  moment  a  dozen  other  points  were 
forced,  and  at  every  one  the  crowd  poured  in  like  water. 

A  few  alarmed  servant-men  were  posted  in  the  hall,  and 
when  the  rioters  forced  an  entrance  there,  they  fired  some 
half  a  dozen  shots.  But  these  taking  no  effect,  and  the 
concourse  coming  on  like  an  army  of  devils,  they  only 
thought  of  consulting  their  own  safety,  and  retreated,  echo- 
ing their  assailants'  cries,  and  hoping  in  the  confusion  to  be 
taken  for  rioters  themselves  ;  in  which  stratagem  they  suc- 
ceeded, with  the  exception  of  one  old  man  who  was  never 
heard  of  again,  and  was  said  to  have  had  his  brains  beaten 
out  with  an  iron  bar  (one  of  his  fellows  reported  that  he  had 
seen  the  old  man  fall),  and  to  have  been  afterward  burned 
in  the  flames. 

The  besiegers  being  now  in  complete  possession  of  the 
house,  spread  themselves  over  it  from  garret  to  cellar,  and 
plied  their  demon  labors  fiercely.  While  some  small  parties 
kindled  bonfires  underneath  the  windows,  others  broke  up 
the  furniture  and  cast  the  fragments  down  to  feed  the  flames 
below  ;  where  the  apertures  in  the  wall  (windows  no  longer) 
were  large  enough,  they  threw  out  tables,  chests  of  drawers, 
beds,  mirrors,  pictures,  and  flung  them  whole  into  the  fire  ; 
while  every  fresh  addition  to  the  blazing  masses  was  received 
with  shouts,  and  howls,  and  yells,  which  added  new  and 
dismal  terrors  to  the  conflagration.  Those  who  had  axes 
and  had  spent  their  fury  on  the  movables,  chopped  and  tore 
down  the  doors  and  window  frames,  broke  up  the  flooring, 
hewed  away  the  rafters,  and  buried  men  who  lingered  in  the 
upper  rooms  in  heaps  of  ruins.  Some  searched  the  drawers, 
the  cliests,  the  boxes,  writing-desks,  and  closets,  for  jewels, 
plate,  and  money  ;  while  others,  less  mindful  of  gain  and 
more  mad  for  destruction,  cast  their  whole  contents  into  the 


BARNABV  RUDGE.  413 

court-yard  without  examination,  and  called  to  those  below 
to  heap  them  on  the  blaze.  Men  who  had  been  into  the 
cellars,  and  had  staved  the  casks,  rushed  to  and  fro  stark 
mad,  setting  fire  to  all  they  saw — often  to  the  dresses  of 
their  own  friends — and  kindling  the  building  in  so  many 
parts  that  some  had  no  time  for  escape,  and  were  seen,  with 
drooping  hands  and  blackened  faces,  hanging  senseless  on 
the  window-sills  to  which  they  had  crawled,  until  they  were 
sucked  and  drawn  into  the  burning  gulf.  The  more  the  fire 
crackled  and  raged,  the  wilder  and  more  cruel  the  men 
grew  ;  as  though  moving  in  that  element  they  became  fiends, 
and  changed  their  earthly  nature  for  the  qualities  that  give 
delight  in  hell. 

The  burning  pile,  revealing  rooms  and  passages  red  hot, 
through  gaps  made  in  the  crumbling  walls  ;  the  tributary 
fires  that  licked  the  outer  bricks  and  stones,  with  their  long 
forked  tongues,  and  ran  up  to  meet  the  glowing  mass  within  ; 
the  shining  of  the  flames  upon  the  villains  who  looked  on 
and  fed  them  ;  the  roaring  of  the  angry  blaze,  so  bright  and 
high  that  it  seemed  in  its  rapacity  to  have  swallowed  up  the 
very  smoke  ;  the  living  flakes  the  wind  bore  rapidly  away 
and  hurried  on  with,  like  a  storm  of  fiery  snow  ;  the  noise- 
less breaking  of  great  beams  of  wood,  which  fell  like  feathers 
on  the  heap  of  ashes,  and  crumbled  in  the  very  act  to  sparks 
and  powder  ;  the  lurid  tinge  that  overspread  the  sky,  and 
the  darkness,  very  deep  by  contrast,  which  prevailed  around  ; 
the  exposure  to  the  coarse,  common  gaze,  of  every  little 
nook  which  usages  of  home  had  made  a  sacred  place,  and 
the  destruction  by  rude  hands  of  every  little  household 
favorite  which  old  associations  made  a  dear  and  precious 
thing  :  all  this  taking  place — not  among  pitying  looks  and 
friendly  murmurs  of  compassion,  but  brutal  shouts  and  ex- 
ultations, which  seemed  to  make  the  very  rats  who  stood  by 
the  old  hoase  too  long,  creatures  with  some  claim  upon  the 
pity  and  regard  of  those  its  roof  had  sheltered — combined 
to  form  a  scene  never  to  be  forgotten,  by  those  who  saw  it 
and  were  not  actors  m  the  work,  so  long  as  life  endured. 

And  who  were  they  ?  The  alarm-bell  rang — and  it  was 
pulled  by  no  faint  or  hesitating  hands— for  a  longtime  ;  but 
not  a  soul  was  seen.  Some  of  the  insurgents  said  that  when 
it  ceased  they  heard  the  shrieks  of  women,  and  saw  some 
garments  fluttering  in  the  air,  as  a  party  of  men  bore  av/ay 
no  unresisting  burdens.  No  one  could  say  that  this  was 
true  or  false,  in   such   an  uproar  ;    but  where  was   Hugh  ! 


414  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

Who  among  them  had  seen  him  since  the  forcing  of  the 
doors  ?  The  cry  spread  through  the  body.  Where  was 
Hugh! 

"  Here  !  "  he  hoarsely  cried,  appearing  from  the  darkness  ; 
out  of  breath,  and  blackened  with  the  smoke.  "  We  have 
done  all  we  can  ;  the  fire  is  burning  itself  out  ;  and  even 
the  corners  where  it  hasn't  spread,  are  nothing  but  heaps  of 
ruins.  Disperse,  my  lads,  while  the  coast's  clear  ;  get  back 
by  different  ways  ;  and  meet  as  usual  !  "  With  that,  he  dis- 
appeared again — contrary  to  his  wont,  for  he  was  always 
first  to  advance,  and  last  to  go  away — leaving  them  to  fol- 
low homeward  as  they  would. 

It  was  not  an  easy  task  to  draw  off  such  a  throng.  If 
Bedlam  gates  had  been  flung  open  wide,  there  would  not 
have  issued  forth  such  maniacs  as  the  frenzy  of  that  niglit 
had  made.  There  were  men  there  who  danced  and  trampled 
on  the  beds  of  flowers  as  though  they  trod  down  human 
enemies,  and  wrenched  them  from  the  stalks,  like  savages 
who  twisted  human  necks.  There  were  men  who  cast  their 
lighted  torches  in  the  air  and  suffered  them  to  fall  on  their 
heads  and  faces,  blistering  the  skin  with  deep  unseemly 
burns.  There  were  men  who  rushed  up  to  the  fire,  and 
paddled  it  with  their  hands  as  if  it  were  water  ;  and  others 
who  were  restrained  by  force  from  plunging  in,  to  gratify 
their  deadly  longing.  On  the  skull  of  one  drunken  lad — not 
twenty,  by  his  looks — who  lay  upon  the  ground  with  a  bot- 
tle to  his  mouth,  the  lead  from  the  roof  came  streaming 
down  in  a  shower  of  liquid  fire,  white  hot ;  melting  his  head 
like  wax.  When  the  scattered  parties  were  collected,  men 
— living  yet,  but  singed  as  with  hot  irons — were  plucked  out 
of  the  cellars,  and  carried  off  upon  the  shoulders  of  others, 
who  strove  to  wake  them  as  they  went  along,  with  ribald 
jokes,  and  left  them,  dead,  in  the  passages  of  hospitals.  But 
of  all  the  howling  throng  not  one  learned  mercy  from,  nor 
sickened  at  these  sights  ;  nor  was  the  fierce,  besotted,  sense- 
less rage  of  one  man  glutted. 

Slowly,  and  in  small  clusters,  with  hoarse  hurrahs  and 
repetitions  of  their  usual  cry,  the  assembly  dropped  away. 
The  last  few  red-eyed  stragglers  reeled  after  those  who  had 
gone  before  ;  the  distant  noise  of  men  calling  to  each  other, 
and  whistling  for  others  whom  they  missed,  grew  fainter  and 
fainter  ;  at  length  even  these  sounds  died  away,  and  silence 
reigned  alone. 

Silence  indeed  !     The  glare  of  the  flames  had  sunk   into 


BARNAiBY  kUDGE.  4*5 

a  fitful,  flashing  light  ;  and  the  gentle  stars,  invisible  till 
now,  looked  down  upon  the  blackening  heap.  A  dull 
smoke  hung  upon  the  ruin,  as  though  to  hide  it  from  those 
eyes  of  heaven  ;  and  the  wind  forbore  to  move  it.  Bare 
walls,  roof  open  to  the  sky — chambers  where  the  beloved 
dead  had,  many  and  many  a  fair  day,  risen  to  new  life  and 
energy  ;  where  so  many  dear  ones  had  been  sad  and  merry ; 
which  were  connected  with  so  many  thoughts  and  hopes, 
regrets  and  changes — all  gone.  Nothing  left  but  a  dull  and 
dreary  blank — a  smoldering  heap  of  dust  and  ashes — the 
silence  and  solitude  of  utter  desolation. 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

The  Maypole  cronies,  little  dreaming  of  the  change  so 
soon  to  come  upon  their  favorite  haunt,  struck  through  the 
forest  path  upon  their  way  to  London  ;  and  avoiding  the 
main  road,  which  was  hot  and  dusty,  kept  to  the  by-paths 
and  the  fields.  As  they  drew  near  to  their  destination,  they 
began  to  make  inquiries  of  the  people  whom  they  passed, 
concerning  the  riots,  and  the  truth  or  falsehood  of  the 
stories  they  had  heard.  The  answers  went  far  beyond  any 
intelligence  that  had  spread  to  quiet  Chigwell.  One  man  told 
them  that  that  afternoon  the  guards,  conveying  to  Newgate 
some  rioters  who  had  been  re-examined,  had  been  set  upon 
by  the  mob  and  compelled  to  retreat  ;  another  that  the 
houses  of  two  witnesses  near  Clare  Market  were  about 
to  be  pulled  down  when  he  came  away  ;  another,  that 
Sir  George  Saville's  house  in  Leicester  Fields  was  to 
be  burned  that  night,  and  that  it  would  go  hard  with 
Sir  George  if  he  fell  into  the  people's  hands,  as  it  was  he 
who  had  brought  in  the  Catholic  bill.  All  accounts  agreed 
that  the  mob  were  out  in  stronger  numbers  and  more 
numerous  parties  than  had  yet  appeared  ;  that  the 
streets  were  unsafe,  that  no  man's  house  or  life  was  worth 
an  hour's  purchase  ;  that  the  public  consternation  was  in- 
creasing every  moment  ;  and  that  many  families  had  al- 
ready fled  the  city.  One  fellow  who  wore  the  popular  color, 
damned  them  for  not  having  cockades  in  their  hats,  and 
bade  them  set  a  good  watch  to-morrow  night  upon  their 
prison  doors,  for  the  locks  would  have  a  straining  ;  another 
asked  if  they  were  fire-proof,  that  they  walked  abroad  with- 
out the  distinguishing  mark  of  all  good   and  true  men  ;  and 


4i6  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

a  third  who  rode  on  horseback,  and  was  quite  alone,  ordered 
them  to  throw  each  man  a  shilling,  in  his  hat,  toward  the 
support  of  the  rioters.  Although  they  were  afraid  to  refuse 
compliance  with  this  demand,  and  were  much  alarmed  by 
these  reports,  they  agreed,  having  come  so  far,  to  go  forward, 
and  see  the  real  state  of  things  with  their  own  eyes.  So 
they  pushed  on  quicker,  as  men  do  who  are  excited  by  por- 
tentous news  ;  and  ruminating  on  what  they  had  heard, 
spoke  little  to  each  other. 

It  was  now  night,  and  as  they  came  nearer  to  the  city  they 
had  dismal  confirmation  of  this  intelligence  in  three  great 
fires,  all  close  together,  which  burned  fierce  and  were  gloom- 
ily reflected  in  the  sky.  Arriving  in  the  immediate  suburbs, 
they  found  that  almost  every  house  had  chalked  upon  its 
door  in  large  characters  "  No  Popery,"  that  the  shops  were 
shut,  and  that  alarm  and  anxiety  were  depicted  in  every 
face  they  passed. 

Noting  these  things  with  a  degree  of  apprehension  which 
neither  of  the  three  cared  to  impart,  in  its  full  extent,  to  his 
companions,  they  came  to  a  turnpike  gate,  which  was  shut. 
They  were  passing  through  the  turnstile  on  the  path,  when  a 
horseman  rode  up  from  London  at  a  hard  gallop,  and  called 
to  the  toll-keeper  in  a  voice  of  great  agitation,  to  open 
quickly  in  the  name  of  God. 

The  adjuration  was  so  earnest  and  vehement,  that  the  man, 
with  a  lantern  in  his  hand,  came  running  out — toll-keeper 
though  he  was — and  was  about  to  throw  the  gate  open,  when 
happening  to  look  behind  him,  he  exclaimed,  *'  Good  heaven, 
what's  that  !     Another  fire  !  " 

At  this,  the  three  turned  their  heads,  and  saw  in  the  dis- 
tance— straight  in  the  direction  whence  they  had  come — a 
broad  sheet  of  flame,  casting  a  threatening  light  upon  the 
clouds,  which  glimmered  as  though  the  conflagration  were 
behind  them,  and  showed  like  a  wrathful  sunset. 

"  My  mind  misgives  me,"  said  the  horseman,  "  or  I  know 
from  what  far  building  those  flames  come.  Don't  stand 
aghast,  my  good  fellow.     Open  the  gate." 

"  Sir,"  cried  the  man,  laying  his  hand  upon  his  horse's 
bridle  as  he  let  him  through  ;  "  I  know  you  now,  sir  ;  be  ad- 
vised by  me  ;  do  not  go  on.  I  saw  them  pass,  and  know 
what  kind  of  men  they  are.     You  will  be  murdered." 

*'  So  be  it  !  "  said  the  horseman,  looking  intently  toward 
the  fire,  and  not  at  him  who  spoke. 

*'  But  sir — sir,"  cried  the  man,  grasping  at  his  rein  more 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  417 

tightly  yet,  "  if  you  do  go  on,  wear  this  bkie  ribbon.  Here, 
sir,"  he  added,  taking  one  from  his  own  hat,  "  it's  necessity, 
not  choice,  that  makes  me  wear  it  ;  it's  love  of  life  and  home, 
sir.     Wear  it  for  this  one  night,  sir  ;  only  for  this  one  night." 

"  Do  !  "  cried  the  three  friends,  pressing  round  his  horse. 
'*  Mr.  Haredale — worthy  sir — good  gentleman — pray  be  per- 
suaded." 

'*  Who's  that  ?  "  cried  Mr.  Haredale,  stooping  down  to 
look.     "  Did  I  hear  Daisy's  voice  ?  " 

**  You  did,  sir,"  cried  the  little  man.  "  Do  be  persuaded, 
sir.  This  gentleman  says  very  true.  Your  life  may  hang 
upon  it." 

"Are  you,"  said  Mr.  Haredale  abruptly,  "  afraid  to  come 
with  me  ?  " 

"  I,  sir  ? — N-n-no." 

"  Put  that  ribbon  in  your  hat.  If  we  meet  the  rioters, 
swear  that  I  took  you  prisoner  for  wearing  it.  I  will  tell 
them  so  with  my  own  lips  ;  for  as  I  hope  for  mercy  when  I 
die,  I  will  take  no  quarter  from  them,  nor  shall  they  have 
quarter  from  me,  if  we  come  hand  to  hand  to-night.  Up 
here — behind  me — quick  !  Clasp  me  tight  round  the  body, 
and  fear  nothing.'' 

In  an  instant  they  were  riding  away,  at  full  gallop,  in  a 
dense  cloud  of  dust,  and  speeding  on,  like  hunters  in  a 
dream. 

It  was  well  the  good  horse  knew  the  road  he  traversed,  for 
never  once — no,  never  once  in  all  the  journey — did  Mr. 
Haredale  cast  his  eyes  upon  the  ground,  or  turn  them,  for 
an  instant,  from  the  light  toward  which  they  sped  so  madly. 
Once  he  said  in  a  low  voice, "  It  is  my  house,"  but  that  was 
the  only  time  he  spoke.  When  they  came  to  dark  and  doubt- 
ful places,  he  never  forgot  to  put  his  hand  upon  the  little 
man  to  hold  him  more  securely  in  his  seat,  but  he  kept  his 
head  erect  and  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  fire,  then,  and  always. 

The  road  was  dangerous  enough,  for  they  went  the  nearest 
way — headlong — far  from  the  highway — by  lonely  lanes  and 
paths,  where  wagon-wheels  had  worn  deep  ruts  ;  where  hedge 
and  ditch  hemmed  in  the  narrow  strip  of  ground  ;  and  tall 
trees,  arching  overhead,  made  it  profoundly  dark.  But,  on 
on,  on,  with  neither  stop  nor  stumble,  till  they  reached  the 
Maypole  door,  and  could  plainly  see  that  the  fire  began  to 
fade,  as  if  for  want  of  fuel. 

"  Down — for  one  moment — for  but  one  moment,"  said 
Mr.  Haredale,  helping  Daisy  to  the  ground,   and  following 


4x8  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

himself.     "Willet — Willet — where  are  my  niece  and  serv- 
ants—Willet  !  " 

Crying  to  him  distractedly,  he  rushed  into  the  bar.  The 
landlord  bound  and  fastened  to  his  chair  ;  the  place  disman- 
tled, stripped,  and  pulled  about  his  ears  ; — nobody  could 
have  taken  shelter  here. 

He  was  a  strong  man,  accustomed  to  restrain  himself,  and 
suppress  his  strong  emotions  ;  but  this  preparation  for  what 
was  to  follow — though  he  had  seen  that  fire  burning,  and 
knew  that  his  house  must  be  razed  to  the  ground — was  more 
than  he  could  bear.  He  covered  his  face  with  his  hands 
for  a  moment,  and  turned  away  his  head. 

"  Johnny,  Johnny,"  said  Solomon — and  the  simple-hearted 
fellow  cried  outright,  and  wrung  his  hands — "  Oh,  dear  old 
Johnny,  here's  a  change  !  That  the  Maypole  bar  should 
come  to  this,  and  we  should  live  to  see  it  !  The  old  War- 
ren, too,  Johnny — Mr.  Haredale — oh,  Johnny,  what  a  pite- 
ous sight  this  is  !  " 

Pointing  to  Mr.  Haredale  as  he  said  these  words,  little 
Solomon  Daisy  put  his  elbows  on  the  back  of  Mr.  Willet's 
chair,  and  fairly  blubbered  on  his  shoulder. 

While  Solomon  was  speaking,  old  John  sat,  mute  as  a 
stock-fish,  staring  at  him  with  an  unearthly  glare,  and  dis- 
playing, by  every  possible  symptom,  entire  and  complete 
unconsciousness.  But  when  Solomon  was  silent  again,  John 
followed,  with  his  great  round  eyes,  the  direction  of  his 
looks,  and  did  appear  to  have  some  dawning  distant  notion 
that  somebody  had  come  to  see  him. 

"You  know  us,  don't  you,  Johnny?"  said  the  little 
clerk,  rapping  himself  on  the  breast.  '*  Daisy,  you  know — 
Chigwell  Church— bell-ringer— little  desk  on  Sundays — eh, 
Johnny  ? " 

Mr.  Willet  reflected  for  a  few  moments,  and  then  mut- 
tered, as  it  were  mechanically  :  "  Let  us  sing  to  the  praise 
and  glory  of — " 

"  Yes,  to  be  sure,"  cried  the  little  man,  hastily  ;  **  that's 
it — that's  me,  Johnny.  You're  all  right  now,  an't  you  ?  Say 
you're  all  right,  Johnny." 

"  All  right  ?  "  pondered  Mr.  Willet,  as  if  that  were  a  mat- 
ter entirely  between  himself  and  his  conscience.  ^'AU  right  ? 
Ah  !  " 

"  They  haven't  been  misusing  you  with  sticks  or  pokers, 
or  any  other  blunt  instruments — have  they,  Johnny  ?  "  asked 
Solomon,  with  a  very  anxious  glance  at  Mr.  Willet's  head. 
**  They  didn't  beat  you,  did  they  ?" 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  419 

John  knitted  his  brow  ;  looked  downward,  as  if  he  were 
mentally  engaged  in  some  arithmetical  calculation  ;  then 
upward,  as  if  the  total  would  not  come  at  his  call  ;  then  at 
Solomon  Daisy,  from  his  eyebrow  to  his  shoe-buckle  ;  then 
very  slowly  round  the  bar.  And  then  a  great,  round,  leaden- 
looking,  and  not  at  all  transparent  tear,  came  rolling  out  of 
each  eye,  and  he  said,  as  he  shook  his  head  : 

"  If  they'd  only  had  the  goodness  to  murder  me,  I'd  have 
thanked  'em  kindly." 

*'  No,  no,  no,  don't  say  that,  Johnny,"  whimpered  his  lit- 
tle friend.  ''  It's  very,  very  bad,  but  not  quite  so  bad  as 
that.     No,  no  !  " 

"  Look'ee  here,  sir  !  "  cried  John,  turning  his  rueful  eyes 
on  Mr.  Haredale,  who  had  dropped  on  one  knee,  and  was 
hastily  beginning  to  untie  his  bonds.  "  Look'ee  here,  sir  ! 
The  very  Maypole — the  old  dumb  Maypole — stares  in  at 
the  winder,  as  if  it  said,  '  John  Willet,  John  VVillet,  let's  go 
and  pitch  ourselves  in  the  nighest  pool  of  water  as  is  deep 
enough  to  hold  us  ;  for  our  day  is  over  ! '  " 

"Don't,  Johnny,  don't,"  cried  his  friend  ;  no  less  affected 
with  this  mournful  effort  of  Mr.  Willet's  imagination,  than 
by  the  sepulchral  tone  in  which  he  had  spoken  of  the  May- 
pole. 

"  Please  don't,  Johnny  !  " 

"  Your  loss  is  great,  and  your  misfortune  a  heavy  one," 
said  Mr.  Haredale,  looking  restlessly  toward  the  door ; 
"  and  this  is  not  a  time  to  comfort  you.  If  it  were,  I  am  in 
no  condition  to  do  so.  Before  I  leave  you,  tell  me  one 
thing,  and  try  to  tell  me  plainly,  I  implore  you.  Have  you 
seen  or  heard  of  Emma  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  said  Mr.  Willet. 

"  Nor  any  one  but  these  bloodhounds  ?  " 

"No!" 

"They  rode  away,  I  trust  in  heaven,  before  these  dread- 
ful  scenes  began,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  who,  between  his 
agitation,  his  eagerness  to  mount  his  horse  again,  and  the 
dexterity  with  which  the  cords  were  tied,  had  scarcely  yet 
undone  one  knot.     "  A  knife,  Daisy  !  " 

"  You  didn't,"  said  John,  looking  about  as  though  he  had 
lost  his  pocket  handkerchief,  or  some  such  slight  article — 
"  either  of  you  gentlemen — see  a— a  coffin  anywheres, 
did  you  ?  " 

"  Willet !  "  cried  Mr.  Haredale.  Solomon  dropped  the 
knife,  and  instantly  becoming  limp  from  head  to  foot,  ex- 
claimed "  Good  gracious  I  " 


430  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

" — because,"  said  John,  not  at  all  regarding  them,  "  a  dead 
man  called  a  little  time  ago,  on  his  way  yonder.  I  could 
have  told  you  what  name  was  on  the  plate  if  he  had  brought 
his  coffin  with  him,  and  left  it  behind.  If  he  didn't,  it  don't 
signify." 

His  landlord,  who  had  listened  to  these  words  with  breath- 
less attention,  started  that  moment  to  his  feet  ;  and,  without 
a  word  drew  Solomon  Daisy  to  the  door,  mounted  his 
horse,  took  him  up  behind  again,  and  flew  rather  than 
galloped  toward  a  pile  of  ruins,  which  that  day's  sun  had 
shown  upon,  a  stately  house.  Mr,  Willet  stared  after  them, 
listened,  looked  down  upon  himself  to  make  quite  sure 
that  he  was  still  unbound,  and,  without  any  manifestations  of 
impatience,  disappointment,  or  surprised,  gently  relapsed 
into  the  condition  from  which  he  had  so  imperfectly  re- 
covered. 

Mr.  Haredale  tied  his  horse  to  the  trunk  of  a  tree,  and 
grasping  his  companion's  arm,  stole  softly  along  the  foot- 
path, and  into  what  had  been  the  garden  of  the  house.  He 
stopped  for  an  instant  to  look  upon  its  smoking  w^alls,  and  at 
the  stars  that  shone  through  roof  and  floor  upon  the 
heap  of  crumbling  ashes,  Solomon  glanced  timidly  in  his 
face,  but  his  Hps  were  tightly  pressed  together,  a  resolute 
and  stern  expression  sat  upon  his  brow,  and  not  a  tear,  a 
look,  or  gesture  indicating  grief,  escaped  him. 

He  drew  his  sword  ;  felt  for  a  moment  in  his  breast,  as 
though  he  carried  other  arms  about  him  ;  then  grasping  Sol- 
omon by  the  wrist  again,  went  with  a  cautious  step  all  round 
the  house.  He  looked  into  every  doorway  and  gap  in  the 
wall ;  retraced  his  steps  at  every  rustling  of  the  air  among 
the  leaves  ;  and  searched  in  every  shadow^ed  nook  with  out- 
stretched hands.  Thus  they  made  the  circuit  of  the  build- 
ing ;  but  they  returned  to  the  spot  from  which  they  had  set 
out,  without  encountering  any  human  being,  or  finding  the 
least  trace  of  any  concealed  straggler 

After  a  short  pause  Mr.  Haredale  shouted  twice  or  thrice. 
Then  cried  aloud  :  "  Is  there  any  one  in  hiding  here  who 
knows  my  voice  ?  There  is  nothing  to  fear  now.  If  any  of 
my  people  are  near  I  entreat  them  to  answer  !  "  He  called 
them  all  by  name  ;  his  voice  was  echoed  in  many  mournful 
tones  ;  then  all  was  silent  as  before. 

They  were  standing  near  the  foot  of  the  turret,  where 
the  alarm  bell  hung.  The  fire  had  raged  there,  and  the 
floors  had  been  rawn,  and  hewn,  and  beaten  down,  beside. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  421 

It  was  open  to  the  night  ;  but  a  part  of  the  staircase  still 
remained,  winding  upward  from  a  great  mound  of  dust 
and  cinders.  Fragments  of  the  jagged  and  broken  steps 
offered  an  insecure  and  giddy  footing  here  and  there,  and 
then  were  lost  again,  behind  protruding  angles  of  the  wall 
or  in  the  deep  shadows  cast  upon  it  by  other  portions  of  the 
ruins,  for  by  this  time  the  moon  had  risen  and  shone 
brightly. 

As  they  stood  here  listening  to  the  echoes  as  they  died 
away,  and  hoping  in  vain  to  hear  a  voice  they  knew,  some  of 
the  ashes  in  this  turret  slipped  and  rolled  down.  Startled 
by  the  least  noise  in  that  melancholy  place,  Solomon  looked 
up  in  his  companion's  face,  and  saw  that  he  had  turned 
toward  the  spot,  and  that  he  watched  and  listened  keenly. 

He  covered  the  little  man's  mouth  with  his  hand,  and 
looked  again.  Instantly,  with  kindling  eyes,  he  bade  him 
on  his  life  keep  still,  and  neither  speak  nor  move.  Then 
holding  his  breath  and  stooping  down,  he  stole  into  the 
turret,  with  his  drawn  sword  in  his  hand,  and  disap- 
peared. 

Terrified  to  be  left  there  by  himself,  under  such  desolate 
circumstances,  and  after  all  he  had  seen  and  heard  that 
night,  Solomon  would  have  followed,  but  there  had  been  some- 
thing in  Mr.  Haredale's  manner  and  his  look,  the  recollec- 
tion of  which  held  him  spell-bound.  He  stood  rooted  to  the 
spot  ;  and  scarcely  venturing  to  breathe,  looked  up  with 
mingled  fear  and  wonder. 

Again  the  ashes  slipped  and  rolled — very,  very  softly — • 
again — and  then  again,  as  though  they  crumbled  underneath 
the  tread  of  a  stealthy  foot.  And  now  a  figure  was  dimly 
visible  ;  climbing  very  softly  ;  and  often  stopping  to  look 
down  ;  now  it  pursued  its  difficult  way  ;  and  now  it  was  hid- 
den from  the  view  again. 

It  emerged  once  more  into  the  shadowy  and  uncertain 
light — higher  now,  but  not  much,  for  the  way  was  steep  and 
toilsome  and  its  progress  very  slow.  What  phantom  of  the 
brain  did  he  pursue;  and  why  did  he  look  down  so  constantly? 
He  knew  he  was  alone.  Surely  his  mind  was  not  affected  by 
that  night's  loss  and  agony.  He  was  not  about  to  throw 
himself  headlong  from  the  summit  of  the  tottering  wall. 
Solomon  turned  sick,  and  clasped  his  hands.  His  limbs 
trembled  beneath  him,  and  a  cold  sweat  broke  out  upon  his 
pallid  face. 

If  he  complied  with  Mr.  Haredale's  last  injunction  now,  it 


422  BARNABY  RUDGE 

was  because  he  nad  not  the  power  to  speak  or  move.  He 
strained  his  gaze,  and  fixed  it  on  a  patch  of  moonlight,  into 
which,  if  he  continued  to  ascend,  he  must  soon  emerge. 
When  he  appeared  there,  he  would  try  to  call  to  him. 

Again  the  ashes  slipped  and  crumbled  ;  some  stones  rolled 
down  and  fell  with  a  dull,  heavy  sound  upon  the  ground  be- 
low. He  kept  his  eyes  upon  the  piece  of  moonlight.  The 
figure  was  coming  on,  for  its  shadow  was  already  thrown 
upon  the  wall.  Now  it  appeared — and  now  looked  round 
at  him — and  now 

The  horror-stricken  clerk  uttered  a  scream  that  pierced 
the  air,  and  cried  "  The  ghost  !     The  ghost !  " 

Long  before  the  echo  of  his  cry  had  died  away,  another 
form  rushed  out  into  the  light,  flung  itself  upon  the  fore- 
most one,  kneeled  down  upon  its  breast,  and  clutched  its 
throat  with  both  hands. 

''  Villain  !  "  cried  Mr.  Haredale,  in  a  terrible  voice — for 
it  was  he.  "  Dead  and  buried,  as  all  men  supposed  through 
your  infernal  arts,  but  reserved  by  heaven  for  this — at  last — 
at  last  I  have  you.  You  whose  hands  are  red  with  my 
brother  s  blood,  and  that  of  his  faithful  servant,  shed  to  con- 
ceal your  own  atrocious  guilt.  You,  Rudge,  double  mur- 
derer and  monster,  I  arrest  you  in  the  name  of  God,  who 
has  delivered  you  into  my  hands.  No.  Though  you  had 
the  strength  of  twenty  men,"  he  added,  as  the  murderer 
writhed  and  struggled,  "  you  could  not  escape  me  or  loosen 
my  grasp  to-night." 


CHAPTER   LVII. 

Barnaby,  armed  as  we  have  seen,  continued  to  pace  up  and 
down  before  the  stable  door  ;  glad  to  be  alone  again,  and 
heartily  rejoicing  in  the  unaccustomed  silence  and  tranquil- 
lity. After  the  whirl  of  noise  and  riot  in  which  the  last  two 
days  had  been  passed,  the  pleasures  of  solitude  and  peace 
were  enhanced  a  thousand  fold.  He  felt  quite  happy  ;  and  as 
he  leaned  upon  his  staff  and  mused,  a  bright  smile  overspread- 
his  face,  and  none  but  cheerful  visions  floated  into  his  brain. 

Had  he  no  thoughts  of  her,  whose  sole  delight  he  was, 
and  whom  he  had  unconsciously  plunged  in  such  bitter  sor- 
row and  such  deep  affliction  ?  Oh,  yes.  She  was  at  the  heart 
of  all  his  cheerful  hopes  and  proud  reflections.  It  was  she 
v/hom  all  this  honor  and  distinction  were  to  gladden  ;  the 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  423 

joy  and  profit  were  for  her.  What  deHght  it  gave  her  to 
hear  of  the  bravery  of  her  poor  boy  !  Ah  !  He  would  have 
known  that,  without  Hugh's  telling  him.  And  what  a 
precious  thing  it  was  to  know  she  lived  so  happily,  and  heard 
with  so  much  pride  (he  pictured  to  himself  her  look  when 
they  told  her)  that  he  was  in  such  high  esteem  :  bold  among 
the  boldest,  and  trusted  before  them  all.  And  when  these 
frays  were  over,  and  the  good  lord  had  conquered  his  ene- 
mies, and  they  were  all  at  peace  again,  and  he  and  she  were 
rich,  what  happiness  they  would  have  in  talking  of  these 
troubled  times  when  he  was  a  great  soldier  :  and  when  they 
sat  alone  together  in  the  tranquil  twilight,  and  she  had  no 
longer  reason  to  be  anxious  for  the  morrow,  what  pleasure 
would  he  have  in  the  reflection  that  this  was  his  doing — his 
— poor  foolish  Barnaby  ;  and  in  patting  her  on  the  cheek, 
and  saying  with  a  merry  laugh,  "  Am  I  silly  now,  mother — 
am  I  silly  now  ?  " 

With  a  lighter  heart  and  step,  and  eyes  the  brighter  for 
the  happy  tear  that  dimmed  them  for  a  moment,  Barnaby 
resumed  his  walk  ;  and  singing  gayly  to  himself,  kept  guard 
upon  his  quiet  post. 

His  comrade  Grip,  the  partner  of  his  watch,  though  fond 
of  basking  in  the  sunshine,  preferred  to-day  to  walk  about 
the  stable  ;  having  a  great  deal  to  do  in  the  way  of  scatter- 
ing the  straw,  hiding  under  it  such  small  articles  as  had 
been  casually  left  about,  and  haunting  Hugh's  bed,  to  which 
he  seemed  to  have  taken  a  particular  attachment.  Some- 
times Barnaby  looked  in  and  called  him,  and  then  he  came 
hopping  out  ;  but  he  merely  did  this  as  a  concession  to  his 
master's  weakness,  and  soon  returned  again  to  his  own  grave 
pursuits  ;  peering  into  the  straw  with  his  bill,  and  rapidly 
covering  up  the  place,  as  if,  Midas-like,  he  were  whispering 
secrets  to  the  earth  and  burying  them  ;  constantly  busying 
himself  upon  the  sly  ;  and  affecting,  whenever  Barnaby  came 
past,  to  look  up  in  the  clouds  and  have  nothing  whatever  on 
his  mind  :  in  short,  conducting  himself,  in  many  respects,  in 
a  more  than  usually  thoughtful,  deep  and  mysterious  manner. 

As  the  day  crept  on,  Barnaby,  who  had  no  directions  for- 
bidding him  to  eat  or  drink  upon  his  post,  but  had  been,  on 
the  contrary,  supplied  with  a  bottle  of  beer  and  a  b'asket  of 
provisions,  determined  to  break  his  fast,  which  he  had  not 
done  since  morning.  To  this  end,  he  sat  down  on  the  ground 
before  the  door,  and  putting  his  staff  across  his  knees  in  case 
of  alarm  or  surprise,  summoned  Grip  to  dinner. 


424  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

This  call  the  bird  obeyed  with  great  alacrity  ;  crying,  as  he 
siiled  up  to  his  master,  "  I'm  a  devil,  I'm  a  Polly,  I'm  a  ket- 
tle, I'm  a  Protestant,  No  Popery  !  "  Having  learned  this 
latter  sentiment  from  the  gentry  among  whom  he  had  lived 
of  late,  he  delivered  it  with  uncommon  emphasis.  ■ 

"  Well  said,  Grip  !  "  cried  his  master,  as  he  fed  him  with 
the  daintiest  bits.     "  Well  said,  old  boy  !  " 

"  Never  say  die,  bow-wow-wow,  keep  up  your  spirits,  Grip, 
Grip,  Grip,  Holloa  !  We'll  all  have  tea,  I'm  a  Protestant 
kettle,  No  Popery  !  "  cried   the  raven. 

"  Gordon  forever.  Grip  !  "  cried  Barnaby. 

The  raven,  placing  his  head  upon  the  ground,  looked  at 
his  master  sideways,  as  though  he  would  have  said,  "  Say 
that  again  !  "  Perfectly  understanding  his  desire,  Barnaby 
repeated  the  phrase  a  great  many  times.  The  bird  listened 
with  profound  attention  ;  sometimes  repeating  the  popular 
cry  in  a  low  voice,  as  if  to  compare  the  two,  and  try  if  it 
would  at  all  help  him  to  this  new  accomplishment  ;  some- 
times flapping  his  wings,  or  barking  ;  and  sometimes  in  a 
kind  of  desperation  drawing  a  multitude  of  corks,  with  extra- 
ordinary viciousness. 

Barnaby  was  so  intent  upon  his  favorite,  that  he  was  not 
at  first  aware  of  the  approach  of  two  persons  on  horseback, 
who  were  riding  at  a  foot-pace,  and  coming  straight  toward 
his  post.  When  he  perceived  them,  however,  which  he  did 
when  they  were  within  some  fifty  yards  of  him,  he  jumped 
hastily  up,  and  ordering  Grip  within  doors,  stood  with  both 
hands  on  his  staff,  waiting  until  he  should  know  whether 
they  were  friends  or  foes. 

He  had  hardly  done  so  when  he  observed  that  those  who 
advanced  were  a  gentleman  and  his  servant  ;  almost  at  the 
same  moment  he  recognized  Lord  George  Gordon,  before 
whom  he  stood  uncovered,  with  his  eyes  turned  toward  the 
ground. 

"  Good-day  !  "  said  Lord  George,  not  reining  in  his  horse 
until  he  was  close  beside  him.     "  Well  ! " 

"  All  quiet,  sir,  all  safe  !  "  cried  Barnaby.  "  The  rest  are 
away — they  went  by  that  path — that  one.  A  grand 
party  !  " 

*'  Ah  ?  "  said  Lord  George  looking  thoughtfully  at  him. 
"  And  you  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  They  left  me  here  to  watch — to  mount  guard — to 
keep  every  thing  secure  till  they  come  back.  I'll  do  it,  sir, 
for  your  sake.     You're  a  good  gentleman  ;  a  kind  gentleman 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  425 

— ay,  you  are.  There  are  many  against  you,  but  we'll  be  a 
match  for  them,  never  fear  !  " 

"  What's  that  ?  "  said  Lord  George — pointing  to  the  raven, 
who  was  peeping  out  of  the  stable-door — but  still  looking 
thoughtfully,  and  in  some  perplexity,  it  seemed,  at  Barnaby. 

*'  Why,  don't  you  know  !  "  retorted  Barnaby  with  a  wonder- 
ing laugh.  "  Not  know  what  he  is  !  A  bird,  to  be  sure. 
My  bird — my  friend — Grip." 

"  A  devil,  a  kettle,  a  Grip,  a  Polly,  a  Protestant,  No 
Popery  !  "  cried  the  raven. 

"  Though,  indeed,"  added  Barnaby,  laying  his  hand  upon 
the  neck  of  Lord  George's  horse,  and  speaking  softly  : 
"  you  had  good  reason  to  ask  me  what  he  is,  for  sometimes 
it  puzzles  me — and  I  am  used  to  him — to  think  he's  only  a 
bird.  He's  my  brother,  Grip  is — always  with  me — always 
talking — always  merry — eh.  Grip  ?  " 

The  raven  answered  by  an  affectionate  croak,  and  hop- 
ping on  his  master's  arm,  which  he  held  downward  for  that 
purpose,  submitted  with  an  air  of  perfect  indifference  to  be 
fondled,  and  turned  his  restless,  curious  eye,  now  upon  Lord 
George,  and  now  upon  his  man. 

Lord  George,  biting  his  nails  in  a  discomfited  manner, 
regarded  Barnaby  for  some  time  in  silence  ;  then  beckoning 
to  his  servant,  said  : 

"  Come  hither,  John." 

John  Grueby  touched  his  hat,  and  came. 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  this  young  man  before  ?  "  his  master 
asked  in  a  low  voice. 

''  Twice,  my  lord,"  said  John.  "  I  see  him  in  the  crowd 
last  night  and  Saturday." 

*'  Did — did  it  seem  to  you  that  his  manner  was  at  all  wild 
or  strange  ? "  Lord  George  demanded,  faltering. 

"  Mad,"  said  John,  with  emphatic  brevity. 

"  And  why  do  you  think  him  mad,  sir  ? "  said  his  master, 
speaking  in  a  peevish  tone.  "  Don't  use  that  word  too  freely. 
Why  do  you  think  him  mad  ?  " 

"  My  lord,"  John  Grueby  answered,  "  look  at  his  dress, 
look  as  his  eyes,  look  at  his  restless  way,  hear  him  cry  '  No 
Popery  !  '    Mad,  my  lord." 

"  So,  because  one  man  dresses  unlike  another,"  returned 
his  angry  master,  glancing  at  himself,  "  and  happens  to  differ 
from  other  men  in  his  carriage  and  manner,  and  to  advocate 
a  great  cause  which  the  corrupt  and  irreligious  desert,  he  is 
to  be  accounted  mad,  is  he  ? " 


426  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  Stark,  staring,  raving,  roaring  mad,  my  lord,"  returned 
the  unmoved  John. 

"  Do  you  say  this  to  my  face  ? "  cried  his  master,  turning 
sharply  upon  him. 

"  To  any  man,  my  lord,  who  asks  me,"  answered  John. 

"  Mr.  Gashford,  I  find,  was  right,"  said  Lord  George  ;  "I 
thought  him  prejudiced,  though  I  ought  to  have  known  a 
man  like  him  better  than  to  have  supposed  it  possible  !  " 

''  1  shall  never  have  Mr.  Gashford's  good  word,  my  lord," 
replied  John,  touching  his  hat  respectfully,  "  and  I  don't 
covet  it." 

"  You  are  an  ill-conditioned,  most  ungrateful  fellow,"  said 
Lord  George  ;  "  a  spy,  for  any  thing  I  know.  Mr.  Gash- 
ford  is  perfectly  correct,  as  I  might  have  felt  convinced  he 
was.  I  have  done  wrong  to  retain  you  in  my  service.  It  is 
a  tacit  insult  to  him  as  my  choice  and  confidential  friend  to 
do  so,  remembering  the  cause  you  sided  with,  on  the  day  he 
was  maligned  at  Westminster.  You  will  leave  me  to-night 
— nay,  as  soon  as  you  reach  home.  The  sooner  the  bet- 
ter." 

"  If  it  comes  to  that,  I  say  so  too,  my  lord.  Let  Mr.  Gash- 
ford  have  his  will.  As  to  my  being  a  spy,  my  lord,  you  know 
me  better  than  to  believe  it,  I  am  sure.  I  don't  know  much 
about  causes.  My  cause  is  the  cause  of  one  man  against  two 
hundred  ;  and  I  hope  it  always  will  be." 

*'  You  have  said  quite  enough,"  returned  Lord  George, 
motioning  him  to  go  back.    "  I  desire  to  hear  no  more." 

"  If  you'll  let  me  have  another  word,  my  lord,"  returned 
John  Grueby,  '*  I'd  give  this  silly  fellow  a  caution  not  to  stay 
here  by  himself.  The  proclamation  is  in  a  good  many  hands 
already,  and  it's  well  known  that  he  was  concerned  in  the 
business  it  relates  to.  He  had  better  get  to  a  place  of  safety 
if  he  can,  poor  creature." 

''  You  hear  what  this  man  says  ?"  cried  Lord  George,  ad- 
dressing Barnaby,  who  had  looked  on  and  wondered  while 
this  dialogue  passed.  *'  He  thinks  you  may  be  afraid  to  re- 
main upon  your  post,  and  are  kept  here  perhaps  against  your 
will.     What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  I  think,  young  man,"  said  John,  in  explanation,  *'  that 
the  soldiers  may  turn  out  and  take  you  ;  and  that  if  they  do, 
you  will  certainly  be  hung  by  the  neck  till  you're  dead — dead 
— dead.  And  I  think  you  had  better  go  from  here,  as  fast 
as  you  can.     That's  what  /  think." 

"  He's  a  coward,  Grip,  a  coward,"  cried  Barnaby,  putting 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  427 

the  raven  on  the  ground,  and  shouldering  his  staff.  "  Let 
them  come  !     Gordon  forever !     Let  them  come  !  " 

"  Ay  !  "  said  Lord  George,  "  let  them  !  Let  us  see  who  will 
venture  to  attack  a  power  like  ours  ;  the  solemn  league  of  a 
whole  people.  This  a  madman  !  You  have  said  well,  very 
well.     I  am  proud  to  be  the  leader  of  such  men  as  you." 

Barnaby's  heart  swelled  within  his  bosom  as  he  heard  these 
words.  He  took  Lord  George's  hand  and  €arried  it  to  his 
lips  ;  patted  his  horse's  crest,  as  if  the  affection  and  admira- 
tion he  had  conceived  for  the  man  extended  to  the  animal 
he  rode  ;  then  unfurling  his  flag,  and  proudly  waving  it,  re- 
sumed his  pacing  up  and  down. 

Lord  George,  with  a  kindling  eye  and  glowing  cheek,  took 
off  his  hat,  and  flourishing  it  above  his  head,  bade  him  exult- 
ingly  farewell ! — then  cantered  off  at  a  brisk  pace  ;  after  glanc- 
ing angrily  round  to  see  that  his  servant  followed.  Honest 
John  set  spurs  to  his  horse  and  rode  after  his  master,  but  not 
before  he  had  again  warned  Barnaby  to  retreat,  with  many 
significant  gestures,  which  indeed  he  continued  to  make,  and 
Barnaby  to  resist,  until  the  windings  of  the  road  concealed 
them  from  each  other's  view. 

Left  to  himself  again  with  a  still  higher  sense  of  the  impor- 
tance of  his  post,  and  stimulated  to  enthusiasm  by  the  special 
notice  and  encouragement  of  his  leader,  Barnaby  walked  to 
and  fro  in  a  delicious  trance  rather  than  as  a  waking  man. 
The  sunshine  which  prevailed  around  was  in  his  mind.  He 
had  but  one  desire  ungratified.  If  she  could  only  see  him 
now  ! 

The  day  wore  on  ;  its  heat  was  gently  giving  place  to  the 
cool  of  evening  ;  a  light  wind  sprung  up,  fanning  his  long  hair, 
and  making  the  banner  rustle  pleasantly  above  his  head. 
There  was  a  freedom  and  freshness  in  the  sound  and  in  the 
time,  which  chimed  exactly  with  his  mood.  He  was  happier 
than  ever. 

He  was  leaning  on  his  staff  looking  toward  the  declining 
sun,  and  reflecting  with  a  smile  that  he  stood  sentinel  at  that 
moment  over  buried  gold,  when  two  or  three  figures  appeared 
in  the  distance,  making  toward  the  house  at  a  rapid  pace,  and 
motioning  with  their  hands  as  though  they  urged  its  inmates 
to  retreat  from  some  approaching  danger.  xAs  they  drew 
nearer,  they  became  more  earnest  in  their  gestures  ;  and  they 
were  no  sooner  within  hearing,  than  the  foremost  among  them 
cried  that  the  soldiers  were  coming  up. 

At  these  words,  Barnaby  furled  his  flag,  and  tied  it  round 


428  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

the  pole.  His  heart  beat  high  while  he  did  so,  but  he  had  no 
more  fear  or  thought  of  retreating  than  the  pole  itself.  The 
friendly  stragglers  hurried  past  him,  after  giving  him  notice  of 
his  danger,  and  quickly  passed  into  the  house,  where  the 
utmost  confusion  immediately  prevailed.  As  those  within 
hastily  closed  the  windows  and  the  doors,  they  urged  him  by 
looks  and  signs  to  fly  without  loss  of  time,  and  called  to  him 
many  times  to  do  so  ;  but  he  only  shook  his  head  indignantly 
in  answer,  and  stood  the  firmer  on  his  post.  Finding  that 
he  was  not  to  be  persuaded,  they  took  care  of  themselves  ; 
and  leaving  the  place  with  only  one  old  woman  in  it,  speed- 
ily withdrew. 

As  yet  there  had  been  no  symptoms  of  the  news  having  any 
better  foundation  than  in  the  fears  of  those  who  brought  it, 
but  The  Boot  had  not  been  deserted  five  minutes,  when  there 
appeared,  coming  across  the  fields,  a  body  of  men,  who,  it 
was  easy  to  see,  by  the  glitter  of  their  arms  and  ornaments 
in  the  sun,  and  by  their  orderly  and  regular  mode  of  advanc- 
ing— for  they  came  on  as  one  man — were  soldiers.  In  a 
very  little  time,  Barnaby  knew  that  they  were  a  strong  de- 
tachment of  the  Foot  Guards,  having  along  with  them  two 
gentlemen  in  private  clothes,  and  a  small  party  of  horse  ; 
the  latter  brought  up  the  rear,  and  were  not  in  number  more 
than  six  or  eight. 

They  advanced  steadily  ;  neither  quickening  their  pace  as 
they  came  nearer,  nor  raising  any  cry,  nor  showing  the  least 
emotion  or  anxiety.  Though  this  was  a  matter  of  course  in 
the  case  of  regular  troops,  even  to  Barnaby,  there  was  some- 
thing particularly  impressive  and  disconcerting  in  it  to  one 
accustomed  to  the  noise  and  tumult  of  an  undisciplined  mob. 
For  all  that,  he  stood  his  ground  not  a  whit  the  less  reso- 
lutely, and  looked  on  undismayed. 

Presently,  they  marched  into  the  yard,  and  halted.  The 
commanding  officer  dispatched  a  messenger  to  the  horsemen, 
one  of  whom  came  riding  back.  Some  words  passed  between 
them,  and  they  glanced  at  Barnaby  ;  who  well  remembered 
the  man  he  had  unhorsed  at  Westminster,  and  saw  him  now 
before  his  eyes.  The  man  being  speedily  dismissed,  saluted, 
and  rode  back  to  his  comrades,  who  were  drawn  up  apart  at 
a  short  distance. 

The  officer  then  gave  the  word  to  prime  and  load.  The 
heavy  ringing  of  the  musket-stocks  upon  the  ground,  and 
the  sharp  and  rapid  rattling  of  the  ramrods  in  their  barrels, 
were  a  kind  of  relief  to  Baruaby,  deadly  though  he  knew  the 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  429 

purport  of  such  sounds  to  be.  When  this  was  done,  other 
commands  were  given,  and  the  soldiers  instantaneously 
formed  in  single  file  all  round  the  house  and  stables  ;  com- 
pletely encircling  them  in  every  part,  at  a  distance,  perhaps, 
of  some  half-dozen  yards  ;  at  least  that  seemed  in  Barnaby's 
eyes  to  be  about  the  space  left  between  himself  and  those 
who  confronted  him.  The  horsemen  remained  drawn  up 
by  themselves  as  before. 

The  two  gentlemen  in  private  clothes  who  had  kept  aloof, 
now  rode  forward  one  on  either  side  of  the  officer.  The 
proclamation  having  been  produced  and  read  by  one  of  them, 
the  officer  called  on  Barnaby  to  surrender. 

He  made  no  answer,  but  stepping  within  the  door,  before 
which  he  had  kept  guard,  held  his  pole  crosswise  to  protect 
it.  In  the  midst  of  a  profound  silence,  he  was  again  called 
upon  to  yield. 

Still  he  offered  no  reply.  Indeed  he  had  enough  to  do, 
to  run  his  eye  backward  and  forward  along  the  half-dozen 
men  who  immediately  fronted  him,  and  settle  hurriedly 
within  himself  at  which  of  them  he  would  strike  first,  when 
they  pressed  on  him.  He  caught  the  eye  of  one  in  the  cen- 
ter, and  resolved  to  hew  that  fellow  down,  though  he  died 
for  it 

Again  there  was  a  dead  silence,  and  again  the  same  voice 
called  upon  him  to  deliver  himself  up 

Next  moment  he  was  back  in  the  stable,  dealing  blows 
about  him  like  a  madman.  Two  of  the  men  lay  stretched 
at  his  feet  ;  the  one  he  had  marked,  dropped  first — he  had  a 
thought  for  that,  even  in  the  hot  blood  and  hurry  of  the  strug- 
gle. Another  blow — another  !  Down,  mastered,  wounded 
in  the  nreast  by  a  heavy  blow  from  the  butt  end  of  a  gun 
(he  saw  the  weapon  in  the  act  of  falling) — breathless — and 
a  prisoner. 

An  exclamation  of  surprise  from  the  officer  recalled  him, 
in  some  degree,  to  himself.  He  looked  round.  Grip,  after 
working  in  secret  all  the  afternoon,  and  with  redoubled  vigor 
while  every  body's  attention  was  distracted,  had  plucked 
away  the  straw  from  Hugh's  bed,  and  turneiup  the  loose 
ground  with  his  iron  bill.  The  hole  had  been  recklessly 
filled  to  the  brim,  and  was  merely  sprinkled  with  earth. 
Golden  cups,  spoons,  candlesticks,  coined  guineas — all  the 
riches  were  revealed. 

They  brought  spades  and  a  sack  ;  dug  up  every  thing  that 
was  hidden  there  ;  and  carried  away  more  than  two  men 


430  BARNABY  RJDCxE. 

could  lift.  They  handcuffed  him  and  bound  his  arms, 
searched  him,  and  took  away  all  he  had.  Nobody  ques- 
tioned or  reproached  him,  or  seemed  to  have  much  curios- 
ity about  him.  The  two  men  he  had  stunned  were  carried 
off  by  their  companions  in  the  same  business-like  way  in 
which  every  thing  else  was  done.  Finally,  he  was  left  under 
a  guard  of  four  soldiers  with  fixed  bayonets,  while  the  officer 
directed  in  person  the  search  of  the  house  and  the  other 
buildings  connected  with  it. 

This  was  soon  completed.  The  soldiers  formed  again  in 
the  yard  ;  he  was  marched  out,  with  his  guard  about  him  ; 
and  ordered  to  fall  in,  where  a  space  was  left.  The  others 
closed  up  all  round,  and  so  they  moved  away,  with  the  pris- 
oner in  the  center. 

When  they  came  into  the  streets,  he  felt  he  was  a  sight  ; 
and  looking  up  as  they  passed  quickly  along,  could  see  peo- 
ple running  to  the  windows  a  little  too  late,  and  throwing 
up  the  sashes  to  look  after  him.  Sometimes  he  met  a  star- 
ing face  beyond  the  heads  about  him,  or  under  the  arms  of 
his  conductors,  or  peering  down  upon  him  from  a  wagon-top 
or  coach-box  ;  but  this  was  all  he  saw^  being  surrounded  by 
so  many  men.  The  very  noises  of  the  streets  seemed  muffled 
and  subdued  ;  and  the  air  cam.e  stale  and  hot  upon  him, 
like  the  sickly  breath  of  an  oven. 

Tramp,  tramp.  Tramp,  tramp.  Heads  erect,  shoulders 
square,  every  man  stepping  in  exact  time — all  so  orderly  and 
regular — nobody  looking  at  him — nobody  seeming  conscious 
of  his  presence — he  could  hardly  believe  he  was  a  prisoner. 
But  at  the  word,  though  only  thought,  not  spoken,  he  felt 
the  handcuffs  galling  his  wrists,  the  cord  pressing  his  arms  to 
his  sides  ;  the  loaded  guns  leveled  at  his  head  ;  and  those 
cold,  bright,  sharp,  shining  points  turned  toward  him  ;  the 
mere  looking  down  at  which,  now  that  he  was  bound  and 
helpless,  made  the  warm  current  of  his  life  run  cold. 


CHAPTER  LVni. 

They  were  not  long  in  reaching  the  barracks,  for  the  offi- 
cer who  commanded  the  party  was  desirous  to  avoid  the 
rousing  the  people  by  the  display  of  military  force  in  the 
streets,  and  was  humanely  anxious  to  give  as  little  opportu- 
nity as  possible  for  any  attempt  at  rescue  ;  knowing  that  it 
must  lead  to  bloodshed  and  loss  of  life,  and  that  if  the  civil 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  431 

authorities  by  whom  he  was  accompanied,  empowered  him 
to  order  his  men  to  fire,  many  innocent  persons  would  proba- 
bly fall,  whom  curiosity  or  idleness  had  attracted  to  the  spot. 
He  therefore  led  the  party  briskly  on,  avoiding  with  a  mer- 
ciful prudence  the  more  public  and  crowded  thoroughfares, 
and  pursuing  those  which  he  deemed  least  likely  to  be  in- 
fested by  disorderly  persons.  This  wise  proceeding  not  only 
enabled  them  to  gain  their  quarters  without  any  interrup- 
tion, but  completely  baffled  a  body  of  rioters  who  had  as- 
sembled in  one  of  the  main  streets,  through  which  it  was 
considered  certain  they  would  pass,  and  who  remained  to- 
gether for  the  purpose  of  releasing  the  prisoner  from  their 
hands,  long  after  they  had  deposited  him  in  a  place  of 
security,  closed  the  barrack-gates,  and  set  a  double  guard  at 
every  entrance  for  its  better  protection. 

Arrived  at  this  place,  poor  Barnaby  was  marched  into  a 
stone-floored  room,  where  there  was  a  very  powerful  smell  of 
tobacco,  a  strong  thorough  draught  of  air,  and  a  great 
wooden  bedstead,  large  enough  for  a  score  of  men.  Several 
soldiers  in  undress  were  lounging  about,  or  eating  from  tin 
cans  ;  military  accouterments  dangled  on  rows  of  pegs  along 
the  whitewashed  wall  ;  and  some  half-dozen  men  lay  fast 
asleep  upon  their  backs,  snoring  in  concert.  After  remaining 
here  just  long  enough  to  note  these  things,  he  was  marched 
out  again,  and  conveyed  across  the  parade-ground  to  an- 
other portion  of  the  building. 

Perhaps  a  man  never  sees  so  much  at  a  glance  as  when  he 
is  in  a  situation  of  extremity.  The  chances  are  a  hundred 
to  one  that  if  Barnaby  had  lounged  in  at  the  gate  to  look 
about  him,  he  would  have  lounged  out  again  with  a  very  im- 
perfect idea  of  the  place,  and  would  have  remembered  very 
little  about  it.  But  as  he  was  taken  handcuffed  across  the 
graveled  area,  nothing  escaped  his  notice.  The  dry,  arid 
look  of  the  dusty  square,  and  of  the  bare  brick  building  ; 
the  clothes  hanging  at  soaie  of  the  windows  ;  and  the  men 
in  their  shirt-sleeves  and  braces,  lolling  with  half  their  bodies 
out  of  the  others  ;  the  green  sun-blinds  at  the  officers'  quar- 
ters, and  the  little  scanty  trees  in  front  ;  the  drummer-boys 
practicing  in  a  distant  court-yard  ;  the  men  at  drill  on  the 
parade  ;  the  two  soldiers  carrying  a  basket  between  them, 
who  winked  to  each  other  as  he  went  by,  and  _  slily  pointed 
to  their  throats  ;  the  spruce  sergeant  who  hurried  past  with 
a  cane  in  his  hand,  and  under  his  arm  a  clasped  book  with  a 
vellum  cover  ;  the  fellows  in  the  ground  floor  rooms,  furbish- 


432  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

ing  and  brushing  up  their  different  articles  of  dress,  who 
stopped  to  look  at  him,  and  whose  voices  as  they  spoke  to- 
gether echoed  loudly  through  the  empty  galleries  and 
passages  ; — every  thing,  down  to  the  stand  of  muskets  be- 
fore the  guard-house,  and  the  drum  with  a  pipe-clayed  belt 
attached,  in  one  corner,  impressed  itself  upon  his  observa- 
tion, as  though  he  had  noticed  them  in  the  same  place  a  hun- 
dred times,  or  had  been  a  whole  day  among  them,  in  place  of 
one  brief  hurried  minute. 

He  was  taken  into  a  small  paved  back  yard,  and  there  they 
opened  a  great  door,  plated  with  iron,  and  pierced  some  five 
feet  above  the  ground  with  a  few  holes  to  let  in  air  and 
light.  Into  this  dungeon  he  was  walked  straightway  ;  and 
having  locked  him  up  there,  and  placed  a  sentry  over  him, 
they  left  him  to  his  meditations. 

The  cell,  or  black  hole,  for  it  had  those  words  painted  on 
the  door,  was  very  dark,  and  having  recently  accommodated 
a  drunken  deserter,  by  no  means  clean.  Barnaby  felt  his 
way  to  some  straw  at  the  further  end,  and  looking  toward 
the  door,  tried  to  accustom  himself  to  the  gloom,  which,  com- 
ing from  the  bright  sunshine  out  of  doors,  was  not  an  easy 
task. 

There  was  a  kind  of  portico  or  colonnade  outside,  and 
this  obstructed  even  the  little  light  that  at  the  best  could 
have  found  its  way  through  the  small  apertures  in  the  door. 
The  footsteps  of  the  sentinel  echoed  monotonously  as  he 
paced  its  stone  pavement  to  and  fro  (reminding  Barnaby  of 
the  watch  he  had  so  lately  kept  himself)  ;  and  as  he  passed 
and  repassed  the  door,  he  made  the  cell  for  an  instant  so 
black  by  the  interposition  of  his  body,  that  at  his  going  aw^ay 
again  it  seemed  like  the  appearance  of  a  new  ray  of  light, 
and  was  quite  a  circumstance  to  look  for. 

When  the  prisoner  had  sat  some  time  upon  the  ground, 
gazing  at  the  chinks,  and  listening  to  the  advancing  and 
receding  footsteps  of  his  guard,  the  man  stood  still  upon  his 
post.  Barnaby,  quite  unable  to  think,  or  to  speculate  on 
what  would  be  done  with  him,  had  been  lulled  into  a  kind 
of  doze  by  his  regular  pace  ;  but  his  stopping  roused  him  ; 
and  then  he  became  aware  that  two  men  were  in  conversa- 
tion under  the  colonnade,  and  very  near  the  door  of  his 
cell. 

How  long  they  had  been  talking  there,  he  could  not  tell, 
for  he  had  fallen  into  an  unconsciousness  of  his  real  position, 
<Liid  whcrj  fh^  footsteps  cQSL^^d,  was  answ^ering  aloud  some 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  433 

question  which  seemed  to  have  been  put  to  him  by  Hugh  in 
the  stable,  though  of  the  fancied  purport,  either  of  question 
or  reply,  notwithstanding  that  he  awoke  with  the  latter  on 
his  lips,  he  had  no  recollection  whatever.  The  first  words 
that  reached  his  ears,  were  these  : 

"  Why  is  he  brought  here  then,  if  he  has  to  be  taken  away 
again  so  soon  ?  " 

"  Why,  where  would  you  have  him  go  ?  Damme,  he's  not 
as  safe  anywhere  as  among  the  king's  troops,  is  he  ?  What 
would  you  do  with  him  ?  Would  you  hand  him  over  to  a 
pack  of  cowardly  civilians,  that  shake  in  their  shoes  till  they 
wear  the  soles  out,  with  trembling  at  the  threats  of  the  raga- 
muffins he  belongs  to  ?  " 

"  That's  true  enough." 

"  True  enough  ! — I'll  tell  you  what.  I  wish,  Tom  Green, 
that  I  was  a  commissioned  instead  of  anon-commissioned  offi- 
cer, and  that  I  had  the  command  of  two  companies — only 
two  companies— of  my  own  regiment.  Call  me  out  to  stop 
these  riots — give  me  the  needful  authority,  and  half  a  dozen 
rounds  of  ball  cartridge — — " 

"  Ay  ?"  said  the  other  voice.  ''  That's  all  very  well,  but 
they  won't  give  the  needful  authority.  If  the  magistrate 
won't  give  the  word,  what's  the  officer  to  do  ?  " 

Not  very  well  knowing,  as  it  seemed,  how  to  overcome  this 
difficulty,  the  other  man  contented  himself  with  damning 
the  magistrates. 

"With  all  my  heart,"  said  his  friend. 

"  Where's  the  use  of  a  magistrate  ?  "  returned  the  other 
voice.  "  What's  a  magistrate  in  this  case,  but  an  imperti- 
nent, unnecessary,  unconstitutional  sort  of  interference  ? 
Here's  a  proclamation.  Here's  a  man  referred  to  in  that 
proclamation.  Here's  proof  against  him,  and  a  witness  on 
the  spot.  Damme  !  Take  him  out  and  shoot  him,  sir.  Who 
v/ants  a  magistrate  ?  " 

"  When  does  he  go  before  Sir  John  Fielding  ?  "  asked  the 
man  who  had  spoken  first.  ^^ 

"  To-night  at  eight  o'clock,"  returned  the  other.  Mark 
what  follows.  The.  magistrate  commits  him  to  Newgate. 
Our  people  take  him  to  Newgate.  The  rioters  pelt  our  peo- 
ple. Our  people  retire  before  the  rioters.  Stones  are 
thrown,  insults  are  offered,  not  a  shot's  fired.  ^^Why? 
Because  of  the  magistrates.     D— n  the  magistrates  ! " 

When  he  had  in  some  degree  relieved  his  mind  by  cursmg 
the  magistrates  in  various  other  forms  of  speecl-i^  the  man 


434  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

was  silent,  save  for  a  low  growling,  still  having  reference 
to  those  authorities,  which  from  time  to  time  escaped 
him. 

Barnaby,  who  had  wit  enough  to  know  that  this  conversa- 
tion concerned,  and  very  nearly  concerned,  himself,  remained 
perfectly  quiet  until  they  ceased  to  speak,  when  he  groped 
his  way  to  the  door,  and  peeping  through  the  air-holes,  tried 
to  make  out  what  kind  of  men  they  were  to  whom  he  had 
been  listening. 

The  one  who  condemned  the  civil  power  in  such  strong 
terms,  was  a  sergeant — engaged  just  then,  as  the  streaming 
ribbons  in  his  cap  announced,  on  the  recruiting  service. 
He  stood  leaning  sideways  against  a  pillar  nearly  opposite 
the  door,  and  as  he  growled  to  himself,  drew  figures  on  the 
pavement  with  his  cane.  The  other  man  had  his  back  toward 
the  dungeon  and  Barnaby  could  only  see  his  form.  To 
judge  from  that,  he  was  a  gallant,  manly,  handsome  fellow, 
but  he  had  lost  his  left  arm.  It  had  been  taken  off  between 
the  elbow  and  the  shoulder,  and  his  empty  coat-sleeve  hung 
across  his  breast. 

It  was  probably  this  circumstance  which  gave  him  an 
interest  beyond  any  that  his  companion  could  boast  of,  and 
attracted  Barnaby's  attention.  There  was  something  sol- 
dierly in  his  bearing,  and  he  wore  a  jaunty  cap  and  jacket. 
Perhaps  he  had  been  in  the  service  at  one  time  or  other.  If 
he  had,  it  could  not  have  been  very  long  ago,  for  he  was  but 
a  young  fellow  now. 

"  Well,  well,"  he  said,  thoughtfully  ;  "  let  the  fault  be 
where  it  may,  it  makes  a  man  sorrowful  to  come  back  to  old 
England,  and  see  her  in  this  condition." 

'*  I  suppose  the  pigs  will  join  'em  next,"  said  the  sergeant, 
with  an  imprecation  on  the  rioters,  "  now  that  the  birds  have 
set  'em  the  example." 

"  The  birds  !  "  repeated  Tom  Green. 

"Ah — birds,"  said  the  sergeant,  testily  ;  "that's  English, 
an't  it?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean." 

"  Go  to  the  guard-house,  and  see.  You'll  find  a  bird  there, 
that's  got  their  cry  as  pat  as  any  of  'em,  and  bawls  '  No 
Popery,*  like  a  man — or  like  a  devil,  as  he  says  he  is.  I 
shouldn't  wonder.  The  devil's  loose  in  London  somewhere. 
Damme  if  I  wouldn't  twist  his  neck  round,  on  the  chance,  if 
I  had  my  way." 

The  young  man  had  taken  two  or  three  steps  away,  as  if 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  435 

to  go  and  see  this  creature,  when  he  was  arrested  by  the  voice 
of  Barnaby. 

"  It's  mine,"  he  called  out,  half  laughing  and  half  weep- 
ing— "  my  pet,  my  friend  Grip.  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Don't  hurt 
him,  he  has  done  no.  harm.  I  taught  him;  it's  my  fault. 
Let  me  have  him,  if  you  please.  He's  the  only  friend  I  have 
left  now.  He'll  not  dance,  or  talk,  or  whistle  for  you,  I 
know ;  but  he  will  for  me,  because  he  knows  me  and  loves 
me — though  you  wouldn't  think  it — very  well.  You  wouldn't 
hurt  a  bird,  I'm  sure.  You're  a  brave  soldier,  sir,  and 
wouldn't  harm  a  woman  or  a  child — no,  no,  nor  a  poor  bird, 
I'm  certain." 

This  latter  adjuration  was  addressed  to  the  sergeant,  whom 
Barnaby  judged  from  his  red  coat  to  be  high  in  office,  and 
able  to  seal  Grip's  destiny  by  a  word.  But  that  gentleman, 
in  reply,  surlily  damned  him  for  a  thief  and  rebel  as  he  was, 
and  with  many  disinterested  imprecations  on  his  own  eyes, 
liver,  blood,  and  body,  assured  him  that  if  it  rested  with  him 
to  decide,  he  would  put  a  final  stopper  on  the  bird,  and  his 
master  too. 

"  You  talk  boldly  to  a  caged  man,"  said  Barnaby,  in  anger. 
"  If  I  was  on  the  other  side  of  the  door  and  there  were  none 
to  part  us,  you'd  change  your  note — ay,  you  may  toss  your 
head — you  would  !  Kill  the  bird — do.  Kill  any  thing  you 
can,  and  so  revenge  yourself  on  those  who  with  their  bare 
hands  untied  could  do  as  much  to  you  ! " 

Having  vented  his  defiance,  he  flung  himself  into  the 
furthest  corner  of  his  prison,  and  muttering,  "  Good-by, 
Grip— good-by,  dear  old  Grip  !  "  shed  tears  for  the  first 
time  since  he  had  been  taken  captive,  and  hid  his  face  in 
the  straw. 

He  had  had  some  fancy  at  first  that  the  one-armed  man 
would  help  him,  or  would  give  him  a  kind  word  in  answer. 
He  hardly  knew  why,  but  he  hoped  and  thought  so.  The 
young  fellow  had  stopped  when  he  called  out,  and  checking 
himself  in  the  very  act  of  turning  round,  stood  listening  to 
every  word  he  said.  Perhaps  he  built  his  feeble  trust  on 
this  ;  perhaps  on  his  being  young,  and  having  a  frank  and 
honest  manner.  However  that  might  be,  he  built  on  sand. 
The  other  went  away  directly  he  had  finished  speaking,  and 
neither  answered  him  nor  returned.  No  matter.  They  were 
all  against  him  here  ;  he  might  have  known  as  much.  Good- 
by,  old  Grip  !  good-by  ! 

After  some  time,  they  came  and  unlocked  the  door,  and 


436  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

called  to  him  to  come  out.  He  rose  directly  and  com- 
plied, for  he  would  not  have  them  think  he  was  subdued  or 
frightened.  He  walked  out  like  a  man,  and  looked  from 
face  to  face. 

None  of  them  returned  his  gaze  or  seemed  to  notice  it. 
They  marched  him  back  to  the  parade  by  the  way  they  had 
brought  him,  and  there  they  halted,  among  a  body  of  sol- 
diers, at  least  twice  as  numerous  as  that  which  had  taken 
him  prisoner  in  the  afternoon.  The  officer  he  had  seen 
before  bade  him  in  a  few  brief  words  take  notice  that  if  he 
attempted  to  escape,  no  matter  how  favorable  a  chance  he 
might  suppose  he  had,  certain  of  the  men  had  orders  to  fire 
upon  him  that  moment.  They  then  closed  round  him  as 
before,  and  marched  him  off  again. 

In  the  same  unbroken  order  they  arrived  at  Bow  Street, 
followed  and  beset  on  all  sides  by  a  crowd  which  was  con- 
tinually increasing.  Here  he  was  placed  before  a  blind 
gentleman,  and  asked  if  he  wished  to  say  any  thing.  Not  he. 
What  had  he  got  to  tell  them  ?  After  a  very  little  talking 
which  he  was  careless  of  and  quite  indifferent  to,  they  told 
him  he  was  to  go  to  Newgate,  and  took  him  away. 

He  went  out  into  the  street,  so  surrounded  and  hemmed 
in  on  every  side  by  soldiers,  that  he  could  see  nothing ;  but 
he  knew  there  was  a  great  crowd  of  people,  by  the  murmur  ; 
and  that  they  were  not  friendly  to  the  soldiers,  was  soon 
rendered  evident  by  their  yells  and  hisses.  How  often  and 
how  eagerly  he  listened  for  the  voice  of  Hugh  !  No.  There 
was  not  a  voice  he  knew  among  them  all.  Was  Hugh  a 
prisoner  too  ?     Was  there  no  hope  t 

As  they  came  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  prison,  the  hoot- 
ings  of  the  people  grew  more  violent ;  stones  were  thrown  ; 
and  every  now  and  then  a  rush  was  made  against  the  soldiers, 
which  they  staggered  under.  One  of  them,  close  before  him, 
smarting  under  a  blow  upon  the  temple,  leveled  his  musket, 
but  the  officer  struck  it  upward  with  his  sword,  and  ordered 
him  on  peril  of  his  life  to  desist.  This  was  the  last  thing  he 
saw  with  any  distinctness,  for  directly  afterward  he  was 
tossed  about,  and  beaten  to  and  fro,  as  though  in  a  tem- 
pestuous sea.  But  go  where  he  would,  there  were  the  same 
guards  about  him.  Twice  or  thrice  he  was  thrown  down, 
and  so  were  they  ;  but  even  then  he  could  not  elude  their 
vigilance  for  a  moment.  They  were  up  again,  and  had 
closed  about  him,  before  he,  with  his  wrists  so  tightly  bound, 
could  scramble  to  his  feet.     Fenced  in  thus,  he  felt  himself 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  437 

hoisted  to  the  top  of  a  low  flight  of  steps,  and  then  for  a 
moment  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  fighting  in  the  crowd, 
and  of  a  few  red-coats  sprinkled  together,  here  and  there, 
struggling  to  rejoin  their  fellows.  Next  moment  every  thing 
was  dark  and  gloomy,  and  he  was  standing  in  the  prison 
lobby  ;  the  center  of  a  group  of  men. 

A  smith  was  speedily  in  attendance,  who  riveted  upon  him 
a  set  of  heavy  irons.  Stumbling  on  as  well  as  he  could,  be- 
neath the  unusual  burden  of  these  fetters,  he  was  conducted 
to  a  strong  stone  cell,  where,  fastening  the  door  with  locks, 
and  bolts,  and  chains,  they  left  him,  well  secured  ;  having 
first,  unseen  by  him,  thrust  in  Grip,  who,  with  his  head 
drooping  and  his  deep  black  plumes  rough  and  rumpled, 
appeared  to  comprehend  and  to  partake,  his  master's  fallen 
fortunes. 


CHAPTER    LIX. 

It  is  necessary  at  this  juncture  to  return  to  Hugh,  who, 
having,  as  we  have  seen,  called  to  the  rioters  to  disperse  from 
about  the  Warren,  and  meet  again  as  usual,  glided  back  into 
the  darkness  from  which  he  had  emerged,  and  reappeared  no 
more  that  night. 

He  paused  in  the  copse  which  sheltered  him  from  the  ob- 
servation of  his  mad  companions,  and  waited  to  ascertain 
whether  they  drew  off  at  his  bidding,  or  still  lingered  and 
called  to  him  to  join  them.  Some  few,  he  saw,  were  indis- 
posed to  go  away  without  him,  and  made  toward  the  spot 
where  he  stood  concealed  as  though  they  were  about  to  fol- 
low in  his  footsteps,  and  urge  him  to  come  back  ;  but  these 
men,  being  in  their  turn  called  to  by  their  friends,  and  in 
truth  not  greatly  caring  to  venture  into  the  dark  parts  of  the 
grounds,  where  they  might  be  easily  surprised  and  taken,  if 
any  of  the  neighbors  or  retainers  of  the  family  were  watching 
them  from  among  the  trees,  soon  abandoned  the  idea,  and 
hastily  assembling  such  men  as  they  found  of  their  mind  at 
the  moment,  straggled  off. 

When  he  was  satisfied  that  the  great  mass  of  the  insurgents 
were  imitating  this  example,  and  that  the  ground  was  rapidly 
clearing,  he  plunged  into  the  thickest  portion  of  the  little 
wood,  and,  crashing  the  branches  as  he  went,  made  straight 
toward  a  distant  light ;  guided  by  that,  and  by  the  sullen 
glow  of  the  fire  behind  him. 


43^  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

As  he  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  twinkling  beacon 
toward  which  he  bent  his  course,  the  red  glare  of  a  few 
torches  began  to  reveal  itself,  and  the  voices  of  men  speaking 
together  in  a  subdued  tone  broke  the  silence,  which,  save  for 
a  distant  shouting  now  and  then,  already  prevailed.  At 
length  he  cleared  the  wood,  and,  springing  across  a  ditch, 
stood  in  a  dark  lane,  where  a  small  body  of  ill-looking  vaga- 
bonds, whom  he  had  left  there  some  twenty  minutes  before, 
waited  his  coming  with  impatience. 

They  were  gathered  round  an  old  post-chaise  or  chariot, 
driven  by  one  of  themselves,  who  sat  postillion-wise  upon  the 
near  horse.  The  blinds  were  drawn  up,  and  Mr.  Tappertit 
and  Dennis  kept  guard  at  the  two  windows.  The  former 
assumed  the  command  of  the  party,  for  he  challenged  Hugh 
as  he  advanced  toward  them  ;  and  when  he  did  so,  those 
who  were  resting  on  the  ground  about  the  carriage  rose  to 
their  feet  and  clustered  round  him. 

"  Well  !  "  said  Simon,  in  a  low  voice  ;  "  is  all  right  ?  " 

''  Right  enough,"  replied  Hugh,  in  the  same  tone.  *'  They're 
dispersing  now — had  begun  before  I  came  away." 

"  And  is  the  coast  clear  ?  " 

"  Clear  enough  before  our  men,  I  take  it,"  said  Hugh. 
"  There  are  not  many  who,  knowing  of  their  work  over 
yonder,  will  want  to  meddle  with  'em  to  night.  Who's  got 
some  drink  here  ?" 

Every  body  had  some  plunder  from,  the  cellar  ;  half-a- 
dozen  flasks  and  bottles  were  offered  directly.  He  selected 
the  largest,  and  putting  it  to  his  mouth,  sent  the  wine  gur- 
gling down  his  throat.  Having  emptied  it,  he  threw  it  down, 
and  stretched  out  his  hand  for  another,  which  he  emptied 
likewise,  at  a  draught.  Another  was  given  him,  and  this  he 
half  emptied  too.  Reserving  what  remained  to  finish  with,  he 
asked  : 

**  Have  you  got  any  thing  to  eat,  any  of  you  ?  I'm  as  rav- 
enous as  a  hungry  wolf.  Which  of  you  was  in  the  larder — 
come  ?  " 

"  I  was,  brother,"  said  Dennis,  pulling  off  his  hat  and  fum- 
bling in  the  crown.  "  There's  a  matter  of  cold  venison  pasty 
somewhere  or  another  here,  if  that'll  do." 

"  Do  !  "  cried  Hugh,  seating  himself  on  the  pathway. 
'*  Bring  it  out !  Quick  !  Show  a  light  here,  and  gather 
round  !  ^  Let  me  sup  in  state,  my  lads  !     Ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

Entering  into  his  boisterous  humor,  for  they  all  had  drunk 
deeply,  and  were  as  wild  as  he,  they  crowded  about  him. 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


439 


while  two  of  their  number  who  had  torches,  held  them  up, 
one  on  either  side  of  him,  that  his  banquet  might  not  be  dis- 
patched in  the  dark.  Mr.  Dennis,  having  by  this  time  suc- 
ceeded in  extricating  from  his  hat  a  great  mass  of  pasty, 
which  had  been  wedged  in  so  tightly  that  it  was  not  easily 
got  out,  put  it  before  him  ;  and  Hugh,  having  borrowed  a 
notched  and  jagged  knife  from  one  of  the  company,  fell  to 
work  upon  it  vigorously. 

"  I  shall  recommend  you  to  swallow  a  little  fire  every  day, 
about  an  hour  afore  dinner,  brother,"  said  Dennis,  after  a 
pause.  "  It  seems  to  agree  with  you,  and  to  stimulate  your 
appetite," 

Hugh  looked  at  him,  and  at  the  blackened  faces  by  which 
he  was  surrounded,  and,  stopping  for  a  moment  to  flourish 
his  knife  above  his  head,  answered  with  a  roar  of  laughter. 

*'  Keep  order,  there,  will  you  ?  "  said  Simon  Tappertit. 

"  Why,  isn't  a  man  allowed  to  regale  himself,  noble  cap- 
tain," retorted  his  lieutenant,  parting  the  men  who  stood  be- 
tween them,  with  his  knife,  that  he  might  see  him — "  to  re- 
gale himself  a  little  bit  after  such  work  as  mine  ?  What  a 
hard  captain  !  What  a  strict  captain  !  What  a  tyrannical 
captain  !     Ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

"  I  wish  one  of  you  fellers  would  hold  a  bottle  to  his  mouth 
to  keep  him  quiet,"  said  Simon,  "  unless  you  want  the  mili- 
tary to  be  down  upon  us," 

"  And  what  if  they  are  down  upon  us  !  "  retorted  Hugh, 
"  Who  cares  ?  Who's  afraid  ?  Let  'em  come,  /  say,  let  'em 
come.  The  more,  the  merrier.  Give  me  bold  Barnaby  at 
my  side,  and  we  two  will  settle  the  military,  without  troub- 
ling any  of  you.  Barnaby's  the  man  for  the  military.  Barn- 
aby's  health." 

But  as  the  majority  of  those  present  were  by  no  means  anx- 
ioiis  for  a  second  engagement  that  night,  being  already  weary 
and  exhausted,  they  sided  Avith  Mr,  Tappertit,  and  pressed 
him  to  make  haste  with  his  supper,  for  they  had  already  de- 
layed too  long.  Knowing,  even  in  the  height  of  his  frenzy, 
that  they  incurred  great  danger  by  lingering  so  near  the 
scene  of  the  late  outrages,  Hugh  made  an  end  of  his  meal 
without  more  remonstrance,  and  rising,  stepped  up  to  Mr. 
Tappertit,  and  smote  him  on  the  back. 

"  Now  then,"  he  cried,  "  I'm  ready.  There  are  brave  birds 
inside  this  cage,  eh  ?  Delicate  birds— tender,  loving,  Httle 
doves,     I  caged  'em — I  caged  'em — one  more  peep  !  " 

He  thrust  the  little  man  aside  as  he  spoke,  and  mounting 


440  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

on  the  steps,  which  were  half  let  down,  pulled  down  the  blind 
by  force,  and  stared  into  the  chaise  like  an  ogre  into  his 
larder. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  and  did  you  scratch,  and  pinch,  and  strug- 
gle, pretty  mistress  ? "  he  cried,  as  he  grasped  a  little  hand 
that  sought  in  vain  to  free  itself  from  his  grip  ;  '*  you,  so 
bright-eyed,  and  cherry-lipped,  and  daintily  made  ?  But  I 
love  you  better  for  it,  mistress.  Ay,  I  do.  You  should  stab 
me  and  welcome,  so  that  it  pleased  you,  and  you  had  to  cure 
me  afterward.  I  love  to  see  you  proud  and  scornful.  It 
makes  you  handsomer  than  ever  ;  and  who  so  handsome  as 
you  at  any  time,  my  pretty  one  !  " 

''  Come  !  "  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  who  had  waited  during  this 
speech  with  considerable  impatience.  "  There's  enough  of 
that.     Come  down." 

The  little  hand  seconded  this  admonition  by  thrusting 
Hugh's  great  head  away  with  all  its  force,  and  drawing  up  the 
blind,  amidst  his  noisy  laughter,  and  vows  that  he  must 
have  another  look  for  the  last  glimpse  of  that  sweet  face  had 
provoked  him  past  all  bearing.  However,  as  the  suppressed 
impatience  of  the  party  now  broke  out  into  open  murmurs, 
he  abandoned  this  design,  and  taking  his  seat  upon  the  bar, 
contented  himself  with  tapping  at  the  front  windows  of  the 
carriage,  and  trying  to  steal  a  glance  inside  ;  Mr.  Tappertit 
mounting  the  steps  and  hanging  on  by  the  door,  issued  his 
directions  to  the  driver  with  a  commanding  voice  and  atti- 
tude ;  the  rest  got  up  behind,  or  ran  by  the  side  of  the  car- 
riage, as  they  could  ;  some,  in  imitation  of  Hugh,  endea- 
vored to  see  the  face  he  had  praised  so  highly,  and  were  re- 
minded of  their  impertinence  by  hints  from  the  cudgel  of 
Mr.  Tappertit.  Thus  they  pursued  their  journey  by  circui- 
tous and  winding  roads  ;  preserving,  except  when  they  halted 
to  take  breath,  or  to  quarrel  about  the  best  way  of  Teaching 
London,  pretty  good  order  and  tolerable  silence. 

In  the  meantime,  Dolly — beautiful,  bewitching,  captiva- 
ting little  Dolly — her  hair  disheveled,  her  dress  torn, 
her  dark  eyelashes  wet  with  tears,  her  bosom  heav- 
ing— her  face,  now  pale  with  fear,  now  crimsoned  with 
indignation — her  whole  self  a  hundred  times  more  beautiful 
in  this  heightened  aspect  than  ever  she  had  been  before — 
vainly  strive  to  comfort  Emma  Haredale,  and  to  impart  to  her 
the  consolation  of  which  she  stood  in  so  much  need  herself. 
The  soldiers  were  sure  to  come  ;  they  must  be  rescued  ;  it 
would  be  impossible  to  convey  them  through  the   streets  of 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  441 

London  when  they  set  the  threats  of  their  guards  at  defi- 
ance, and  shrieked  to  the  passengers  for  help.  If  they  did 
this  when  they  came  into  the  more  frequented  ways,  she 
was  certain— she  was  quite  certain — they  must  be  released. 
So  poor  Dolly  said,  and  so  poor  Dolly  tried  to  think  ;  but 
the  invariable  conclusion  of  all  such  arguments  was  that 
Dolly  burst  into  tears,  cried,  as  she  wrung  her  hands,  what 
would  they  do  or  think,  or  who  would  comfort  them,  at 
home,  at  the  Golden  Key  ;  and  sobbed  most  piteously. 

Miss  Haredale,  whose  feelings  were  usually  of  a  quieter 
kind  than  Dolly's  and  not  so  much  upon  the  surface,  was 
dreadfully  alarmed,  and  indeed  had  only  just  recovered  from 
a  swoon.  She  was  very  pale,  and  the  hand  which  Dolly 
held  was  quite  cold  ;  but  she  bade  her,  nevertheless,  remem- 
ber that,  under  Providence,  much  must  depend  upon  their 
own  discretion  ;  that  if  they  remained  quiet  and  lulled  the 
vigilance  of  the  ruffians  into  whose  hands  they  had  fallen, 
the  chances  of  their  being  able  to  procure  assistance  when 
they  reached  the  town,  were  very  much  increased  ;  that  un- 
less society  were  quite  unhinged,  pursuit  must  be  immedi- 
ately commenced  ;  and  that  their  uncle,  she  might  be  sure, 
would  never  rest  until  he  had  found  them  out  and  rescued 
them.  But  as  she  said  these  latter  words,  the  idea  that  he 
had  fallen  in  a  general  m.assacre  of  the  Catholics  that  night 
— no  very  w^ild  or  improbable  supposition  after  what  they 
had  seen  and  undergone — struck  her  dumb  ;  and  lost  in  the 
horrors  they  had  witnessed,  and  those  they  might  be  yet 
reserved  for,  she  sat  incapable  of  thought,  or  speech,  or  out- 
ward show  of  grief  ;  as  rigid,  and  almost  as  white  and  cold, 
as  marble. 

Oh,  how  many,  many  times,  in  that  long  ride,  did  Dolly 
think  of  her  old  lover — poor,  fond,  slighted  Joe  I  How 
many,  many  times,  did  she  recall  that  night  when  she  ran  into 
his  arms  from  the  very  man  now  projecting  his  hateful  gaze 
into  the  darkness  where  she  sat,  and  leering  through  the  glass 
in  monstrous  admiration  !  And  when  she  thought  of  Joe, 
and  what  a  brave  fellow  he  was,  and  how  he  would  have  rode 
boldly  up  and  dashed  in  among  these  villains  now,  yes, 
though  they  were  double  the  number — and  here  she  clenched 
her  little  hand,  and  pressed  her  foot  upon  the  ground — 
the  pride  she  felt  for  a  moment  in  having  won  his  heart, 
faded  into  a  burst  of  tears,  and  she  sobbed  more  bitterly 
than  ever. 

As  the  night  wore  on,  and  they  proceeded  by  ways   which 


442  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

were  quite  unknown  to  them — for  they  could  recognize  none 
of  the  objects  of  which  they  sometimes  caught  a  hurried 
glimpse — their  fears  increased  ;  nor  were  they  without  good 
foundation  ;  it  was  not  difficult  for  two  beautiful  women  to 
find,  in  their  being  borne  they  knew  not  whither  by  a  band 
of  daring  villahis  who  eyed  them  as  some  among  these  fel- 
lows did,  reasons  for  the  worst  alarm.  When  they  at  last 
entered  London,  by  a  suburb  with  which  they  were  wholly 
unacquainted,  it  was  past  midnight,  and  the  streets  were 
dark  and  empty.  Nor  was  this  the  worst,  for  the  carriage 
stopping  in  a  lonely  spot,  Hugh  suddenly  opened  the  door, 
jumped  in,  and  took  his  seat  between  them. 

It  was  in  vain  they  cried  for  help.  He  put  his  arm  about 
the  neck  of  each,  and  swore  to  stifle  them  with  kisses  if  they 
were  not  as  silent  as  the  grave. 

"  I  come  here  to  keep  you  quiet,"  he  said,  ''  and  that's  the 
means  I  shall  take.  So  don't  be  quiet,  pretty  mistresses — 
make  a  noise — do — and  I  shall  like  it  all  the  better." 

They  were  proceeding  at  a  rapid  pace,  and  apparently  with 
fewer  attendants  than  before,  though  it  was  so  dark  (the 
torches  being  extinguished)  that  this  was  mere  conjecture. 
They  shrunk  from  his  touch,  each  into  the  furthest  corner  of 
the  carriage  ;  but  shrink  as  Dolly  would,  his  arm  encircled  her 
waist,  and  held  her  fast.  She  neither  cried  nor  spoke,  for 
terror  and  disgust  deprived  her  of  the  power  ;  but  she 
plucked  at  his  hand  as  though  she  would  die  in  the  effort  to 
disengage  herself ;  and  crouching  on  the  ground,  with  her 
head  averted  and  held  down,  repelled  him  with  a  strength 
she  wondered  at  as  much  as  he.  The  carriage  stopped 
again. 

''Lift  this  one  out,"  said  Hugh  to  the  man  who  opened 
the  door,  as  he  lifted  Miss  Haredale's  hand,  and  felt  how 
heavily  it  fell.     "  She's  fainted." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  growled  Dennis — it  was  that  ami- 
able gentleman.  "  She's  quiet.  I  always  like  'em  to  faint, 
unless  they're  very  tender  and  composed." 

"  Can  you  take  her  by  yourself? "  asked  Hugh. 

"  I  don't  know  till  I  try.  I  ought  to  be  able  to  ;  I've 
lifted  up  a  good  many  in  my  time,"  said  the  hangman.  "  Up 
then  !  She's  no  small  weight,  brother  ;  none  of  these  here 
fine  gals  are.     Up  again  !     Now  we  have  her." 

Having  by  this  time  hoisted  the  young  lady  into  his  arms, 
he  staggered  off  with  his  burden. 

"  Look  ye,  pretty  bird,"  said  Hugh,  drawing  Dolly  toward 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


443 


him.  "  Remember  what  I  told  you — a  kiss  for  every  cry. 
Scream,  if  you  love  me,  darling.  Scream  once,  mistress. 
Pretty  mistress,  only  once,  if  you  love  me." 

Thrusting  his  face  away  with  all  her  force,  and  holding 
down  her  head,  Dolly  submitted  to  be  carried  out  of  the 
chaise,  and  borne  after  Miss  Haredale  into  a  miserable  cot- 
tage, where  Hugh,  after  hugging  her  to  his  breast,  set  her 
gently  down  upon  the  floor. 

Poor  Dolly.  Do  what  she  would,  she  only  looked  the  bet- 
ter for  it,  and  tempted  them  the  more.  When  her  eyes 
flashed  angrily,  and  her  ripe  lips  slightly  parted,  to  give  her 
rapid  breathing  vent,  who  could  resist  it  ?  When  she  wept 
and  sobbed  as  though  her  heart  would  break,  and  bemoaned 
her  miseries  in  the  sweetest  voice  that  ever  fell  upon  a  list- 
ener's ear,  who  could  be  insensible  to  the  winning  pettish- 
ness  which  now  and  then  displayed  itself,  even  in  the  sin- 
cerity and  earnestness  of  her  grief?  When,  forgetful  for  a 
moment  of  herself,  as  she  was  now,  she  fell  on  her  knees 
beside  her  friend,  and  bent  over  her,  and  laid  her  cheek  to 
hers,  and  put  her  arms  about  her,  what  mortal  eyes  could 
have  avoided  wandering  to  the  delicate  bodice,  the  streaming 
hair,  the  neglected  dress,  the  perfect  abandonment  and  un- 
consciousness of  the  blooming  little  beauty  ?  W^ho  could 
look  on  and  see  her  lavish  caresses  and  endearments,  and 
not  desire  to  be  in  Emma  Haredale's  place  ;  to  be  either 
her  or  Dolly  ;  either  the  hugging  or  the  hugged  ?  Not 
Hugh.     Not  Dennis. 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  young  woman,"  said  Mr.  Dennis, 
"  I  ain't  much  of  a  lady's  man  myself,  nor  am  I  a  party  in 
the  present  business  further  than  lending  a  willing  hand  to 
my  friends  ;  but  if  I  see  much  more  of  this  here  sort  of 
thing,  I  shall  become  a  principal  instead  of  a  accessory.  I 
tell  you  candid." 

"  W^hy  have  you  brought  us  here  ?  "  said  Emma.  ''  Are  we 
to  be  murdered  ?  " 

*'  Murdered  !  "  cried  Dennis,  sitting  down  upon  a  stool, 
and  regarding  her  with  great  favor.  "  Why,  my  dear,  who'd 
murder  sich  chickabiddies  as  you  ?  If  you  was  to  ask  me, 
now,  whether  you  was  brought  here  to  be  married,  there 
might  be  something  in  it." 

And  here  he  exchanged  a  grin  with  Hugh,  who  removed 
his  eyes  from  Dolly  for  the  purpose. 

*'  No,  no,"  said  Dennis,  "  there'll  be  no  murdering,  my 
pets.     Nothing  of  that  sort.     Quite  the  contrary." 


444  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"You  are  an  older  man  than  your  companion,  sir,"  said 
Emma,  trembling.  "  Have  you  no  pity  for  us  ?  Do  you  not 
consider  that  we  are  women?" 

"  1  do  indeed,  my  dear,"  retorted  Dennis.  "  It  would  be 
very  hard  not  to,  with  two  such  specimens  afore  my  eyes. 
Ha,  ha  !  Oh  yes,  1  consider  that.  We  all  consider  that, 
miss." 

He  shook  his  head  waggishly,  leered  at  Hugh  again,  and 
laughed  very  much,  as  if  he  had  said  a  noble  thing,  and 
rather  thought  he  was  coming  out. 

"There'll  be  no  murdering,  my  dear.  Not  a  bit  on  it.  I 
tell  you  what  though,  brother,"  said  Dennis,  cocking  his  hat 
for  the  convenience  of  scratching  his  head,  and  looking 
gravely  at  Hugh,  "it's  worthy  of  notice,  as  a  proof  of  the 
amazing  equalness  and  dignity  of  our  law,  that  it  don't 
make  no  distinction  between  men  and  women.  I've  heerd 
the  judge  say,  sometimes,  to  a  highwayman  or  house- 
breaker as  had  tied  the  ladies  neck  and  heels — you'll  excuse 
me  making  mention  of  it,  my  darlings — and  put  'em  in  a 
cellar,  that  he  showed  no  consideration  to  women.  Now, 
I  say  that  there  judge  didn't  know  his  business,  brother  ; 
and  that  if  I  had  been  that  there  highwayman  or  house- 
breaker, I  should  have  made  answer :  '  What  are  you 
talking  of,  my  lord  ?  I  showed  the  women  as  much  consid- 
eration as  the  law  does,  and  what  more  would  you  have  me 
do  ? '  If  you  was  to  count  up  in  the  newspapers  the  number  of 
females  as  have  been  worked  off  in  this  here  city  alone,  in  the 
last  ten  year,"  said  Mr.  Dennis  thoughtfully,  "you'd  be  sur- 
prised at  the  total — quite  amazed,  you  would.  There's  a  dig- 
nified and  equal  thing  ;  a  beautiful  thing  !  But  we've  no 
security  for  its  lasting.  Now  that  they've  begun  to  favor  these 
here  Papists,  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  they  wenf  and  altered  even 
that^  one  of  these  days.     Upon  my  soul,  I  shouldn't." 

The  subject,  perhaps  from  being  of  too  exclusive  and  pro- 
fessional a  nature,  failed  to  interest  Hugh  as  much  as  his 
friend  had  anticipated.  But  he  had  no  time  to  pursue  it,  for  at 
this  crisis  Mr.  Tappertit  entered  precipitately  ;  at  sight  of 
whom  Dolly  uttered  a  scream  of  joy,  and  fairly  threw  herself 
into  his  arms. 

"  I  knew  it,  I  was  sure  of  it  !  "  cried  Dolly.  "  My  dear 
father's  at  the  door.  Thank  God,  thank  God  !  Bless  you, 
Sim.     Heaven  bless  you  for  this  ! " 

Simon  Tappertit,  who  had  at  first  implicitly  believed  the 
locksmith's  daughter,  unable   any    longer   to    suppress  her 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  445 

secret  passion  for  himself,  was  about  to  give  it  full  vent  in  its 
intensity,  and  to  declare  that  she  was  his  forever,  looked 
extremely  foolish  when  she  said  these  words  ; — the  more  so, 
as  they  were  received  by  Hugh  and  Dennis  with  a  loud  laugh, 
which  made  her  draw  back,  and  regard  him  with  a  fixed  and 
earnest  look. 

"  Miss  Haredale,"  said  Sim,  after  a  very  awkward  silence, 
"'  I  hope  you're  as  comfortable  as  circumstances  will  permit 
of,  Dolly  Varden,  my  darling — my  own,  my  lovely  one — I 
hope  you  re  pretty  comfortable  likewise." 

Poor  little  Dolly  !  She  saw  how  it  was  ;  hid  her  face  in 
her  hands  ;  and  sobbed  more  bitterly  than  ever. 

''  You  meet  in  me.  Miss  V.,"  said  Simon,  laying  his  hand 
upon  his  breast,  "  not  a  'prentice,  not  a  workman,  not  a  slave, 
not  the  wictim  of  your  father's  tyrannical  behavior,  but  the 
leader  of  a  great  people,  the  captain  of  a  noble  band,  in  which 
these  gentlemen  are,  as  I  may  say,  corporals  and  sergeants. 
You  behold  in  me,  not  a  private  individual,  but  a  public 
character  :  not  a  mender  of  locks,  but  a  healer  of  the  wounds 
of  his  unhappy  country.  Dolly  V.,  sweet  Dolly  V.,  for  how 
many  years  have  I  looked  forward  to  this  present  meeting  ! 
For  how  many  years  has  it  been  my  intention  to  exalt  and 
ennoble  you  !  I  redeem  it.  Behold  in  me  your  husband. 
Yes,  beautiful  Dolly — charmer — S.  Tappertit  is  all  your 
own  !  " 

As  he  said  these  words  he  advanced  toward  her.  Dolly 
retreated  till  she  could  go  no  further,  and  then  sank  down 
upon  the  floor.  Thinking  it  very  possible  that  this  might  be 
maiden  modesty,  Simon  essayed  to  raise  her  ;  on  which  Dolly, 
goaded  to  desperation,  wound  her  hands  in  his  hair,  and 
crying  out  amidst  her  tears  that  he  was  a  dreadful  little 
wretch,  and  always  had  been,  shook,  and  pulled,  and  beat 
him,  until  he  was  fain  to  call  for  help,  most  lustily.  Hugh 
had  never  admired  her  half  as  much  as  at  that  moment. 

*'  She's  in  an  excited  state  to-night,"  said  Simon,  as  he 
smoothed  his  rumpled  feathers,  "and  don't  know  when  she's 
well  off.  Let  her  be  by  herself  till  to-morrow,  and  that'll 
bring  her  down  a  little.    Carry  her  into  the  next  house  !  " 

Hugh  had  her  in  his  arms  directly.  It  might  be  that  Mr. 
Tappertit's  heart  was  really  softened  by  her  distress,  or  it 
might  be  that  he  felt  it  in  some  degree  indecorous  that  his 
intended  bride  should  be  struggling  in  the  grasp  of  another 
man.  He  commanded  him,  on  second  thoughts,  to  put  her 
down  again,  and  looked  moodily  on  as  she  flew  to  Miss  Hare- 


446  BARNABY  RUDGE 

dale's  side,  and  clinging  to  her  dress,  hid  her  flushed  face  in 
its  folds. 

They  shall  remain  here  together  till  to-morrow,"  said 
Simon,  who  had  now  quite  recovered  his  dignity — **  till  tO' 
morrow.     Come  away  !  " 

"Ay!"  cried  Hugh.  "Come  away,  captain.  Ha,  ha, 
ha  !  " 

"  What  are  you  laughing  at  ?  "  demanded  Simon,  sternly. 

"  Nothing,  captain,  nothing,"  Hugh  rejoined  ;  and  as  he 
spoke,  and  clapped  his  hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  the  little 
man,  he  laughed  again,  for  some  unknown  reason,  with  ten- 
fold violence. 

Mr.  Tappertit  surveyed  him  from  head  to  foot  with  lofty 
scorn  (this  only  made  him  laugh  the  more),  and  turning  to 
the  prisoners,  said  : 

"You'll  take  notice,  ladies,  that  this  place  is  well 
watched  on  every  side,  and  that  the  least  noise  is  certain  to 
be  attended  with  unpleasant  consequences.  You'll  hear — 
both  of  you — more  of  our  intentions  to-morrow.  In  the 
meantime,  don't  show  yourselves  at  the  window,  or  appeal 
to  any  of  the  people  you  may  see  pass  it  ;  for  if  you  do,  it'll 
be  known  directly  that  you  come  from  a  Catholic  house,  and 
all  the  exertions  our  men  can  make,  may  not  be  able  to  save 
your  lives." 

With  this  last  caution,  which  was  true  enough,  he  turned 
to  the  door,  followed  by  Hugh  and  Dennis.  They  paused 
for  a  moment,  going  out,  to  look  at  them  clasped  in  each 
other's  arms,  and  then  left  the  cottage  ;  fastening  the  door, 
and  setting  a  good  watch  upon  it,  and  indeed  all  round  the 
house. 

"  I  say,"  growled  Dennis,  as  they  walked  in  company. 
"  that's  a  dainty  pair.  Muster  Gashford's  one  is  as  hand- 
some as  the  other,  eh  ?  " 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Hugh,  hastily.  "  Don't  you  mention 
names.    It's  a  bad  habit." 

"  I  wouldn't  like  to  be  ///>;/,  then  (as  you  don't  like  names) 
when  he  breaks  it  out  to  her  :  that's  all,"  said  Dennis, 
"  She's  one  of  them  fine,  black-eyed,  proud  gals,  as  I  wouldn't 
trust  at  such  times  with  a  knife  too  near  'em,  I've  seen  some 
of  that  sort,  afore  now.  I  recollect  one  that  was  worked  off, 
many  years  ago — and  there  was  a  gentleman  in  that  case  too 
— that  says  to  me,  with  her  lip  a  trembling,  but  her  hand  as 
steady  as  ever  I  see  one  ;  *  Dennis,  I'm  near  my  end,  but  if 
I  had  a  dagger  in  these  fingers,  and  he  was  within  my  reach, 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  447 

I'd  strike  him  dead  afore  me  ;' — ah,  she  did — and  she'd  have 
done  it  too  !  " 

"  Strike  who  dead  ?  "  demanded  Hugh. 

"  How  should  1  know,  brother?"  answered  Dennis.  ^^S/ie 
never  said  ;  not  she." 

Hugh  looked,  for  a  moment,  as  though  he  would  have 
made  some  further  inquiry  into  this  incoherent  recollection  ; 
but  Simon  Tappertit,  who  had  been  meditating  deeply,  gave 
his  thoughts  a  new  direction. 

"  Hugh  !  "  said  Sim.  "  You  have  done  well  to-day.  You 
shall  be  rewarded.  So  have  you,  Dennis.  There's  no  young 
woviX^n  you  want  to  carry  off,  is  there  ?  " 

"  N — no,"  returned  that  gentleman,  stroking  his  grizzly 
beard,  which  was  some  two  inches  long.  "  None  in  partik- 
ler,  I  think." 

"  Very  good,"  said  Sim  ;  "  then  we'll  find  some  other  way 
of  making  it  up  to  you.  As  to  you,  old  boy  " — ne  turned  to 
Hugh — "  you  shall  have  Miggs  (her  that  I  promised,  you 
know)  within  three  days.     Mind,  I  pass  my  word  for  it." 

Hugh  thanked  him  heartily  ;  and  as  he  did  so,  his  laughing 
fit  returned  with  such  violence  that  he  was  obliged  to  hold 
his  side  with  one  hand,  and  to  lean  with  the  other  on  the 
shoulder  of  his  small  captain,  without  whose  support  he 
would  certainly  have  rolled  upon  the  ground. 


CHAPTER  LX. 

The  three  worthies  turned  their  faces  toward  The  Boot, 
with  the  intention  of  passing  the  night  in  that  place  of  ren- 
dezvous, and  of  seeking  the  repose  they  so  much  needed 
in  the  shelter  of  the  old  den  ;  for  now  that  the  mischief  and 
destruction  they  had  purposed  were  achieved,  and  their 
prisoners  were  safely  bestowed  for  the  night,  they  began  to 
be  conscious  of  exhaustion,  and  to  feel  the  wasting  effects 
of  the  madness  which  had  led  to  such  deplorable  results. 

Notwithstanding  the  lassitude  and  fatigue  which  oppressed 
him  now,  in  common  with  his  two  companions,  and  indeed 
with  all  who  had  taken  an  active  share  in  that  night's  work, 
Hugh's  boisterous  merriment  broke  out  afresh  whenever  he 
looked  at  Simon  Tappertit,  and  vented  itself — much  to  that 
gentleman's  indignation — in  such  shouts  of  laughter  as  bade 
fair  to  bring  the  watch  upon  them,  and  involve  them  in  a 
skirmish,  to  which  in  their  present  worn-out  condition  they 


448  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

might  prove  by  no  means  equal.  Even  Mr.  Dennis,  who 
was  not  at  all  particular  on  the  score  of  gravity  or  dignity, 
and  who  had  a  great  relish  for  his  young  friend's  eccentric 
humors,  took  occasion  to  remonstrate  with  him  on  his  impru- 
dent behavior,  which  he  held  to  be  a  species  of  suicide, 
tantamount  to  a  man's  working  himself  off  without  being 
overtaken  by  the  law,  than  which  he  could  imagine  nothing 
more  ridiculous  or  impertinent. 

Not  abating  one  jot  of  his  noisy  mirth  for  these  remon- 
strances, Hugh  reeled  along  between  them,  having  an  arm 
of  each,  until  they  hove  in  sight  of  The  Boot,  and  were 
within  a  field  or  two  of  that  convenient  tavern.  He  hap- 
pened by  great  good  luck  to  have  roared  and  shouted  him- 
self into  silence  by  this  time.  They  were  proceeding  on- 
ward without  noise,  when  a  scout  who  had  been  creeping 
about  the  ditches  all  night,  to  warn  any  stragglers  from  en- 
croaching further  on  what  was  now  such  dangerous  ground, 
peeped  cautiously  from  his  hiding-place,  and  called  them 
to  stop. 

"  Stop  !  and  why  ?  "  said  Hugh. 

Because  (the  scout  replied)  the  house  was  filled  with  con- 
stables and  soldiers  ;  having  been  surprised  that  afternoon. 
The  inmates  had  fled  or  been  taken  into  custody,  he  could  not 
say  which.  He  had  prevented  a  great  many  people  from 
approaching  nearer,  and  he  believed  they  had  gone  to  the 
markets  and  such  places  to  pass  the  night.  He  had  seen 
the  distant  fires,  but  they  were  all  out  now.  He  had  heard 
the  people  who  passed  and  repassed,  speaking  of  them 
too,  and  could  report  that  the  prevailing  opinion  was 
one  of  apprehension  and  dismay.  He  had  not  heard  a 
word  of  Barnaby — didn't  even  know  his  name — but  it  had 
been  said  in  his  hearing  that  some  man  had  been  taken  and 
carried  off  to  Newgate.  Whether  this  was  true  or  false,  he 
could  not  affirm. 

The  three  took  council  together,  on  hearing  tliis,  and 
debated  what  it  might  be  best  to  do.  Hugh,  deeming  it 
possible  that  Barnaby  was  in  the  hands  of  the  soldiers,  and 
at  that  moment  under  detention  at  The  Boot,  v/as  for  advanc- 
ing stealthily,  and  firing  the  house  ;  but  his  companions^ 
who  objected  to  such  rash  measures  unless  they  had  a  crowd 
at  their  backs,  represented  that  if  Barnaby  were  taken  he 
had  assuredly  been  removed  to  a  stronger  prison ;  they 
would  never  have  dreamed,  they  said,  of  keeping  him  all 
night  in  a  place  so  weak   and  open  to  attack.     Yielding  to 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  449 

this  reasoning,  and  to  their  persuasions,  Hugh  consented  to 
turn  back  and  to  repair  to  Fleet  Market  ;  for  which  place, 
it  seemed,  a  few  of  their  boldest  associates  had  shaped  their 
course,  on  receiving  the  same  intelligence. 

Feeling  their  strength  recruited  and  their  spirits  roused, 
now  that  there  was  a  new  necessity  for  action,  they  hurried 
away  quite  forgetful  of  the  fatigue  under  which  they  had 
been  sinking  but  a  few  minutes  before  ;  and  soon  arrived 
at  their  new  place  of  destination. 

Fleet  Market,  at  that  time,  was  a  long  irregular  row  of 
wooden  sheds  and  pent-houses,  occupying  the  center  of 
what  is  now  called  Farringdon  Street.  They  were  jumbled 
together  in  a  most  unsightly  fashion,  in  the  middle  of  the 
road  ;  to  the  great  obstruction  of  the  thoroughfare  and  the 
annoyance  of  passengers,  who  were  fain  to  make  their  way, 
as  they  best  could,  among  carts,  baskets,  barrows,  trucks, 
casks,  bulks,  and  benches,  and  to  jostle  with  porters,  huck- 
sters, wagoners,  and  a  motley  crowd  of  buyers,  sellers,  pick- 
pockets, vagrants,  and  idlers.  The  air  was  perfumed  with 
the  stench  of  rotten  leaves  and  faded  fruit  ;  the  refuse  of 
the  butchers*  stalls,  and  offal  and  garbage  of  a  hundred 
kinds.  It  was  indispensable  to  most  public  conveniences  in 
those  days,  that  they  should  be  public  nuisances  likewise  ; 
and  Fleet  Market  maintained  the  principle  to  admiration. 

To  this  place,  perhaps  because  its  sheds  and  baskets  were 
a  tolerable  substitute  for  beds,  or  perhaps  because  it  afforded 
the  means  of  a  hasty  barricade  in  case  of  need,  many  of  the 
rioters  had  straggled,  not  only  that  night,  but  for  two  or 
three  nights  before.  It  was  not  broad  day,  but  the  morning 
being  cold,  a  group  of  them  were  gathered  round  a  fire  in  a 
public-house,  drinking  hot  purl,  and  smoking  pipes,  and 
planning  new  schemes  for  to-morrow. 

Hugh  and  his  two  friends  being  known  to  most  of  these 
men,  were  received  with  signal  marks  of  approbation,  and 
inducted  into  the  most  honorable  seats.  The  room-door  was 
closed  and  fastened  to  keep  intruders  at  a  distance,  and 
then  they  proceeded  to  exchange  news. 

"  The  soldiers  have  taken  possession  of  The  Boot,  I  hear," 
said  Hugh.     "  Who  knows  any  thing  about  it  ?  " 

Several  cried  that  they  did  ;  but  the  majority  of  the  com- 
pany having  been  engaged  in  the  assault  upon  the  Warren, 
and  all  present  having  been  concerned  in  one  or  other  of 
the  night's  expeditions,  it  proved  that  they  knew  no  more 
than  Hugh  himself  ;    having  been  merely  warned  by  each 


450  BARNABY  kaDGE. 

other,  or  by  the   scout,  and   knowing  nothing  of  their  own 
knowledge. 

''We  left  a  man  on  guard  there  to-day,"  said  Hugh,  look- 
ing round  him,  "  who  is  not  here.  You  know  who  it  is — 
Barnaby,  who  brought  the  soldier  down,  at  Westminster. 
Has  any  man  seen  or  heard  of  him  ?  " 

They  shook  their  heads,  and  murmured  an  answer  in  the 
negative,  as  each  man  looked  round  and  appealed  to  his 
fellow  ;  when  a  noise  was  heard  without,  and  a  man  was 
heard  to  say  that  he  wanted  Hugh — that  he  must  see  Hugh. 

'*  He  is  but  one  man,"  cried  Hugh  to  those  who  kept  the 
door  ;  ''  let  him  come  in." 

"  Ay,  ay  !  "  muttered  the  others.  "  Let  him  come  in. 
Let  him  come  in." 

The  door  was  accordingly  unlocked  and  opened.  A  one- 
armed  man,  with  his  head  and  face  tied  up  with  a  bloody 
cloth,  as  though  he  had  been  severely  beaten,  his  clothes 
torn,  and  his  remaining  hand  grasping  a  thick  stick,  rushed 
in  among  them,  and  panting  for  breath,  demanded  which 
was  Hugh. 

"  Here  he  is,"  replied  the  person  he  inquired  for.  "  I 
am  Hugh.     What  do  you  w^ant  with  me  ?  " 

"  I  have  a  message  for  you,"  said  the  man.  ''  You  know 
one  Barnaby." 

"  What  of  him  ?     Did  he  send  the  message  ?  " 

"  Yes.     He's   taken.     He's  in   one  of  the  strong  cells  in 
Newgate.     He   defended   himself  as   well  as  he  could,  but 
was  overpowered  by  numbers.     That's  his  message." 
/'  When  did  you  see  him  ?  "  asked  Hugh,  hastily. 

"  On  his  way  to  prison,  where  he  was  taken  by  a  party  of 
soldiers.  They  took  a  by-road,  and  not  the  one  we  expected. 
I  was  one  of  the  few  who  tried  to  rescue  him,  and  he  called 
to  me,  and  told  me  tell  Hugh  where  he  was.  We  made  a 
good  struggle,  though  it  failed.     Look  here  !  " 

He  pointed  to  his  dress  and  to  his  bandaged  head,  and 
still  panting  for  breath  glanced  round  the  room  ;  then 
faced  toward  Hugh  again. 

"  I  know  you  by  sight,"  he  said,  "  for  I  was  in  the  crowd 
on  Friday,  and  on  Saturday,  and  yesterday,  but  I  didn't 
know  your  name.  You're  a  bold  fellow,  I  know.  So  is  he. 
He  fought  like  a  lion  to-night,  but  it  was  of  no  use.  /  did 
my  best,  considering  that  I  want  this  limb." 

Again  he  glanced  inquisitively  round  the  room — or 
seemed  to  do  so,  for  his  face  was  nearly  hidden  by  the  band- 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  451 

age — and  again  facing  sharply  toward  Hugh,  grasped  his 
stick  as  if  he  half  expected  to  be  set  upon,  and  stood  on  the 
defensive. 

If  he  had  any  such  apprehension,  however,  he  was 
speedily  re-assured  by  the  demeanor  of  all  present.  None 
thought  of  the  bearer  of  the  tidings.  He  was  lost  in  the 
news  he  brought.  Oaths,  threats,  and  execrations,  were 
vented  on  all  sides.  Some  cried  that  if  they  bore  this 
tamely,  another  day  would  see  them  all  in  jail  ;  some,  that 
they  should  have  rescued  the  other  prisoners,  and  this 
would  not  have  happened.  One  man  cried  in  a  loud  voice, 
''  Who'll  follow  me  to  Newgate  ?  "  and  there  was  a  loud 
shout  and  general  rush  toward  the  door. 

But  Hugh  and  Dennis  stood  with  their  backs  against  it, 
and  kept  them  back,  until  the  clamor  had  so  far  subsided 
that  their  voices  could  be  heard,  when  they  called  to  them 
together  that  to  go  now,  in  broad  day,  would  be  madness  ; 
and  that  if  they  waited  until  night  and  arranged  a  plan  of 
attack,  they  might  release,  not  only  their  own  companions, 
but  all  the  prisoners,  and  burn  down  the  jail. 

"Not  that  jail  alone,"  cried  Hugh,  "but  every  jail  in 
London.  They  shall  have  no  place  to  put  their  prisoners 
in.  We'll  burn  them  all  down  ;  make  bonfires  of  them 
every  one  !  Here  !  "  he  cried,  catching  at  the  hangman's 
hand.  "  Let  all  who're  men  here,  join  with  us.  Shake 
hands  upon  it.  Barnaby  out  of  jail,  and  not  a  jail  left 
standing  !     Who  joins  ?  " 

Every  man  there.  And  they  swore  a  great  oath  to  release 
their  friends  from  Newgate  next  night  ;  to  force  the  doors 
and  burn  the  jail ;  or  perish  in  the  fire  themselves. 


CHAPTER  LXL 

On  that  same  night — events  so  crowd  upon  each  other  in 
convulsed  and  distracted  times,  that  more  than  the  stirring 
incidents  of  a  whole  life  often  become  compressed  into  the 
compass  of  four-and-twenty  hours — on  that  same  night,  Mr. 
Haredale,  .having  strongly  bound  his  prisoner,  with  the 
assistance  of  the  sexton,  and  forced  him  to  mount  his  horse, 
conducted  him  to  Chigwell  ;  bent  upon  procuring  a  con- 
veyance to  London  from  that  place,  and  carrying  him  at 
once  before  a  justice.  The  disturbed  state  of  the  town 
would  be,  he  knew,  a  sufficient  reason  for  demanding  the 


452  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

murderer's  committal  to  prison  before  day -break,  as  no  man 
could  answer  for  the  security  of  any  of  the  watch-houses  or 
ordinary  places  of  detention  ;  and  to  convey  a  prisoner 
through  the  streets  when  the  mob  were  again  abroad,  would 
not  only  be  a  task  of  great  danger  and  hazard,  but  would 
be  to  challenge  an  attempt  at  rescue.  Directing  the  sexton 
to  lead  the  horse,  he  walked  close  by  the  murderer's  side, 
and  in  this  order  they  reached  the  village  about  the  middle 
of  the  night. 

The  people  were  all  awake  and  up,  for  they  were  fearful 
of  being  burned  in  their  beds,  and  sought  to  comfort  and 
assure  each  other  by  watching  in  company.  A  few  of  the 
stoutest-hearted  were  armed  and  gathered  in  a  body  on  the 
green.  To  these,  who  knew  him  well,  Mr.  Haredale  ad- 
dressed himself,  briefly  narrating  what  had  happened,  and 
beseeching  them  to  aid  in  conveying  the  criminal  to  London 
before  the  dawn  of  day. 

But  not  a  man  among  them  dared  to  help  him  by  so  much 
as  the  motion  of  a  finger.  The  rioters,  in  their  passage  through 
the  village,  had  menaced  with  their  fiercest  vengeance,  any 
person  who  should  aid  in  extinguishing  the  fire,  or  render 
the  least  assistance  to  him,  or  any  Catholic  whomsoever. 
Their  threats  extended  to  their  lives  and  all  they  possessed. 
They  were  assembled  for  their  own  protection,  and  could 
not  endanger  themselves  by  lending  any  aid  to  him.  4^his 
they  told  him,  not  without  hesitation  and  regret,  as  they  kept 
aloof  in  the  moonlight  and  glanced  fearfully  at  the  ghostly 
rider,  who,  with  his  head  drooping  on  his  breast  and  his 
hat  slouched  down  upon  his  brow,  neither  moved  nor  spoke. 

Finding  it  impossible  to  persuade  them,  and  indeed  hardly 
knowing  how  to  do  so  after  what  they  had  seen  of  the  fury 
of  the  crowd,  Mr.  Haredale  besought  them  that  at  least  they 
would  leave  him  free  to  act  for  himself,  and  would  suffer 
him  to  take  the  only  chaise  and  pair  of  horses  that  the  place 
afforded.  This  was  not  acceded  to  without  some  difficulty, 
but  in  the  end  they  told  him  to  do  what  he  would,  and  go 
away  from  them  in  heaven's  name. 

Leaving  the  sexton  at  the  horse's  bridle,  he  drew  out  the 
chaise  v^dth  his  own  hands,  and  Avould  have  harnessed  the 
horses,  but  that  the  post-boy  of  the  village — a  soft-heat-ted, 
good-for-nothing,  vagabond  kind  of  fellow — was  moved  by 
his  earnestness  and  passion,  and,  throwing  down  a  pitchfork 
with  which  he  was  armed,  swore  that  the  rioters  might  cut 
him  into  mince-meat  if  they  liked,  but  he  would  not  stand 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  453 

by  and  see  an  honest  gentleman  who  had  done  no  wrong, 
reduced  to  such  extremity  without  doing  what  he  could  to 
help  him.  Mr.  Haredale  shook  him  warmly  by  the  hand, 
and  thanked  him  from  his  heart.  In  five  minutes'  time  the 
chaise  was  ready,  and  this  good  scapegrace  in  his  saddle. 
The  murderer  was  put  inside,  the  blinds  were  drawn  up,  the 
sexton  took  his  seat  upon  the  bar,  Mr.  Haredale  mounted 
his  horse  and  rode  close  beside  the  door  ;  and  so  they  started 
in  the  dead  of  night,  and   in  profound  silence,  for   London. 

The  consternation  was  so  extreme  that  even  the  horses 
which  had  escaped  the  flames  at  the  Warren,  could  find  no 
friends  to  shelter  them.  They  passed  them  on  the  road, 
browsing  on  the  stunted  grass  ;  and  the  driver  told  them, 
that  the  poor  beasts  had  wandered  to  the  village  first,  but 
had  been  driven  away,  lest  they  should  bring  the  vengeance 
of  the  crowd  on  any  of  the  inhabitants. 

Nor  was  this  feeling  confined  to  such  small  places,  where 
the  people  were  timid,  ignorant,  and  unprotected.  When 
they  came  near  London  they  met,  in  tlfe  gray  light  of  morn- 
ing, more  than  one  poor  Catholic  family,  who,  terrified  by 
the  threats  and  warnings  of  their  neighbors,  were  quitting 
the  city  on  foot,  and  who  told  them  they  could  hire  no  cart 
or  horse  for  the  removal  of  their  goods,  and  had  been  com- 
pelled to  leave  them  behind  at  the  mercy  of  the  crowd. 
Near  Mile  End  they  passed  a  house,  the  master  of  which,  a 
Catholic  gentleman  of  small  means,  having  hired  a  wagon  to 
remove  his  furniture  by  midnight,  had  had  it  all  brought  down 
into  the  street,  to  await  the  vehicle's  arrival,  and  save  time 
in  the  packing.  But  the  man  with  whom  he  made  the  bargain, 
alarmed  by  the  fires  that  night,  and  by  the  sight  of  the  rioters 
passing  his  door,  had  refused  to  keep  it  ;  and  the  poor  gen- 
tleman, with  his  wife  and  servant  and  their  little  children, 
were  sitting  trembling  among  their  goods  in  the  open  street, 
dreading  the  arrival  of  day  and  not  knowing  where  to  turn 
c>r  what  to  do. 

It  was  the  same,  they  heard,  with  the  public  conveyances. 
The  panic  was  so  great  that  the  mails  and  stage-coaches 
were  afraid  to  carry  passengers  who  professed  the  obnoxious 
religion.  If  the  drivers  knew  them,  or  they  admitted  that 
they  held  that  creed,  they  would  not  take  them,  no,  though 
they  offered  large  sums  ;  and  yesterday,  people  had  been 
afraid  to  recognize  Catholic  acquaintances  in  the  streets, 
lest  they  should  be  marked  by  spies,  and  burned  out,  as  it 
was  called,  in  consequence.     One  mild   old  man— a  priest, 


454  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

whose  chapel  was  destroyed  ;  a  very  feeble,  patient,  inoffen- 
sive creature — who  was  trudging  away,  alone,  designing  to 
walk  some  distance  from  town,  and  then  try  his  fortune  with 
the  coaches,  told  Mr.  Haredale  that  he  feared  he  might  not 
find  a  magistrate  who  would  have  the  hardihood  to  commit 
a  prisoner  to  jail,  on  his  complaint.  But  notwithstanding 
these  discouraging  accounts  they  went  on  and  reached  the 
Mansion  House  soon  after  sunrise. 

Mr.  Haredale  threw  himself  from  his  horse,  but  he  had  no 
need  to  knock  at  the  door,  for  it  was  already  open,  and  there 
stood  upon  the  step  a  portly  old  man,  with  a  very  red  or  rather 
purple  face,  who  with  an  anxious  expression  of  countenance 
was  remonstrating  with  some  unseen  personage  up-stairs, 
while  the  porter  essayed  to  close  the  door  by  degrees  and 
get  rid  of  him.  With  the  intense  impatience  and  excitement 
natural  to  one  in  his  condition,  Mr.  Haredale  thrust  himself 
forward  and  was  about  to  speak,  when  the  fat  old  gentleman 
interposed: 

"  My  good  sir,"  said  he,  ''pray  let  me  get  an  answer.  This 
is  the  sixth  time  I  have  been  here.  I  was  here  five  times 
yesterday.  My  house  is  threatened  with  destruction.  It  is 
to  be  burned  down  to-night,  and  was  to  have  been  last 
night,  but  they  had  other  business  on  their  hands.  Pray  let 
me  get  an  answer." 

"  My  good  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Haredale,  shaking  his  head, 
"  my  house  is  burned  to  the  ground.  But  heaven  forbid 
that  yours  should  be.  Get  your  answer.  Be  brief,  in  mercy 
to  me." 

"  Now,  you  hear  this,  my  lord  ?  " — said  the  old  gentle- 
man, calling  up  the  stairs,  to  where  the  skirt  of  a  dressing- 
gown  fluttered  on  the  landing-place.  ''  Here  is  a  gentleman 
here,  whose  house  was  actually  burned  down  last  night." 

"  Dear  me,  dear  me,"  replied  a  testy  voice,  "  I  am  very 
sorry  for  it,  but  what  am  I  to  do  ?  I  can't  build  it  up 
again.  The  chief  magistrate  of  the  city  can't  go  and  be  a 
rebuilding  of  people's  houses,  my  good  sir.  Stuff  and 
nonsense  !  " 

"  But  the  chief  magistrate  of  the  city  can  prevent  people's 
houses  from  having  any  need  to  be  rebuilt,  if  the  chief  mag- 
istrate's a  man,  and  not  a  dummy — can't  he,  my  lord  ?  " 
cried  the  old  gentleman  in  a  choleric  manner. 

"  You  are  disrespectable,  sir,"  said  the  lord  mayor — 
■'leastways,  disrespectful  I  mean." 

"  Disrespectful,  my  lord  !  "  returned   the   old   gentlemaUc 


WILL   YOU   COME?"— "r 


SAID  THE  LOKD  MAYOR  MOST  EMPHATICALLY. 
CERTAINLY   NOT." 


456 


BARNABY  RQDGE. 


soul — and — body — oh,  Lord  ! — well  I  ! — there  are  great 
people  at  the  bottom  of  these  riots,  you  know.  You  really 
mustn't." 

"  My  lord,"  said  Mr,  Haredale,  "  the  murdered  gentleman 
was  my  brother  ;  I  succeeded  to  his  inheritance  ;  there  were 
not  wanting  slanderous  tongues  at  that  time,  to  whisper  that 
the  guilt  of  this  most  foul  and  cruel  deed  was  mine — mine, 
who  loved  him,  as  he  knows,  in  heaven,  dearly.  The  time 
has  come,  after  all  these  years  of  gloom  and  misery,  for 
avenging  him,  and  bringing  to  light  a  crime  so  artful  and  so 
devilish  that  it  has  no  parallel.  Every  second's  delay  on 
your  part  loosens  this  man's  bloody  hands  again,  and  leads 
to  his  escape.  My  lord,  I  charge  you  hear  me,  and  dispatch 
this  matter  on  the  instant." 

"  Oh  dear  me  !  "  cried  the  chief  magistrate  ;  "  these  an't 
business  hours,  you  know — I  wonder  at  you — how  ungentle- 
manly  it  is  of  you — you  mustn't — you  really  mustn't.  And 
I  suppose  _>'^«  are  a  Catholic  too  ?  " 

"  I  am,"  said  Mr.  Haredale, 

"  God  bless  my  soul,  I  believe  people  turn  Catholics  a 
purpose  to  vex  and  worrit  me,"  cried  the  lord  mayor.  "  I 
wish  you  wouldn't  come  here  ;  they'll  be  setting  the  Mansion 
House  afire  next,  and  we  shall  have  you  to  thank  for  it. 
You  must  lock  your  prisoner  up,  sir — give  him  to  a  watchman 
— and — and  call  again  at  a  proper  time.  Then  we'll  see 
about  it !  " 

Before  Mr.  Haredale  could  answer,  the  sharp  closing  of  a 
door  and  drawing  of  its  bolts,  gave  notice  that  the  lord 
mayor  had  retreated  to  his  bedroom,  and  that  further  remon- 
strance would  be  unavailing.  The  two  clients  retreated  like- 
wise, and  the  porter  shut  them  out  into  the  street. 

''  That's  the  way  he  puts  me  off,"  said  the  old  gentleman. 
"  I  can  get  no  redress  and  no  help.  What  are  you  going  to 
do,  sir  ? " 

"  To  try  elsewhere,"  answered  Mr.  Haredale,  who  was  by 
this  time  on  horseback. 

**  I  feel  for  you,  I  assure  you — and  well  I  may,  for  we  are 
in  a  common  cause,"  said  the  old  gentleman.  "  1  may  not 
have  a  house  to  offer  you  to-night  ;  let  me  tender  it  while  I 
can.  On  second  thoughts  though,"  he  added,  putting  up  a 
pocket-book  he  had  produced  while  speaking,  "  I'll  not  give 
you  a  card,  for  if  it  was  found  upon  you,  it  might  get  you 
into  trouble.  Langdale — that's  my  name — vintner  and  dis- 
tiller— Holborn  Hill — you're  heartily  welcome,  if  you'll 
come." 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  457 

Mr.  Haredale  bowed,  and  rode  off,  close  beside  the  chaise 
as  before  ;  determining  to  repair  to  the  house  of  Sir  John 
Fielding,  who  had  the  reputation  of  being  a  bold  and  active 
magistrate,  and  fully  resolved,  in  case  the  rioters  should 
come  upon  them,  to  do  execution  on  the  murderer  with  his 
own  hands,  rather  than  suffer  him  to  be  released. 

They  arrived  at  the  magistrate's  dwelling,  however,  with- 
out molestation  (for  the  mob,  as  we  have  seen,  were  then 
intent  on  deeper  schemes),  and  knocked  at  the  door.  As  it 
had  been  pretty  generally  rumored  that  Sir  John  was  pro- 
scribed by  the  rioters,  a  body  of  thief-takers  had  been  keep- 
ing v/atch  in  the  house  all  night.  To  one  of  them  Mr.  Hare- 
dale  stated  his  business,  which,  appearing  to  the  man  of 
sufficient  moment  to  warrant  his  arousing  the  justice,  pro- 
cured him  an  immediate  audience. 

No  time  was  lost  in  committingthemurderer  to  Newgate  ; 
then  a  new  building,  recently  completed  at  a  vast  expense, 
and  considered  to  be  of  enormous  strength.  The  warrant 
being  made  out,  three  of  the  thief-takers  bound  him  afresh 
(he  had  been  struggling,  it  seemed,  in  the  chaise,  and  had 
loosened  his  manacles)  ;  gagged  him  lest  they  should  meet 
with  any  of  the  mob,  and  he  should  call  to  them  for  help  ; 
and  seated  themselves  along  with  him  in  the  carriage. 
These  men  being  all  well  armed,  made  a  formidable  escort ; 
but  they  drew  up  the  blinds  again,  as  though  the  carriage 
were  empty,  and  directed  Mr.  Haredale  to  ride  forward,  that 
he  might  not  attract  attention  by  seeming  to  belong  to  it. 

The  wisdom  of  this  proceeding  was  sufficiently  obvious, 
for  as  they  hurried  through  the  city  they  passed  among 
several  groups  of  men,  who,  if  they  had  not  supposed  the 
chaise  to  be  quite  empty,  would  certainly  have  stopped  it. 
But  those  within  keeping  quite  close,  and  the  driver  tarry- 
ing to  be  asked  no  questions,  they  reached  the  prison  with- 
out interruption,  and,  once  there,  had  him  out,  and  safe 
within  its  gloomy  walls,  in  a  twinkling. 

With  eager  eyes  and  strained  attention,  Mr.  Haredale  saw 
him  chained,  and  locked  and  barred  up  in  his  cell.  Nay, 
when  he  had  left  the  jail,  and  stood  in  the  free  street,  with- 
out, he  felt  the  iron  plates  upon  the  doors  with  his  hands, 
and  drew  them  over  the  stone  wall,  to  assure  himself  that  it 
was  real  ;  and  to  exult  in  its  being  so  strong,  and  rough, 
and  cold.  It  was  not  until  he  turned  his  back  upon  the 
jail,  and  glanced  along  the  empty  streets,  so  lifeless  and 
-riiiet  in  the  bright   morning,  that  he   felt  the   weight  upon 


.^^  BARXA1;Y  K:riD«GK. 


sati.  EesCBBg:  fees  et  ■      >   ckin  ii|?oBt  fitfik 

ftsan^  EenaiiKti  i_;  It  w^ccid  be 

hsD^  »  SET  ei  w&u  11^  -  .i     Tber  had 


s  diRfse. 


rd.t  no 


r  evdv\* 


die  Tcator  idrisiieed  to  -wriiere 


-Ex^'.v  w~~±  yoc  uutT  -  _     ■  And.  wnere  r    Yo'H 

never  toll  -.  T  -'Zre  t_i:-  ,-  secret.      Xo  mattear ;  i 


BAKNABY  KUDGE- 

-^    -j:virwell,'' ssid  the  adisr. 

-  i^r  a  i>£  I  wem  taers  to  ariOid  tii*:  man  I  stimnttfed  cm, 

^^^  ^^-J"^  J'^d     *•  Becan?^  I  v-a-r  cLs.-:^':  2.iid  irn-n  there,  Ijy 
hiTai^d  Fsie.     Becaubc  I   was  -:irg-d  r.  go  t:.^-.  1^  sotk^ 

'"^^'^^  '"'"  ^''^  '     -  '     icit-r  i-isiit,  J  knew 


-*-er  co.i.d  -boa-^  din— n-A't^r  :  E^^d  viieu  I'hearc  dae 


liCr^'sc  bit:  -Scu  -^  --^- —  -' 

^"■^    c 

"^J^T"^'  V— r      - — — -     tda:    --    v-as   ^err  cold;  Tacxd 
r,:nck:fV^'    -'^"    '^-  ---'^^-^'  ^^-  ^"^^^^  ^^'^^ 

ion  vert;  »«iTi_a.g^  _  '      " 

Tian&e,  **iii2.t  vbt^  To-^ite.  ^-       -        , 

"l>et  ii  be,  win'ryu?-  x.r  — -— l  ir  a  Drined  toic-. 
**  It  iiangs  tberc  vet." 

Tbe  bimd  man  tnnied  £  wi5tf-_  ans  uiqiasazve  lac- 
toward  bim,  bnt  bt:  contmiied  to  s:..^:^   inrnDin  nDticmg 

'^I  wentto  Oiiswell  in  seErcd  of  tbe  mod-.  I  bHT-been 
^.  bnnted  and  bJ^et  bj  td.5  mEi,  ib^  I  kBew  iny  oii|y 
bope  of  saferr  laj  in  jomiBg  tbem.  Tnev  naa  gcme  cm 
before  :  I  foLtOwed  tbem  vben  it  iett  oE. 

-  TMsen  -w-iiat  lef:  of  r "  ,  -         -   .-    ^ 
.. -r-  ,  T--'-      "T^^^^  bad  quitted  tbf  place,     i  liOt'^c  tiiai 

"     _        '     nnerbiE  aiDong  ib±  nuns,  and 

-n  I  D^d — '^b£  crew  £  long 

breath,"£nd  wiped  bis  forenead  wsiiibk  sleeve—-  bs  roice.'' 

-  No  ml-ei  wbai.     I  don":  know.     I  was  onen  ai  me  foot 
of  ibe  nrrrei,  wbere  I  cic  iiLf  _       _      .      ^^^^^^ 

-  At,"  said  tbe  blind  maii.  n>acing  ri5  neaa  wztn  ^.^enec: 

com-posiire,    ~  I  nndersiaiid.  _^_„^^ 

-iclimbedthestan-,  orsomDcnaf  naswaslen;  meannu 

to  hide  tin  be  bad  £one.     Bm  be  beard  me  ;  znd  lo^Dwec 
almost  as  soon  as  I  sei  foot  upon  tbe  asns. 

-  Y011  mirb:  bave  bidden,  in  tbe  wall  and  mrown  inn. 
d  own,  or  stabbed  bim,"  said  the  bbnd  man.        __    ,  ^  ^ 

"  \K\^-'  I  -  B^cween  thai  man  and  me,  was  anci»feoi^ 
^  oi;-!  saw  II,  tbongb  be  did  ,^^*^^  J^^i!^J^ 
beadabloodrband.  It  was  in  tne  room  abcjc^  Ar^- 
I  stood  ^laiii^  ar  each  otbo-  on  tbe  m^  c^  tte  J™^ 
ani  tero^^T^-ell  be  ra^ed  bis  band  like  ^^  tofl  te 
eve  on  me.    I  knew  tbe  chasr  ^-  .t^  d  end  ttex^ 


46o  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

''  You  have  a  strong  fancy,"  said  the  blind  man,  with  a 
smile. 

"  Strengthen  yours  with  blood,  and  see  what  it  will  come 
to." 

He  groaned,  and  rocked  himself,  and  looking  up  for  the 
first  time,  said,  in  a  low,  hollow  voice  : 

*'  Eight-and-tvventy  years  !  Eight-and-twenty  years  !  He 
has  never  changed  in  all  that  time,  never  grown  older,  nor 
altered  in  the  least  degree.  He  has  been  before  me  in  the 
dark  night,  and  the  broad  sunny  day  ;  in  the  twilight,  the 
moonlight,  the  sunlight,  the  light  of  fire,  and  lamp,  and 
candle  ;  and  in  the  deepest  gloom.  Always  the  same  !  In 
company,  in  solitude,  on  land,  on  ship-board  ;  sometimes 
leaving  me  alone  for  months,  and  sometimes  always  with  me. 
I  have  seen  him,  at  sea,  come  gliding  in  the  dead  of  night 
along  the  bright  reflection  of  the  moon  in  the  calm  water  ; 
and  I  have  seen  him,  on  quays  and  market-places,  with  his 
hand  uplifted,  towering,  the  center  of  a  busy  crowd,  uncon- 
scious of  the  terrible  form  that  had  its  silent  stand  among 
them.  Fancy  !  Are  you  real  ?  Am  I  ?  Are  these  iron 
fetters,  riveted  on  me  by  the  smith's  hammer,  or  are  they 
fancies  I  can  shatter  at  a  blow  !  " 

The  blind  man  listened  in  silence. 

"  Fancy  !  Do  I  fancy  that  I  killed  him  ?  Do  I  fancy 
that  as  I  left  the  chamber  where  he  lay,  I  saw  the  face  of  a 
man  peeping  from  a  dark  door,  who  plainly  showed  me  by 
his  fearful  looks  that  he  suspected  what  I  had  done  ?  Do  I 
remember  that  I  spoke  fairly  to  him — that  I  drew  nearer — 
nearer  yet — with  the  hot  knife  in  my  sleeve  ?  Do  I  fancy 
how  he  died  ?  Did  he  stagger  back  into  the  angle  of  the  wall 
into  which  I  had  hemmed  him,  and,  bleeding  inwardly,  stand, 
not  fall,  a  corpse  before  me  ?  Did  I  see  him,  for  an  instant, 
as  I  see  you  now,  erect  and  on  his  feet — but  dead  ?  " 

The  blind  man,  who  knew  that  he  had  risen,  motioned  him 
to  sit  down  again  upon  his  bedstead  ;  but  he  took  no  notice 
of  the  gesture. 

*^  It  was  then  I  thought,  for  the  first  time,  of  fastening  the 
murder  upon  him.  It  was  then  I  dressed  him  in  my  clothes, 
and  dragged  him  down  the  backistairs  to  the  piece  of  water. 
Do  I  remember  listening  to  the  bubbles  that  came  rising  up 
when  I  had  rolled  him  in  ?  Do  I  remember  wiping  the 
water  from  my  face,  and  because  the  body  splashed  it  there, 
in  its  descent,  feeling  as  if  it  must  be  blood  ? 

"  Did  I  go  home  when  I  had  done  ?    And  oh,  my  God  ! 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  461 

how  long  it  took  to  do  !  Did  I  stand  before  my  wife  and 
tell  her?  Did  I  see  her  fall  upon  the  ground  ;  and,  when  I 
stooped  to  raise  her,  did  she  thrust  me  back  with  a  force 
that  cast  me  off  as  if  I  had  been  a  child,  staining  the  hand 
with  which  she  clasped  my  wrist  ?     Is  that  fancy  ? 

**  Did  she  go  down  upon  her  knees,  and  call  on  heaven  to 
witness  that  she  and  her  unborn  child  renounced  me  from 
that  hour  ;  and  did  she,  in  words  so  solemn  that  they  turned 
me  cold — me,  fresh  from  the  horrors  my  own  hands  had 
made — warn  me  to  fly  while  there  was  time  ;  for  though  she 
would  be  silent,  being  my  wretched  wife,  she  would  not 
shelter  me  ?  Did  I  go  forth  that  night,  abjured  of  God  and 
man,  and  anchored  deep  in  hell,  to  wander  at  my  cable's 
length  about  the  earth,  and  surely  be  drawn  down  at  last?" 
"Why  did  you  return?"  said  the  blind  man. 
"  Why  is  blood  red  ?  I  could  no  more  help  it  than  I  could 
live  without  breath.  I  struggled  against  the  impulse,  but  I 
was  drawn  back,  through  every  difficult  and  adverse  circum- 
stance, as  by  a  mighty  engine.  Nothing  could  stop  me. 
The  day  and  hour  were  none  of  my  choice.  Sleeping  and 
waking,  I  had  been  among  the  old  haunts  for  years — had 
visited  my  own  grave.  Why  did  I  come  back  ?  Because 
this  jail  was  gaping  for  me,  and  he  stood  beckoning  at  the 
door." 

"You  were  not  known  ?"  said  the  blind  man. 
"  I  was  a  man  who  had  been  twenty-two  years  dead.    No. 
I  was  not  known." 

"  You  should  have  kept  your  secret  better." 
^''  My  secret  I  Mine  !  It  was  a  secret  any  breath  of  air 
could  whisper  at  its  will.  The  stars  had  it  in  their  twinkling, 
the  water  in  its  flowing,  the  leaves  in  their  rustling,  the 
seasons  in  their  return.  It  lurked  in  strangers'  faces,  and 
their  voices.  Every  thing  had  lips  on  which  it  always 
trembled. — My  secret !  " 

"  It  was  revealed  by  your  own  act,  at  any  rate,"  said  the 
blind  man. 

"  The  act  was  not  mine.  I  did  it,  but  it  was  not  mine.  I 
was  forced  at  times  to  wander  round,  and  round,  and  round 
that  spot.  If  you  had  chained  me  up  when  the  fit  was  on 
me,  I  should  have  broken  away  and  gone  there.  As  truly 
as  the  loadstone  draws  iron  toward  it,  so  he,  lying  at  the 
bottom  of  his  grave,  could  draw  me  near  him  when  he  would. 
Was  that  fancy  ?  i:)id  I  like  to  go  there,  or  did  I  strive  and 
wrestle  with  the  power  that  forced  me  ? " 


462  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

The  blind  man  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  smiled  in 
credulously.  The  prisoner  again  resumed  his  old  attitude, 
and  for  a  long  time  both  were  mute. 

"  I  suppose,  then,"  said  his  visitor,  at  length  breaking 
silence,  "  that  you  are  penitent  and  resigned  ;  that  you  desire 
to  make  peace  with  every  body  (in  particular  with  your  wife, 
who  has  brought  you  to  this)  ;  and  that  you  ask  no  greater 
favor  than  to  be  carried  to  Tyburn  as  soon  as  possible  ? 
That  being  the  case,  I  had  better  take  my  leave.  I  am  not 
good  enough  to  be  company  for  you." 

**  Have  I  not  told  you,"  said  the  other  fiercely,  "  that  I 
have  striven  and  wrestled  with  the  power  that  brought  me 
here  ?  Has  my  whole  life,  for  eight-and-twenty  years,  been 
one  perpetual  struggle  and  resistance,  and  do  you  think  I 
want  to'lie  down  and  die  ?  Do  all  men  shrink  from  death 
— I  most  of  all  ?  " 

*'  That's  better  said.  That's  better  spoken,  Rudge — but 
I'll  not  call  you  that  again — than  any  thing  you  have  said 
yet,"  returned  the  blind  man,  speaking  more  familiarly,  and 
laying  his  hands  upon  his  arm.  "  Lookye — I  never  killed 
a  man  myself,  for  I  have  never  been  placed  in  a  position 
that  made  it  worth  my  while.  Further,  I  am  not  an  advo- 
cate for  killing  men,  and  I  don't  think  I  should  recommend 
it  or  like  it — for  it's  very  hazardous — under  any  circum- 
stances. But  as  you  had  the  misfortune  to  get  into  this 
trouble  before  I  made  your  acquaintance,  and  as  you  have 
been  my  companion,  and  have  been  of  use  to  me  for  a  long 
time  now,  I  overlook  that  part  of  the  matter,  and  am  only 
anxious  that  you  shouldn't  die  unnecessarily.  Now,  I  do 
not  consider  that,  at  present,  it  is  at  all  necessary." 

"  What  else  is  left  me  ?"  returned  the  prisoner.  "  To  eat 
my  way  through  these  walls  with  my  teeth  ?" 

"  Something  easier  than  that,"  returned  his  friend.  "  Prom- 
ise me  that  you  will  talk  no  more  of  these  fancies  of  yours 
— idle,  foolish  things,  quite  beneath  a  man — and  I'll  tell  you 
what  I  mean." 

"  Tell  me,"  said  the  other. 

*'  Your  worthy  lady  with  the  tender  conscience  ;  your 
scrupulous,  virtuous,  punctilious,  but  not  blindly  affection- 
ate wife ■" 

''What  of  her?" 

"  Is  now  in  London." 

"  A  curse  upon  her,  be  she  where  she  may  !  " 

**  That's  natural  enough.     If  she  had  taken  her  annuity 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  463 

as  usual,  you  would  not  have  been  here,  and  we  should  have 
been  better  off.  But  that's  apart  from  the  business.  She 
is  in  London.  Scared,  as  I  suppose,  and  have  no  doubt,  by 
my  representation  when  I  waited  upon  her,  that  you  were 
close  at  hand  (which  I,  of  course,  urged  only  as  an  induce- 
ment to  compliance,  knowing  that  she  was  not  pining  to  see 
you),  she  left  that  place  and  traveled  up  to  London." 

*'  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  From  my  friend  the  noble  captain — the  illustrious  gen- 
eral— the  bladder,  Mr.  Tappertit.  I  learned  from  him  the 
last  time  I  saw  him,  which  was  yesterday,  that  your  son  who 
is  called  Barnaby — not  after  his  father  1  suppose " 

"  Death  !  does  that  matter  now  ?  " 

" — You  are  impatient,"  said  the  blind  man,  calmly  ;  "  it's 
a  gooa  sign,  and  looks  like  life — that  your  son  Barnaby  had 
been  lured  away  from  her  by  one  of  his  companions  who 
knew  him  of  old  at  Chigwell ;  and  that  he  is  now  among  the 
rioters." 

"  And  what  is  that  to  me  ?  If  father  and  son  be  hanged 
together,  what  comfort  shall  I  find  in  that?" 

"  Stay— stay,  my  friend,"  returned  the  blind  man,  with  a 
cunning  look,  "  you  travel  fast  to  journeys'  ends.  Suppose 
I  track  my  lady  out,  and  say  thus  much  :  '  You  want  your 
son,  ma'am — good.  I,  knowing  those  who  tempt  him  to  re- 
main among  them,  can  restore  him  to  you,  ma'am — good. 
You  must  pay  a  price,  ma'am,  for  his  restoration — good 
again.  The  price  is  small,  and  easy  to  be  paid — dear  ma'am, 
that's  the  best  of  all.'  " 

"  What  mockery  is  this  ?  " 

"  Very  likely,  she  may  reply  in  those  words.  '  No  mock- 
ery at  all,'  I  answer  :  '  Madam,  a  person  said  to  be  your 
husband  (identity  is  difficult  of  proof  after  the  lapse  of  many 
years)  is  in  prison,  his  life  in  peril — the  charge  against  him, 
murder.  Now,  ma'am,  your  husband  has  been  dead  a  long, 
long  time.  The  gentleman  never  can  be  confounded  with 
him,  if  you  will  have  the  goodness  to  say  a  few  words,  on 
oath,  as  to  when  he  died,  and  how  ;  and  that  this  person 
(who  I  am  told  resembles  him  in  some  degree)  is  no  more 
he  than  I  am.  Such  testimony  will  set  the  question  quite 
at  rest.  Pledge  yourself  to  me  to  give  it,  ma'am,  and  I  will 
undertake  to  keep  your  son  (a  fine  lad),  out  of  harm's  way 
until  you  hi-. ve  done  this  trifling  service,  when  he  shall  be 
delivered  up  to  you  safe  and  sound.  On  the  other  hand,  if 
you  decline  to  do  so,  I  fear  he  will  be  betrayed,  and  handed 


464  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

over  to  the  law,  which  will  assuredly  sentence  him  to  suffer 
death.  It  is,  in  fact,  a  choice  between  his  life  and  death. 
If  you  refuse,  he  swings.  If  you  comply,  the  timber  is  not 
grown,  nor  the  hemp  sown,  that  shall  do  him  any  harm.'  " 

"  There  is  a  gleam  of  hope  in  this  ?  "  cried  the  prisoner. 

"  A  gleam  !  "  returned  his  friend,  "  a  noon-blaze  ;  a  full 
and  glorious  daylight.  Hush  !  I  hear  the  tread  of  distant 
feet.     Rely  on  me." 

'*  When  shall  I  hear  more  .''  " 

"  As  soon  as  I  do.  I  should  hope,  to-morrow.  They  are 
coming  to  say  that  our  time  for  talk  is  over.  I  hear  the 
jingling  of  the  keys.  Not  another  word  of  this  just  now,  or 
they  may  overhear  us." 

As  he  said  these  words,  the  lock  was  turned,  and  one  of 
the  prison  turnkeys  appearing  at  the  door,  announced  that 
it  was  time  for  visitors  to  leave  the  jail. 

"  So  soon  !  "  saidStagg,  meekly.  "  But  it  can't  be  helped. 
Cheer  up,  friend.  This  mistake  will  soon  be  set  at  rest, 
and  then  you  are  a  man  again  !  If  this  charitable  gentle- 
man will  lead  a  blind  man  (who  has  nothing  in  return  but 
prayers)  to  the  prison-porch,  and  set  him  with  his  face  to- 
ward the  west,  he  will  do  a  worthy  deed.  Thank  you,  good 
sir.     I  thank  you  very  kindly." 

So  "saying,  and  pausing  for  an  instant  at  the  door  to  turn 
his  grinning  face  toward  his  friend,  he  departed. 

When  the  officer  had  seen  him  to  the  porch,  he  returned, 
and  again  unlocking  and  unbarring  the  door  of  the  cell,  set 
it  wide  open,  informing  its  inmate  that  he  was  at  liberty  to 
walk  in  the  adjacent  yard,  if  he  thought  proper,  for  an 
hour. 

The  prisoner  answered  with  a  sullen  nod  ;  and  being  left 
alone  again,  sat  brooding  over  what  he  had  heard,  and  pon- 
dering upon  the  hopes  the  recent  conversation  had  awak- 
ened ;  gazing  abstractedly  the  while  he  did  so,  on  the  light 
without,  and  watching  the  shadows  thrown  by  one  wall  on 
another,  and  on  the  stone-paved  ground. 

It  was  a  dull,  square  yard,  made  cold  and  gloomy  by  high 
walls,  and  seeming  to  chill  the  very  sunlight.  The  stone, 
so  bare,  and  rough,  and  obdurate,  filled  even  him  with  long- 
ing thoughts  of  meadow-land  and  trees  ;  and  with  a  burn- 
ing wish  to  be  at  liberty.  As  he  looked,  he  rose,  and 
leaning  against  the  door-post,  gazed  up  at  the  bright  blue 
sky,  smiling  even  on  that  dreary  home  of  crime.  He  seemed, 
for  a  moment,  to  remember  lying  on  his  back  in  some  sweet- 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  465 

scented  place,  and   gazing  at  it  through  moving  branches, 
long  ago. 

His  attention  was  suddenly  attracted  by  a  clanking  sound 
— he  knew  what  it  was,  for  he  had  startled  himself  by  mak- 
ing the  same  noise  in  walking  to  the  door.  Presently  a  voice 
began  to  sing,  and  he  saw  the  shadow  of  a  figure  on  the 
pavement.  It  stopped — was  silent  all  at  once,  as  though  the 
person  for  a  moment  had  forgotten  where  he  was,  but  soon 
remembered — and  so,  with  the  same  clanking  noise,  the 
shadow  disappeared. 

He  walked  out  into  the  court  and  paced  it  to  and  fro  ; 
startling  the  echoes,  as  he  went,  with  the  harsh  jangling 
of  his  fetters.  There  was  a  door  near  his,  which,  like  his, 
stood  ajar. 

He  had  not  taken  half  a  dozen  turns  up  and  down  the 
yard,  when,  standing  still  to  observe  this  door,  he  heard  the 
clanking  sound  again.  A  face  looked  out  of  the  grated 
windoAv — he  saw  it  very  dimly,  for  the  cell  was  dark  and  the 
bars  were  heavy — and  directly  afterward,  a  man  appeared, 
and  came  toward  him. 

For  the  sense  of  loneliness  he  had,  he  might  have  been  in 
jail  a  year.  Made  eager  by  the  hope  of  companionship, 
he  quickened  his  pace,  and  hastened  to  meet  the  man  half 
way 

What  was  this  !     His  son  ! 

They  stood  face  to  face,  staring  at  each  other.  He 
shrinking  and  cowed,  despite  himself  ;  Barnaby  struggling 
with  his  imperfect  memory,  and  wondering  where  he  had 
seen  that  face  before.  He  was  not  uncertain  long,  for  sud- 
denly he  laid  his  hands  upon  him,  and  striving  to  bear  him 
to  the  ground,  cried  : 

*'  Ah  !  I  know  !     You  are  the  robber  !  " 

He  said  nothing  in  reply  at  first,  but  held  down  his  head, 
and  struggled  with  him  silently.  Finding  the  younger  man 
too  strong  for  him,  he  raised  his  face,  looked  close  into  his 
eyes,  and  said  : 

"  I  am  your  father." 

God  knows  what  magic  the  name  had  for  his  ears  ;  but 
Barnaby  released  his  hold,  fell  back,  and  looked  at  him 
aghast.  Suddenly  he  sprung  toward  him,  put  his  arms  about 
his  neck,  and  pressed  his  head  against  his  cheek. 

Yes,  yes,  he  was  ;  he  was  sure  he  was.  But  where  had  he 
been  so  long,  and  why  had  he  left  his  mother  by  herself,  or 
worse  than  by  herself,  witli  her  i)oor  foolish  boy  ?     And  had 


466  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

she  really  been  so  happy  as  they  said  ?  And  where  was  she  ? 
Was  she  near  there  ?  She  was  not  happy  now,  and  he  in 
jail  ?    Ah,  no. 

Not  a  word  was  said  in  answer  ;  but  Grip  croaked  loudly, 
and  hopped  about  them,  round  and  round,  as  if  inclosing 
them  in  a  magic  circle,  and  invoking  all  the  powers  of 
mischief. 


CHAPTER   LXIII. 

During  the  whole  of  this  day,  every  regiment  in  or  near 
the  metropolis  was  on  duty  in  one  or  other  part  of  the  town  ; 
and  the  regulars  and  militia,  in  obedience  to  the  orders 
which  were  sent  to  every  barrack  and  station  within  twenty- 
four  hours'  journey,  began  to  pour  in  by  all  the  roads.  But 
the  disturbance  had  attained  to  such  a  formidable  height, 
and  the  rioters  had  grown,  with  impunity,  to  be  so  audacious, 
that  the  sight  of  this  great  force,  continually  augmented  by 
new  arrivals,  instead  of  operating  as  a  check,  stimulated 
them  to  outrages  of  greater  hardihood  than  any  they  had  yet 
committed  ;  and  helped  to  kindle  a  flame  in  London,  the 
like  of  which  had  never  been  beheld,  even  in  its  ancient  and 
rebellious  times. 

All  yesterday,  and  on  this  day  likewise,  the  commander- 
in-chief  endeavored  to  arouse  the  magistrates  to  a  sense  of 
their  duty,  and  in  particular  the  lord  mayor,  who  was  the 
faintest-hearted  and  most  timid  of  them  all.  With  this 
object,  large  bodies  of  the  soldiery  were  several  times  dis- 
patched to  the  Mansion  House  to  await  his  orders  ;  but  as 
he  could,  by  no  threats  or  persuasions,  be  induced  to  give 
any,  and  as  the  men  remained  in  the  open  street,  fruitlessly 
for  any  good  purpose,  and  thrivingly  for  a  very  bad  one, 
these  laudable  attempts  did  harm  rather  than  good.  For 
the  crowd,  becoming  speedily  acquainted  with  the  lord 
mayor's  temper,  did  not  fail  to  take  advantage  of  it  by 
boasting  that  even  the  civil  authorities  were  opposed  to  the 
Papists,  and  could  not  find  in  their  hearts  to  molest  those 
who  were  guilty  of  no  other  offense.  These  vaunts  they  took 
care  to  make  within  the  hearing  of  the  soldiers  ;  and  thty, 
being  naturally  loath  to  quarrel  with  the  people,  received 
their  advances  kindly  enough  ;  answering,  when  they  were 
asked  if  they  desired  to  fire  upon  their  countrymen,  "  No, 
they  would  be  damned  if  they  did  ; "  and  showing  much 


BARNABY   RUDGE.  467 

lionest  simplicity  and  good  nature.  The  feeling  that  the 
military  were  No  Popery  men,  and  were  ripe  for  disobeying 
orders  and  joining  the  mob,  soon  became  very  prevalent  in 
consequence.  Rumors  of  their  disaffection,  and  of  their 
leaning  toward  the  popular  cause,  spread  from  mouth  to 
mouth  with  astonishing  rapidity  ;  and  whenever  they  were 
drawn  up  idly  in  the  streets  or  squares,  there  was  sure  to  be 
a  crowd  about  them,  cheering  and  shaking  hands,  and  treat- 
ing them  with  a  great  show  of  confidence  and  affection. 

By  this  time  the  crowd  was  everywhere  ;  all  concealment 
and  disguise  were  laid  aside,  and  they  pervaded  the  whole 
town.  If  any  man  among  them  wanted  money  he  had  but 
to  knock  at  the  door  of  a  dwelling-house  or  walk  into  a  shop 
and  demand  it  in  the  rioters'  name,  and  his  demand  was  in- 
stantly complied  with.  The  peaceable  citizens  being  afraid 
to  lay  hands  upon  them  singly  and  alone,  it  may  be  easily 
supposed  that  when  gathered  together  in  bodies,  they  were 
perfectly  secure  from  interruption.  They  assembled  in  the 
streets,  traversed  them  at  their  will  and  pleasure,  and  pub- 
licly concerted  their  plans.  Business  was  quite  suspended  ; 
the  greater  part  of  the  shops  were  closed  ;  most  of  the 
houses  displayed  a  blue  flag  in  token  of  their  adherence  to 
the  popular  side  ;  and  even  the  Jews  in  Houndsditch, White- 
chapel  and  those  quarters,  wrote  upon  their  doors  or  win- 
dow shutters,  "  This  house  is  a  true  Protestant."  The  crowd 
was  the  law,  and  never  was  the  law  held  in  greater  dread  or 
more  implicitly  obeyed. 

It  was  about  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  when  a  vast  mob 
poured  into  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  by  every  avenue  and  di- 
vided—evidently in  pursuance  of  a  previous  design— into  sev- 
eral parties.  It  must  not  be  understood  that  this  arrange- 
ment was  known  to  the  whole  crowd,  but  that  it  was  the 
work  of  a  few  leaders,  who,  mingling  with  the  men  as  they 
came  upon  the  ground  and  calling  to  them  to  fall  into  this 
or  that  party,  effected  it  as  rapidly  as  if  it  had  been  deter- 
mined on  by  a  council  of  the  whole  number,  and  every  man 
had  known  his  place. 

It  was  perfectly  notorious  to  the  assemblage  that  the 
largest  body,  which  comprehended  about  two-thirds  of  the 
whole,  was  designed  for  the  attack  on  Newgate.  It  compre- 
hended all  the  rioters  who  had  been  conspicuous  in  any  of 
their  former  proceedings  ;  all  those  whom  they  recommended 
as  daring  hands  and  fit  for  the  work  ;  all  those  whose  com- 
panions had  been  taken  in  the  riots,  and  a  great  number  of 


468  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

people  who  were  relatives  or  friends  of  felons  in  the  jail. 
This  last  class  included  not  only  the  most  desperate  and  ut- 
terly abandoned  villains  in  London,  but  some  who  were  com- 
paratively innocent.  There  was  more  than  one  woman  there, 
disguised  in  man's  attire,  and  bent  upon  the  rescue  of  a  child 
or  brother.  There  were  the  two  sons  of  a  man  who  lay 
under  sentence  of  death,  and  who  was  to  be  executed  along 
with  three  others  on  the  next  day  but  one.  There  was  a 
great  party  of  boys  whose  fellow  pickpockets  were  in 
the  prison  ;  and,  at  the  skirts  of  all,  a  score  of  miserable  wo- 
men, outcasts  from  the  world,  seeking  to  release  some  other 
fallen  creature  as  miserable  as  themselves,  or  moved  by  a 
general  sympathy  perhaps — God  knows — with  all  who  were 
without  hope,  and  wretched. 

Old  swords  and  pistols,  without  ball  or  powder  ;  sledge- 
hammers, knives,  axes,  saws  and  weapons  pillaged  from  the 
butchers'  shops ;  a  forest  of  iron  bars  and  wooden  clubs  ; 
long  ladders  for  scaling  tne  walls,  each  carried  on  the  shoul- 
ders of  a  dozen  men  ;  lighted  torches,  tow  smeared  with  pitch 
and  tar  and  brimstone  ;  staves  roughly  plucked  from  fence 
and  paling,  and  even  crutches  taken  from  crippled  beggars 
in  the  streets,  composed  their  arms.  When  all  was  ready 
Hugh  and  Dennis,  with  Simon  Tappertit  betw^een  ihem,  led 
the  way.  Roaring  and  chafing  like  an  angry  sea,  the  crowd 
pressed  after  them. 

Instead  of  going  straight  down  Holborn  to  the  jail,  as  all 
expected,  their  leaders  took  the  way  to  Clerkenwell,  and 
pouring  down  a  quiet  street,  halted  before  a  locksmith's 
house — the  Golden  Key. 

"  Beat  at  the  door,"  cried  Hugh  to  the  men  about  him. 
"  We  want  one  of  his  craft  to-night.  Beat  it  in,  if  no  one 
answers." 

The  shop  was  shut.  Both  door  and  shutters  were  of  a 
strong  and  sturdy  kind,  and  they  knocked  without  effect. 
But  the  impatient  crowd  raising  a  cry  of  *'  Set  fire  to  the 
house  !  "  and  torches  being  passed  to  the  front,  an  upper 
window  was  thrown  open  and  the  stout  old  locksmith  stood 
before  them. 

"What  now,  you  villains  ?"  he  demanded.  "  Where  is  my 
daughter?  " 

"  Ask  no  questions  of  us,  old  man,"  retorted  Hugh,  wav- 
ing his  comrades  to  be  silent,  "  but  come  cown,  and  bring 
the  tools  of  your  trade.     We  want  you." 

**  Want  me  !  "  cried  the  locksmith,  glancing   at   the  regi- 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  469 

mental  dress  he  wore  :  "  Ay,  and  if  some  that  I  could  name 
possessed  the  hearts  of  mice,  ye  should  have  had  me  long 
ago.  Mark  me,  my  lad — and  you  about  him  do  the  same. 
There  are  a  score  among  ye  whom  I  see  now  and  know, 
who  are  dead  men  from  this  hour.  Begone  !  and  rob  an 
undertaker's  while  you  can  !  You'll  want  some  coffins  before 
long." 

"  Will  you  come  down  ? "  cried  Hugh. 

"  Will  you  give  me  my  daughter,  ruffian  ?  "  cried  the  lock- 
smith. 

"  I  know  nothing  of  her,"  Hugh  rejoined.  "Burn  the 
door ! " 

'*  Stop  !  "  cried  the  locksmith,  in  a  voice  that  made  them 
falter — presenting,  as  he  spoke,  a  gun.  "  Let  an  old  man 
do  that.     You  can  spare  him  better." 

The  young  fellow  who  held  the  light,  and  who  was  stoop- 
ing down  before  the  door,  rose  hastily  at  these  words,  and 
fell  back.  The  locksmith  ran  his  eye  along  the  upturned 
faces,  and  kept  the  weapon  leveled  at  the  threshold  of  his 
house.  It  had  no  other  rest  than  his  shoulder,  but  was  as 
steady  as  the  house  itself. 

"  Let  the  man  who  does  it  take  heed  to  his  prayers,"  he 
said  firmly  ;  **  I  warn  him." 

Snatching  a  torch  from  one  who  stood  near  him,  Hugh 
was  stepping  forward  with  an  oath,  when  he  was  arrested 
by  a  shrill  and  piercing  shriek,  and,  looking  upward,  saw  a 
fluttering  garment  on  the  house-top. 

There  was  another  shriek,  and  another,  and  then  a  shrill 
voice  cried,  "  Is  Simmun  below  !  "  At  the  same  moment  a 
lean  neck  was  stretched  over  the  parapet,  and  Miss  Miggs, 
indistinctly  seen  in  the  gathering  gloom  of  evening,  screeched 
in  a  frenzied  manner,  "  Oh  !  dear  gentlemen,  let  me  hear 
Simmun's  answer  from  his  own  lips.  Speak  to  me,  Simmun. 
Speak  to  me  !  " 

Mr.  Tappertit,  who  was  not  at  all  flattered  by  this  compli- 
ment, looked  up,  and  bidding  her  hold  her  peace,  ordered 
her  to  come  down  and  open  the  door,  for  they  wanted  her 
master,  and  would  take  no  denial. 

"  Oh,  good  gentlemen  !  "  cried  Miss  Miggs.  *'  Oh,  my  own 
precious,  precious  Simmun " 

"  Hold  your  nonsense,  will  you  !  "  retorted  Mr.  Tappertit ; 
"  and  come  down  and  open  the  door. — G.  Varden,  drop  that 
gun  or  it  will  be  worse  for  you." 

*'  Don't  mind  his  gun,"   screamed  Miggs.     "  Simmun  and 


470  BARNABV    RUDGE. 

gentlemen,  I  poured  a  mug  of  table-beer  right  down  the 
barrel." 

The  crowd  gave  a  loud  shout,  which  was  followed  by  a 
roar  of  laughter. 

"  It  wouldn't  go  off  not  if  you  was  to  load  it  up  to  the 
muzzle,"  screamed  Miggs.  "  Simmun  and  gentlemen^  I'm 
locked  up  in  the  front  attic,  through  the  little  door  on  the  right 
hand  when  you  think  you've  got  to  the  very  top  of  the  stairs — 
and  up  the  flight  of  corner  steps,  being  careful  not  to  knock 
your  heads  against  the  rafters,  and  not  to  tread  on  one  side 
in  case  you  should  fall  into  the  two-pair  bedroom  through 
the  lath  and  plasture,  which  do  not  bear,  but  the  contrairy. 
Simmun  and  gentlemen,  I've  been  locked  up  here  for  safety, 
but  my  endeavors  has  always  been,  and  always  will  be,  to  be 
on  the  right  side — the  blessed  side — and  to  pronounce  the 
Pope  of  Babylon,  and  all  her  inward  and  outward  workings, 
which  is  Pagin.  My  sentiments  is  of  little  consequences,  I 
know,"  cried  Miggs,  with  additional  shrillness,  "for  my  posi- 
tions is  but  a  servant,  and  as  sich,  of  humilities,  still  I  gives 
expressions  to  my  feelings,  and  places  my  reliances  on  them 
which  entertains  my  own  opinions  !  " 

Without  taking  much  notice  of  these  outpourings  of  Miss 
Miggs  after  she  had  made  her  first  announcement  in  relation 
to  the  gun,  the  crowd  raised  a  ladder  against  the  window 
where  the  locksmith  stood,  and,  notwithstanding  that  he 
closed,  and  fastened,  and  defended  it  manfully,  soon  forced 
an  entrance  by  shivering  the  glass  and  breaking  in  the 
frames.  After  dealing  a  few  stout  blows  about  him,  he  found 
himself  defenseless,  in  the  midst  of  a  furious  crowd,  which 
overflowed  the  room  and  softened  off  in  a  confused  heap  of 
faces  at  the  door  and  window. 

They  were  very  wrathful  with  him  (for  he  had  wounded 
two  men),  and  even  called  out  to  those  in  front,  to  bring 
him  forth  and  hang  him  on  a  lamp-post.  But  Gabriel  was 
quite  undaunted,  and  looked  from  Hugh  and  Dennis,  who 
held  him  by  either  arm,  to  Simon  Tappertit,  who  confronted 
him. 

"You  have  robbed  me  of  my  daughter,"  said  the  lock- 
smith, "  who  is  far  dearer  to  me  than  my  life  ;  and  you 
may  take  my  life  if  you  will.  I  bless  God  that  I  have  been 
enabled  to  keep  my  wife  free  of  this  scene  ,  and  that  He 
has  made  me  a  man  who  will  not  ask  mercy  at  such  hands  as 
yours." 

''And   a  wery   game   old  gentlemen  you  are,"   said    Mr. 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


471 


Dennis,  approvingly  ;  "  and  you  express  yourself  like  a  man. 
What's  the  odds,  brother,  whether  it's  a  lamp-post  to-night, 
or  a  feather-bed  ten  years  to  come,  eh  ?  " 

The  locksmith  glanced  at  him  disdainfully,  but  returned 
no  other  answer. 

"  For  my  p^rt,"  said  the  hangman,  who  particularly  fa- 
vored the  lamp-post  suggestion,  "  I  honor  your  principles. 
They're  mine  exactly.  In  such  sentiments  as  them,"  and 
here  he  emphasized  his  discourse  with  an  oath,  "  I'm  ready 
to  meet  you  or  any  man  half  way.  Have  you  got  a  bit  of 
cord  anywheres  handy.  Don't  put  yourself  out  of  the  way, 
if  you  haven't.     A  handkecher  will  do." 

*'  Don't  be  a  fool,  master,"  whispered  Hugh,  seizing  Var- 
den  roughly  by  the  shoulder  ;  ''  but  do  as  you're  bid. 
You'll  soon  hear  what  you're  wanted  for.     Do  it  !  " 

"  I'll  do  nothing  at  your  request,  or  that  of  any  scoundrel 
here,"  returned  the  locksmith.  "  If  you  want  any  service 
from  me,  you  may  spare  yourselves  the  pain  of  telling  me 
what  it  is.     I  tell  you  beforehand,  I'll  do  nothing  for  you." 

Mr.  Dennis  was  so  affected  by  this  constancy  on  the  part 
of  the  stanch  old  man,  that  he  protested — almost  with  tears 
in  his  eyes — that  to  balk  his  inclinations  would  be  an  act  of 
cruelty  and  hard  dealing  to  which  he,  for  one,  never  could 
reconcile  his  conscience.  The  gentleman,  he  said,  had 
avowed  in  so  many  words  that  he  was  ready  for  working  off ; 
such  being  the  case,  he  considered  it  their  duty,  as  a  civil- 
ized and  enlightened  crowd,  to  work  him  off.  It  was  not 
often,  he  observed,  that  they  had  it  in  their  power  to  accommo- 
date themselves  to  the  wishes  of  those  from  whom  they  had 
the  misfortune  to  differ.  Having  now  found  an  individual 
who  expressed  a  desire  which  they  could  reasonably  indulge 
(and  for  himself  he  was  free  to  confess  that  in  his  opinion 
that  desire  did  honor  to  his  feelings),  he  hoped  they  would 
decide  to  accede  to  his  proposition  before  going  any  further. 
It  was  an  experiment  which,  skillfully  and  dextrously  per- 
formed, would  be  over  in  five  minutes,  with  great  comfort 
and  satisfaction  to  all  parties  ;  and  though  it  did  not  become 
him  (Mr.  Dennis)  to  speak  well  of  himself,  he  trusted  he 
might  be  allowed  to  say  that  he  had  practical  knowledge  of 
the  subject,  and,  being  naturally  of  an  obliging  and  friendly 
disposition,  would  work  the  gentleman  off  with  a  deal  of 
pleasure. 

These  remarks,  which  were  addressed  in  the  midst  of  a 
frightful  din  and  turmoil   to  those   immediately  about  him, 


472  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

Tr^ere  received  with  great  favor  ;  not  so  much,  perhaps,  be- 
cause of  the  hangman's  eloquence,  as  on  account  of  the  lock- 
smith's obstinacy.  Gabriel  was  in  imminent  peril,  and  he 
knew  it  ;  but  he  preserved  a  steady  silence  ;  and  would  have 
done  so,  if  they  had  been  debating  whether  they  should  roast 
him  at  a  slow  fire. 

As  the  hangman  spoke,  there  was  some  stir  and  confusion 
on  the  ladder  ;  and  directly  he  was  silent — so  immediately 
upon  his  holding  his  peace,  that  the  crowd  below  had  no  time 
to  learn  what  he  had  been  saying,  or  to  shout  in  response — 
some  one  at  the  window  cried  : 

"  He  has  a  gray  head.  He  is  an  old  man  ;  don't  hurt 
him  !  " 

The  locksmith  turned  with  a  start,  toward  the  place  from 
which  the  words  had  come,  and  looked  hurriedly  at  the  peo- 
ple who  were  hanging  on  the  ladder  and  clinging  to  each 
other. 

"  Pay  no  respect  to  my  gray  hair,  young  man,"  he  said, 
answering  the  voice  and  not  any  one  he  saw.  ''  I  don't  ask 
it.  My  heart  is  green  enough  to  scorn  and  despise  every 
man  among  you,  band  of  robbers  that  you  are  ! " 

This  incautious  speech  by  no  means  tended  to  appease 
the  ferocity  of  the  crowd.  They  cried  again  to  have  him 
brought  out ;  and  it  would  have  gone  hard  with  the  honest 
locksmith,  but  that  Hugh  reminded  them,  in  answer,  that 
they  wanted  his  services,  and  must  have  them. 

"So,  tell  him  what  we  want,"  he  said  to. Simon  Tappertit, 
"  and  quickly.  And  open  your  ears,  master,  if  you  would 
ever  use  them  after  to-night." 

Gabriel  folded  his  arms,  which  were  now  at  liberty,  and 
eyed  his  old  'prentice  in  silence. 

"  Lookye,  Varden,"  said  Sim,  "  we're  bound  for  Newgate." 

**I  know  you  are,"  returned  the  locksmith.  "You  never 
said  a  truer  word  than  that." 

"  To  burn  it  down,  I  mean,"  said  Simon,  "and  force  the 
gates,  and  set  the  prisoners  at  liberty.  You  helped  to  make 
the  lock  of  the  great  door." 

"  I  did,"  said  the  locksmith.  "  You  owe  me  no  thanks 
for  that — ft«  you'll  find  before  long," 

"  Maybe,"  returned  his  journeyman,  "  but  you  must  show 
us  how  to  force  it." 

"  Must  I  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  for  you  know,  and  I  don't.  You  must  come  along 
with  us,  and  pick  it  with  your  own  hands." 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  473 

"When  I  do/'  said  the  locksmith  quietly,  'Sny  hands  shall 
drop  off  at  the  wrists,  and  you  shall  wear  them,  Simon  Tap- 
pertit,  on  your  shoulders  for  epaulets." 

"  We'll  see  that,"  cried  Hugh,  interposing,  as  the  indigna- 
tion of  the  crowd  again  burst  forth.  "  You  fill  a  basket  with 
the  tools  he'll  want,  while  I  bring  him  down  stairs.  Open  the 
door  below,  some  of  you.  And  light  the  great  captain, 
others  I  Is  there  no  business  afoot,  my  lads,  that  you  can 
do  nothing  but  stand  and  grumble  ?  " 

They  looked  at  one  another,  and  quickly  dispersing, 
swarmed  over  the  house,  plundering  and  breaking,  accord- 
ing to  their  custom,  and  carrying  off  such  articles  of  valuefas 
happened  to  please  their  fancy.  They  had  no  great  length 
of  time  for  these  proceedings,  for  the  basket  of  tools  was 
soon  prepared  and  slung  over  a  man's  shoulders.  The 
preparations  being  now  completed,  and  every  thing  ready 
for  the  attack,  those  who  were  pillaging  and  destroying  in 
the  other  rooms  were  called  down  to  the  workshop.  They 
were  about  to  issue  forth,  when  the  man  who  had  been  last 
up-stairs,  stepped  forward,  and  asked  if  the  young  woman 
in  the  garret  (who  was  making  a  terrible  noise,  he  said,  and 
kept  on  screaming  without  the  least  cessation)  was  to  be 
released  ? 

For  his  own  part,  Simon  Tappertit  would  certainly  have 
replied  in  the  negative,  but  the  mass  of  his  companions, 
mindful  of  the  good  service  she  had  done  in  the  matter  of 
the  gun,  being  of  a  different  opinion,  he  had  nothing  for  it 
but  to  answer,  Yes.  The  man,  accordingly,  went  back  to 
the  rescue,  and  presently  returned  with  Miss  Miggs,  limp 
and  doubled  up,  and  very  damp  from  much  weeping. 

As  the  young  lady  had  given  no  tokens  of  consciousness 
on  their  way  down  stairs,  the  bearer  reported  her  either 
dead  or  dying  ;  and  being  at  some  loss  what  to  do  with  her, 
was  looking  round  for  a  convenient  bench  or  heap  of  ashes 
on  which  to  place  her  senseless  form,  when  she  suddenly 
came  upon  her  feet  by  some  mysterious  means,  thrust  back 
her  hair,  stared  wildly  at  Mr.  Tappertit,  cried  "  My  Sim- 
mun's  life  is  not  a  wictim  !  "  and  dropped  into  his  arms  with 
such  promptitude  that  he  staggered  and  reeled  some  paces 
back,  beneath  his  lovely  burden. 

"  Oh  bother  !  "  said  Mr.  Tappertit.  "  Here.  Catch  hold 
of  her,  somebody.  Lock  her  up  again  ;  she  never  ought  to 
have  been  let  out." 

"  My  Simmun  !  "  cried  Miss  Miggs,  in  tears,  and  famtly. 
''  My  forever,  ever  blessed  Simmun  !  " 


474  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  Hold  up,  will  you,"  said  Mr.  Tappertit,  in  a  very  unre- 
sponsive tone,  ^'I'U  let  you  fall  if  you  don't.  What  are  you 
sliding  your  feet  off  the  ground  for  ? " 

"  My  angel  Simmuns  !  "  murmured  Miggs — "  He  prom- 
ised  " 

''  Promised  !  Well,  and  I'll  keep  my  promise,"  answered 
Simon,  testily.  "  I  mean  to  provide  for  you,  don't  I  ?  Stand 
up  !  " 

**  Where  am  I  to  go  ?  What  is  to  become  of  me  after  my 
actions  of  this  night !  "  cried  Miggs.  "  What  resting-places 
now  remains  but  in  the  silent  tombses  !  " 

'*  I  wish  you  was  in  the  silent  tombses,  I  do,"  cried  Mr. 
Tappertit,  "  and  boxed  up  tight,  in  a  good  strong  one. 
Here,"  he  cried  to  one  of  the  bystanders,  in  whose  ear  he 
whispered  for  a  moment ;  "  take  her  off,  will  you.  You 
understand  where  ? " 

The  fellow  nodded  ;  and  taking  her  in  his  arms,  notwith- 
standing her  broken  protestations,  and  her  struggles  (which 
latter  species  of  opposition,  involving  scratches,  was  much 
more  difficult  of  resistance),  carried  her  away.  They  who 
were  in  the  house  poured  out  into  the  street ;  the  locksmith 
was  taken  to  the  head  of  the  crowd,  and  required  to  walk 
between  his  two  conductors  ;  the  whole  body  was  put  in 
rapid  motion  ;  and  without  any  shouting  or  noise  they  bore 
down  straight  on  Newgate,  and  halted  in  a  dense  mass 
before  the  prison-gate. 


CHAPTER    LXIV. 

Breaking  the  silence  they  had  hitherto  preserved,  they 
raised  a  great  cry  as  soon  as  they  were  ranged  before  the 
jail,  and  demanded  to  speak  to  the  governor.  This  visit 
was  not  wholly  unexpected,  for  his  house,  which  fronted 
the  street,  was  strongly  barricaded,  the  wicket-gate  of  the 
prison  was  closed  up,  and  at  no  loop-hole  or  grating  was 
any  person  to  be  seen.  Before  they  had  repeated  their 
summons  many  times,  a  man  appeared  upon  the  roof  of  the 
governor's  house  and  asked  what  it  was  they  wanted. 

Some  said  one  thing,  some  another,  and  some  only  groaned 
and  hissed.  It  being  now  nearly  dark,  and  the  house 
high,  many  persons  in  the  throng  were  not  aware  that  any 
one  had  come  to  answer  them,  and  continued  their  clamor 
until  the   intelligence  was  gradually  diffused    through  the 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  475 

whole  concourse.  Ten  minutes  or  more  elapsed  before  any 
one  voice  could  be  heard  with  tolerable  distinctness  ;  during 
which  interval  the  figure  remained  perched  alone,  against 
the  summer-evening  sky,  looking  down  into  the  troubled 
street. 

"  Are  you,"  said  Hugh  at  length,  ''  Mr.  Akerman,  the 
head  jailer  here  ?  " 

**  Of  course  he  is,  brother,"  whispered  Dennis.  But  Hugh, 
without  minding  him,  took  his  answer  from  the  man  himself. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.     "  1  am." 

"  You  have  got  some  friends  of  ours  in  your  custody,  mas- 

"  I  have  a  good  many  people  in  my  custody."  He  glanced 
downward,  as  he  spoke,  into  the  jail  ;  and  the  feeling  that  he 
could  see  into  the  different  yards,  and  that  he  overlooked 
every  thing  which  was  hidden  from  their  view  by  the  rugged 
walls,  so  lashed  and  goaded  the  mob,  that  they  howled  like 
wolves. 

"  Deliver  up  our  friends,"  said  Hugh,  "  and  you  may  keep 
the  rest." 

''  It's  my  duty  to  keep  them  all.     I  shall  do  my  duty." 

"  If  you  don't  throw  the  doors  open,  we  shall  break  'em 
down,"  said  Hugh  ;  "  for  we  will  have  the  rioters  out." 

"  All  I  can  do,  good  people,"  Akerman  replied,  "  is  to  ex- 
hort you  to  disperse  ;  and  to  remind  you  that  the  conse- 
quences of  any  disturbance  in  this  place  will  be  very 
severe,  and  bitterly  repented  by  most  of  you,  when  it  is  too 
late." 

He  made  as  though  he  would  retire  when  he  had  said 
these  words,  but  he  was  checked  by  the  voice  of  the  lock- 
smith. 

"  Mr.  Akerman,"  cried  Gabriel,  "  Mr.  Akerman." 

"  I  will  hear  no  more  from  any  of  you,"  replied  the  gov- 
ernor, turning  toward  the  speaker,  and  waving  his  hand. 

"  But  I  am  not  one  of  them,"  said  Gabriel.  "  I  am  an 
honest  man,  Mr.  Akerman  ;  a  respectable  tradesman — 
Gabriel  Varden,  the  locksmith.     You  know  me  .? " 

"  You  among  the  crowd  !  "  cried  the  governor  in  an  al- 
tered voice. 

"Brought  here  by  force— brought  here  to  pick  the  lock  of 
the  great  door  for  them,"  rejoined  the  locksmith.  "  Bear 
witness  for  me,  Mr.  Akerman,  that  I  refuse  to  do  it  ;  and 
that  I  will  not  do  it,  come  what  may  of  my  refusal.  If  any 
violence  is  done  to  me,  please  to  remember  this." 


476  BARNABV  RUDGE. 

*'  Is  there  no  way  of  helping  you  ?  "  said  the  governor. 

"  None,  Mr.  Akerman.  You'll  do  your  duty,  and  I'll  do 
mine.  Once  again,  you  robbers  and  cut-throats,"  said  the 
locksmith,  turning  round  upon  them,  "  I  refuse.  Ah  ! 
Howl  till  you're  hoarse.     I  refuse." 

*'  Stay — stay  !  "  said  the  jailer,  hastily.  '*  Mr.  Varden,  I 
know  you  for  a  worthy  man,  and  one  who  would  do  no  un- 
lawful act  upon  compulsion — " 

"  Upon  compulsion,  sir,"  interposed  the  locksmith,  who 
felt  that  the  tone  in  which  this  was  said,  conveyed  the 
speaker's  impression  that  he  had  ample  excuse  for  yielding 
to  the  furious  multitude  who  beset  and  hemmed  him  in,  on 
every  side,  and  among  whom  he  stood,  an  old  man,  quite 
alone  ;  ^'  upon  compulsion,  sir,  I'll  do  nothing." 

"Where  is  that  man,"  said  the  keeper,  anxiously,  ''who 
spoke  to  me  just  now  ?  " 

"  Here  !  "  Hugh  replied. 

"  Do  you  know  what  the  guilt  of  murder  is,  and  that  by 
keeping  that  honest  tradesman  at  your  side  you  endanger 
his  life  !  " 

"  We  know  it  very  well,"  he  answered,  "  for  what  else  did 
we  bring  him  here  ?  Let's  have  our  friends,  master,  and 
you  shall  have  your  friend.     Is  that  fair,  lads  ?  " 

The  mob  replied  to  him  with  a  loud  hurrah  ! 

*'  You  see  how  it  is,  sir  ?  "  cried  Varden.  "  Keep  'em  out, 
in  King  George's  name.  Remember  what  I  have  said.  Good- 
night !  " 

There  was  no  more  parley.  A  shower  of  stones  and  other 
missiles  compelled  the  keeper  of  the  jail  to  retire  ;  and  the 
mob,  pressing  on,  and  swarming  round  the  walls,  forced 
Gabriel  Varden  close  up  to  the  door. 

In  vain  the  basket  of  tools  was  laid  upon  the  ground  be- 
fore him,  and  he  was  urged  in  turn  by  promises,  by  blows, 
by  offers  of  reward,  and  threats  of  instant  death,  to  do  the 
office  for  which  they  had  brought  him  there.  "  No,"  cried 
the  sturdy  locksmith,  "  I  will  not !  " 

He  had  never  loved  his  life  so  well  as  then,  but  nothing 
could  move  him.  The  savage  faces  that  glared  upon  him, 
look  where  he  would  ;  the  cries  of  those  who  thirsted,  like 
animals,  for  his  blood  ;  the  sight  of  men  pressing  forward, 
and  trampling  down  their  fellows,  as  they  strove  to  reach 
him,  and  struck  at  him  above  the  heads  of  other  men,  with 
axes  and  with  iron  bars  ;  all  failed  to  daunt  him.  He 
locked  from  man   to  man,  and  face  to  face,  and  still,  with 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  477 

quickened  breath  and  lessening  color,  cried  firmly,  "  I  will 
not  !  " 

Dennis  dealt  him  a  blow  upon  the  face  which  felled  him 
to  the  ground.  He  sprung  up  again  like  a  man  in  the  prime 
of  life,  and  with  blood  upon  his  forehead,  caught  him  by  the 
throat. 

"  You  cowardly  dog  !  "  he  said  ;  "  give  me  my  daughter. 
Give  me  my  daughter."  • 

They  struggled  together.  Some  cried  "  Kill  him,"  and 
some  (but  they  were  not  near  enough)  strove  to  trample  him 
to  death.  Tug  as  he  would  at  the  old  man's  wrists,  the 
hangman  could  not  force  him  to  unclench  his  hands. 

**  Is  this  all  the  return  you  make  me,  you  ungrateful  mon- 
ster?" he  articulated  with  great  difficulty,  and  with  many 
oaths. 

"  Give  me  my  daughter  !  "  cried  the  locksmith,  who  was 
now  as  fierce  as  those  who  gathered  round  him.  *'  Give  me 
my  daughter  !  " 

He  was  down  again,  and  up,  and  down  once  more,  and 
buffeting  with  a  score  of  them,  who  bandied  him  from  hand 
to  hand,  when  one  tall  fellow,  fresh  from  a  slaughter-house, 
whose  dress  and  great  thigh-boots  smoked  hot  with  grease 
and  blood,  raised  a  pole-ax,  and  swearing  a  horrible  oath, 
aimed  it  at  the  old  man's  uncovered  head.  At  that  instant, 
and  in  the  very  act,  he  fell  himself,  as  if  struck  by  lightning, 
and  over  his  body  a  one-armed  man  came  darting  to  the 
locksmith's  side.  Another  man  was  with  him,  and  both 
caught  the  locksmith  roughly  in  their  grasp. 

"  Leave  him  to  us  !  "  they  cried  to  Hugh — struggling,  as 
they  spoke,  to  force  a  passage  backward  through  the  crowd. 
'*  Leave  him  to  us.  Why  do  you  waste  your  whole  strength 
on  such  as  he,  when  a  couple  of  men  can  finish  him  in  as 
many  minutes  !  You  lose  time.  Remember  the  prisoners  ! 
remember  Barnaby  !  " 

The  cry  ran  through  the  mob.  Hammers  began  to  rattle 
on  the  walls  ;  and  every  man  strove  to  reach  the  prison,  and 
be  among  the  foremost  rank.  Fighting  their  way  through 
the  press  and  struggle,  as  desperately  as  if  they  were  in  the 
midst  of  enemies  rather  than  their  own  friends,  the  two  men 
retreated  with  the  locksmith  between  them,  and  dragged  him 
through  the  very  heart  of  the  concourse. 

And  now  the  strokes  began  to  fall  like  hail  upon  the  gate, 
and  on  the  strong  building  ;  for  those  who  could  not  reach 
the  door,  spent  their  fierce  rage  on  any  thing — even  to  the 


478  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

great  blocks  of  stone,  which  shivered  their  weapons  into 
fragments,  and  made  their  hands  and  arms  to  tingle  as  if 
the  walls  were  active  in  their  stout  resistance,  and  dealt 
them  back  their  blows.  The  clash  of  iron  ringing  upon  iron 
mingled  with  the  deafening  tumult  and  sounded  high  above 
it,  as  the  great  sledge-hammers  rattled  on  the  nailed  and 
plated  door  ;  the  sparks  flew  off  in  showers  ;  men  worked 
in  gangs,  and  at  short  intervals  relieved  each  other,  that  all 
their  strength  might  be  devoted  to  the  work  ;  but  there 
stood  the  portal  still,  as  grim  and  dark  and  strong  as  ever, 
and,  saving  for  the  dints  upon  its  battered  surface,  quite 
unchanged. 

While  some  brought  all  their  energies  to  bear  upon  this 
toilsome  task  ;  and  some,  rearing  ladders  against  the  prison, 
tried  to  clamber  to  the  summit  of  the  walls  they  were  too 
short  to  scale  ;  and  some  again  engaged  a  body  of  police 
a  hundred  strong,  and  beat  them  back  and  trod  them  under 
foot  by  force  of  numbers  ;  others  besieged  the  house  on 
which  the  jailer  had  appeared,  and  driving  in  the  door, 
brought  out  his  furniture,  and  piled  it  up  against  the  prison- 
gate,  to  make  a  bonfire  which  should  burn  it  down.  As  soon 
as  this  device  was  understood,  all  those  who  had  labored  hith- 
erto, cast  down  their  tools  and  helped  to  swell  the  heap  ;  which 
reached  half-way  across  the  street,  and  was  so  high,  that 
those  who  threw  more  fuel  upon  the  top,  got  up  by  ladders. 
When  all  the  keeper's  goods  were  flung  upon  this  costly 
pile,  to  the  last  fragment,  they  smeared  it  with  the  pitch 
and  tar  and  rosin  they  had  brought,  and  sprinkled  it  with 
turpentine.  To  all  the  wood-work  round  the  prison-doors 
they  did  the  like,  leaving  not  a  joist  or  beam  untouched. 
This  infernal  christening  performed,  they  fired  the  pile  with 
lighted  matches  and  with  blazing  tow,  and  then  stood  by, 
awaiting  the  result. 

The  furniture  being  very  dry,  and  rendered  more  com- 
bustible by  wax  and  oil,  besides  the  arts  they  had  used,  took 
fire  at  once.  The  flames  roared  high  and  fiercely,  blacken- 
ing the  prison-wall,  and  twining  up  it3  lofty  front  like  burn- 
ing serpents.  At  first  they  crowded  round  the  blaze,  and 
ventured  their  exultation  only  in  their  looks  ;  but  when  it 
grev/  hotter  and  fiercer — when  it  crackled,  leaped,  and  roared, 
like  a  great  furnace — when  it  shone  upon  the  opposite 
houses,  and  lighted  up  not  only  the  pale  and  wondering 
faces  at  the  windows,  but  the  inmost  corners  of  each  habi- 
tation— when  through  the  deep  red  heat  and  glow,  the  fire 


BAilNABY  RUDGE.  479 

was  seen  sporting  and  toying  with  the  door,  now  clinging  to 
its  obdurate  surface,  now  gliding  off  with  fierce  inconstancy 
and  soaring  high  into  the  sky,  anon  returning  to  fold  it  in 
its  burning  grasp  and  lure  it  to  its  ruin — when  it  shone 
and  gleamed  so  brightly  that  the  church  clock  of  St. 
Sepulcher's  so  often  pointing  to  the  hour  of  death,  was  legi- 
ble as  in  broad  day,  and  the  vane  upon  its  steeple-top  glit- 
tered in  the  unwonted  light  like  something  richly  jeweled — 
when  blackened  stone  and  somber  brick  grew  ruddy  in  the 
deep  reflection,  and  windows  shone  like  burnished  gold, 
dotting  the  longest  distance  in  the  fiery  vista  with  their 
specks  of  brightness — when  wall  and  tower,  and  roof  and 
chimney-stack,  seemed  drunk,  and  in  the  flickering  glare 
appeared  to  reel  and  stagger — when  scores  of  objects,  never 
seen  before,  burst  out  upon  the  view,  and  things  the  most 
familiar  put  on  some  new  aspect — then  the  mob  began  to 
join  the  whirl,  and  with  loud  yells  and  shouts  and  clamor, 
such  as  happily  is  seldom  heard,  bestirred  themselves  to 
feed  the  fire,  and  keep  it  at  its  height. 

Although  the  heat  was  so  intense  that  the  paint  on  the 
houses  over  against  the  prison  parched  and  crackled  up,  and 
swelling  into  boils,  as  it  were  from  excess  of  torture,  broke 
and  crumbled  away  ;  although  the  glass  fell  from  the  win- 
dow-sashes, and  the  lead  and  iron  on  the  roofs  blistered  the 
incautious  hand  that  touched  them,  and  the  sparrows  in  the 
eaves  took  wing,  and  rendered  giddy  by  the  smoke,  fell  flut- 
tering upon  the  blazing  pile  ;  still  the  fire  was  tended  un- 
ceasingly by  busy  hands,  and  round  it  men  were  going  always. 
They  never  slackened  in  their  zeal,  or  kept  aloof,  but 
pressed  upon  the  flames  so  hard,  that  those  in  front  had  much 
ado  to  save  themselves  from  being  thrust  in  ;  if  one  sv/ooned 
or  dropped,  a  dozen  struggled  for  his  place,  and  that 
although  they  knew  the  pain,  and  thirst,  and  pressure  to  be 
unendurable.  Those  who  fell  down  in  fainting-fits,  and  were 
not  crushed  or  burned,  were  carried  to  an  inn-yard  close  at 
hand,  and  dashed  with  water  from  a  pump  ;  of  which  buck- 
ets full  were  passed  from  man  to  man  among  the  crowd  ;  but 
such  was  the  strong  desire  of  all  to  drink,  and  such  the  fight- 
ing to  be  first,  that,  for  the  most  part,  the  whole  contents 
were  spilled  upon  the  ground,  without  the  lips  of  one  man 
being  moistened. 

Meanwhile,  and  in  the  midst  of  all  the  roar  and  outcry, 
those  who  were  nearest  to  the  pile,  heaped  up  again  the 
burning  fragments  that  came  toDoing:  down,  and  raked  the 


48o  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

fire  about  the  door,  which,  although  a  sheet  of  flame,  was 
still  a  door  fast  lo<::ked  and  barred,  and  kept  them  out. 
Great  pieces  of  blazing  wood  were  passed,  besides,  above  the 
peoples'  heads  to  such  as  stood  about  the  ladders,  and  some  of 
these,  climbing  up  to  the  topmost  stave,  and  holding  on  with 
one  hand  by  the  prison  wall,  exerted  all  their  skill  and  force 
to  cast  these  firebrands  on  the  roof  or  down  into  the 
yards  within.  In  many  instances  their  efforts  were  success- 
ful ;  which  occasioned  a  new  and  appalling  addition  to  the 
horrors  of  the  scene  ;  for  the  prisoners  within,  seeing  from 
between  their  bars  that  the  fire  caught  in  many  places,  and 
thrived  fiercely,  and  being  all  locked  up  in  strong  cells  for 
the  night,  began  to  know  that  they  were  in  danger  of  being 
burned  alive.  This  terrible  fear,  spreading  from  cell  to  cell 
and  from  yard  to  yard,  vented  itself  in  such  dismal  cries  and 
wailings,  and  in  such  dreadful  shrieks  for  help,  that  the 
whole  jail  resounded  with  the  noise  ;  which  was  loudly  heard 
even  above  the  shouting  of  the  mob  and  roaring  of  the 
flames,  and  was  so  full  of  agony  and  despair,  that  it  made 
the  boldest  tremble. 

It  was  remarkable  that  these  cries  began  in  that  quarter 
of  the  jail  which  fronted  Newgate  Street,  where  it  was  well 
known  the  men  who  were  to  suffer  death  on  Thursday  were 
confined.  And  not  only  were  these  four,  who  had  so  short 
time  to  live,  the  first  to  whom  the  dread  of  being  burned  oc- 
curred, but  they  were  throughout,  the  most  importunate  of 
all  ;  for  they  could  be  plainly  heard,  notwithstanding  the 
great  thickness  of  the  walls,  crying  that  the  wind  set  that 
way,  and  that  the  flames  would  shortly  reach  them  ;  and 
calling  to  the  officers  of  the  jail  to  come  and  quench  the  fire 
from  a  cistern  that  was  in  their  yard,  and  full  of  water. 
Judging  from  what  the  crowd  outside  the  walls  could  hear 
from  time  to  time,  these  four  doomed  wretches  never  ceased 
to  call  for  help  ;  and  that  with  as  much  distraction,  and  in  as 
great  frenzy  of  attachment  to  existence,  as  though  each  had 
an  honored  and  happy  life  before  him,  instead  of  eight-and- 
forty  hours  of  miserable  imprisonment,  and  then  a  violent 
and  shameful  death. 

But  the  anguish  and  suffering  of  the  two  sons  of  one  of 
these  men,  when  they  heard  or  fancied  that  they  heard,  their 
father's  voice,  is  past  description.  After  wringing  their  hands 
and  rushing  to  and  fro  as  if  they  were  stark  mad,  one  mount- 
ed on  the  shoulders  of  his  brother,  and  tried  to  clamber  up 
the  face  of  the  high  wall,  guarded  at  the  top  with  spikes  and 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  481 

points  of  iron.  And  when  he  fell  among  the  crowd,  he  was 
not  deterred  by  his  bruises,  but  mounted  up  again,  and  fell 
again,  and  when  he  found  the  feat  impossible,  began  to  beat 
the  stones  and  tear  them  with  his  hands,  as  if  he  could  that 
way  make  a  breach  in  the  strong  building,  and  force  a  pas- 
sage in.  At  last,  they  cleft  their  way  among  the  mob  about 
the  door,  though  many  men,  a  dozen  times  their  match,  had 
tried  in  vain  to  do  so,  and  were  seen,  in — yes,  in — the  fire, 
striving  to  prize  it  down,  with  crowbars. 

Nor  were  they  alone  affected  by  the  outcry  from  within  the 
prison.  The  women  who  were  looking  on  shrieked  loudly, 
beat  their  hands  together,  stopped  their  ears  ;  and  many 
fainted  ;  the  men  who  were  not  near  the  walls  and  active  in 
the  siege,  rather  than  do  nothing,  tore  up  the  pavement  of 
the  street,  and  did  so  with  a  haste  and  fury  they  could  not 
have  surpassed  if  that  had  been  the  jail,  and  they  were  near 
their  object.  Not  one  living  creature  in  the  throng  was  for 
an  instant  still.     The  whole  great  mass  were  mad. 

A  shout  !  Another  !  Another  yet,  though  few  knew  why, 
or  what  it  meant.  But  those  around  the  gate  had  seen  it 
slowly  yield,  and  drop  from  its  topmost  hinge.  It  hung  on 
that  side  by  but  one,  but  it  was  upright  still,  because  of  the 
bar,  and  its  having  sunk,  of  its  own  weight,  into  the  heap  of 
ashes  at  its  foot.  There  was  now  a  gap  at  the  top  of  the 
doorway,  through  which  could  be  descried  a  gloomy  pas- 
sage, cavernous  and  dark.     Pile  up  the  fire  ! 

It  burned  fiercely.  The  door  was  red-hot,  and  the  gap 
wider.  They  vainly  tried  to  shield  their  faces  with  their 
hands,  and  standing  as  if  in  readiness  for  a  spring,  watched 
the  place.  Dark  figures,  some  crawling  on  their  hands  and 
knees,  some  carried  in  the  arms  of  others,  were  seen  to  pass 
along  the  roof.  It  was  plain  the  jail  could  hold  out  no 
longer.  The  keeper,  and  his  officers  and  their  wives,  and 
children,  were  escaping.     Pile  up  the  fire. 

The  door  sank  down  again  :  it  settled  deeper  in  the  cin- 
ders— tottered — yielded — was  down  ! 

As  they  shouted  again,  they  fell  back,  for  a  moment,  and 
left  a  clear  space  about  the  fire  that  lay  between  them  and 
the  jail  e-ntry.  Hugh  leaped  upon  the  blazing  heap,  and 
scattering  a  train  of  sparks  into  the  air,  and  making  the 
dark  lobby  glitter  with  those  that  hung  upon  his  dress, 
dashed  into  the  jail. 

The  hangman  followed.  And  then  so  many  rushed  upon 
their  track,  that  the  fire  got  trodden  down  and  thinly  strewn 


482  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

about  the  street  ;  but  there  was  no  need  of  it  now,  for,  inside 
and  out,  the  prison  was  in  flames. 


CHAPTER  LXV. 

During  the  whole  course  of  the  terrible  scene  which  was 
now  at  its  height,  one  man  in  the  jail  suffered  a  degree  of 
mental  torment  which  had  no  parallel  in  the  endurance 
even  of  those  who  lay  under  sentence  of  death. 

When  the  rioters  first  assembled  before  the  building,  the 
murderer  was  roused  from  sleep — if  such  slumbers  as  his 
may  have  that  blessed  name — by  the  roar  of  voices,  and  the 
struggling  of  a  great  crowd.  He  started  up  as  these  sounds 
met  his  ear,  and,  sitting  on  his  bedstead,  listened. 

After  a  short  interval  of  silence  the  noise  burst  out  again. 
Still  listening  attentively,  he  made  out,  in  course  of  time, 
that  the  jail  was  besieged  by  a  furious  multitude.  His 
guilty  conscience  instantly  arrayed  these  men  against  him- 
self, and  brought  the  fear  upon  him  that  he  would  be  singled 
out,  and  torn  to  pieces. 

Once  impressed  with  the  terror  of  this  conceit,  every  thing 
tended  to  confirm  and  strengthen  it.  His  double  crime,  the 
circumstances  under  which  it  had  been  committed,  the 
length  of  time  which  had  elapsed,  and  its  discovery  in  spite 
of  all,  made  him,  as  it  were,  the  visible  object  of  the  Al- 
mighty's wrath.  In  all  the  crime  and  vice  and  moral  gloom 
of  the  great  pest-house  of  the  capital,  he  stood  alone,  marked 
and  singled  out  by  his  great  guilt,  a  Lucifer  among  the 
devils.  The  other  prisoners  were  a  host,  hiding  and  shel- 
tering each  other — a  crowd  like  that  without  the  walls.  He 
was  one  man  against  the  whole  united  concourse  ;  a  single, 
solitary,  lonely  man,  from  whom  the  very  captives  in  the 
jail  fell  off  and  shrunk  appalled. 

It  might  be  that  the  intelligence  of  his  capture  having 
been  bruited  abroad,  they  had  come  there  purposely  to  drag 
him  out  and  kill  him  in  the  street  ;  or  it  might  be  that  they 
were  the  rioters,  and,  in  pursuance  of  an  old  design,  had  come 
to  sack  the  prison.  But  in  either  case  he  had  no  belief  or 
hope  that  they  would  spare  him.  Every  shout  they  raised,  and 
every  sound  they  made,  was  a  blow  upon  his  heart.  As  the 
attack  went  on,  he  grew  more  wild  and  frantic  in  his  terror  ; 
tried  to  pull  away  the  bars  that  guarded  the  chimney  and 
prevented    him    from  climbing  up ;  called   loudly  on    the 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  483 

turnkeys  to  cluster  round  the  cell  and  save  him  from  the 
fury  of  the  rabble  ;  or  put  him  in  some  dungeon  under- 
ground, no  matter  of  what  depth,  how  dark  it  was,  or  loath- 
some, or  beset  with  rats  and  creeping  things,  so  that  it  hid 
him  and  was  hard  to  find. 

But  no  one  came  or  answered  him.  Fearful  even  while 
he  cried  to  them,  of  attracting  attention,  he  was  silent.  By 
and  by  he  saw,  as  he  looked  from  his  grated  window,  a 
strange  glimmering  on  the  stone  walls  and  pavements  of  the 
yard.  It  was  feeble  at  first,  and  came  and  went,  as  though 
some  officers  with  torches  were  passing  to  and  fro  upon  the 
roof  of  the  prison.  Soon  it  reddened,  and  lighted  brands 
came  whirling. down,  spattering  the  ground  with  fire,  and 
burning  sullenly  in  corners.  One  rolled  beneath  a  wooden 
bench,  and  set  it  in  a  blaze,  another  caught  a  water- 
spout, and  so  went  climbing  up  the  wall,  leaving  a  long 
straight  track  of  fire  behind  it.  After  a  time,  a  slow 
thick  shower  of  burning  fragments,  from  some  upper  por- 
tion of  the  prison,  which  was  blazing  nigh,  began  to  fall 
before  his  door.  Remembering  that  it  opened  outward,  he 
knew  that  every  spark  which  fell  upon  the  heap,  and  in  the 
act  lost  its  bright  life,  and  died  an  ugly  speck  of  dust  and 
rubbish,  helped  to  entomb  him  in  a  living  grave.  Still, 
though  the  jail  resounded  with  shrieks  and  cries  for  help — 
though  the  fire  bounded  up  as  if  each  separate  flame  had  had 
a  tiger's  life,  and  roared  as  though,  in  every  one,  there  were 
a  hungry  voice — though  the  heat  began  to  grow  intense,  and 
the  air  suffocating,  and  the  clamor  without  increased,  and 
the  danger  of  his  situation  even  from  one  merciless  element 
was  every  moment  more  extreme — still  he  was  afraid  to 
raise  his  voice  again,  lest  the  crowd  should  break  in,  and 
should  of  their  own  ears  or  from  the  information  given  them 
by  the  other  prisoners,  get  the  clew  to  his  place  of  confine- 
ment. Thus  fearful  alike  of  those  within  the  prison  and  of 
those  without  ;  of  noise  and  silence  ;  light  and  darkness  ;  of 
being  released,  and  being  left  there  to  die  ;  he  was  so  tor- 
tured and  tormented,  that  nothing  man  has  ever  done  to 
man  in  the  horrible  caprice  of  power  and  cruelty,  exceeds 
his  self-inflicted  punishment. 

Now,  now,  the  door  was  down.  Now  they  came  rushing 
through  the  jail,  calling  to  each  other  in  the  vaulted  pas- 
sages ;  clashing  the  iron  gates  dividing  yard  from  yard  ; 
beating  at  the  doors  of  cells  and  wards  ;  wrenching  off  bolts 
and  locks  and  bars  ;  tearing  down  the  door-posts  to  get  men 


484  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

out  ;  endeavoring  to  drag  them  by  main  force  through  gaps 
and  windows  where  a  child  could  scarcely  pass  ;  whooping 
and  yelling  without  a  moment's  rest  ;  and  running  through 
the  heat  and  flames  as  if  they  were  cased  in  metal.  By  their 
legs,  their  arms,  the  hair  upon  their  heads,  they  dragged  the 
prisoners  out.  Some  threw  themselves  upon  their  captives 
as  they  got  toward  the  door,  and  tried  to  file  away  their 
irons  ;  some  danced  abut  them  with  a  frenzied  joy,  and  rent 
their  clothes,  and  were  ready,  as  it  seemed,  to  tear  them 
limb  from  limb.  Now  a  party  of  a  dozen  men  came  dart- 
ing through  the  yard  into  which  the  murderer  cast  fearful 
glances  from  his  darkened  window  ;  dragging  a  prisoner 
along  the  ground  whose  dress  they  had  nearly  torn  from  his 
body  in  their  mad  eagerness  to  set  him  free,  and  who  was 
bleeding  and  senseless  in  their  hands.  Now  a  score  of  pris- 
oners ran  to  and  fro,  who  had  lost  themselves  in  the  intrica- 
cies of  the  prison,  and  were  so  bewildered  with  the  noise 
and  glare  that  they  knew  not  where  to  turn  or  what  to  do, 
and  still  cried  out  for  help,  as  loudly  as  before.  Anon  some 
famished  wretch  whose  theft  had  been  a  loaf  of  bread,  or 
scrap  of  butcher's  meat,  came  skulking  past,  barefooted — 
going  slowly  away  because  that  jail,  his  house,  was  burning  ; 
not  because  he  had  any  other,  or  had  friends  to  meet,  or  old 
haunts  to  revisit,  or  any  liberty  to  gain,  but  liberty  to  starve 
and  die.  And  then  a  knot  of  highwaymen  went  trooping  by, 
conducted  by  the  friends  they  had  among  the  crowd,  who 
muffled  their  fetters  as  they  went  along,  with  handkerchiefs 
and  bands  of  hay,  and  wrapped  them  in  coats  and  cloaks, 
and  gave  them  drink  from  bottles,  and  held  it  to  their  lips, 
because  of  their  handcuffs,  which  there  was  no  time  to  re- 
move. All  this,  and  heaven  knows  how  much  more,  was 
done  amidst  a  noise,  a  hurry,  and  distraction,  like  nothing 
that  we  know  of,  even  in  our  dreams  ;  which  seemed  for- 
ever on  the  rise,  and  never  to  decrease  for  the  space  of  a 
single  instant. 

He  was  still  looking  down  from  his  window  upon  these 
things,  when  a  band  of  men  with  torches,  ladders,  axes,  and 
many  kinds  of  weapons,  poured  into  the  yard,  and  hammer- 
ing at  his  door,  inquired  if  there  was  any  prisoner  within. 
He  left  the  window  when  he  saw  them  coming,  and  drew 
back  into  the  remotest  corner  of  the  cell  ;  but  although  he 
returned  them  no  answer,  they  had  a  fancy  that  some  one 
was  inside,  for  they  presently  set  ladders  against  it,  and  be- 
gan to  tear  away  the  bars  at  the  casement ;  not  only  that, 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  485 

indeed,  but  with  pickaxes  to  hew  down  the  very  stones  in 
the  wall. 

As  soon  as  they  had  made  a  breach  at  the  window,  large 
enough  for  the  admission  of  a  man's  head,  one  of  them  thrust 
in  a  torch  and  looked  all  round  the  room.  He  followed  this 
man's  gaze  until  it  rested  on  himself,  and  heard  him  demand 
why  he  had  not  answered,  but  made  him  no  reply. 

In  the  general  surprise  and  wonder,  they  were  used  to  this  ; 
without  saying  any  thing  more,  they  enlarged  the  breach 
until  it  was  large  enough  to  admit  the  body  of  a  man,  and 
then  came  dropping  down  upon  the  floor,  one  after  another, 
until  the  cell  was  full.  They  caught  him  up  among  them, 
handed  him  to  the  window,  and  those  who  stood  upon  the 
ladders  passed  him  down  upon  the  pavement  of  the  yard. 
Then  the  rest  came  out,  one  after  another,  and  bidding  him 
fly,  and  lose  no  time,  or  the  way  would  be  choked  up,  hur- 
ried away  to  rescue  others. 

It  seemed  not  a  minute's  work  from  first  to  last.  He 
staggered  to  his  feet,  incredulous  of  what  had  happened,  when 
the  yard  was  filled  again,  and  a  crowd  rushed  on,  hurrying 
Barnaby  among  them.  In  another  minute — not  so  much  : 
another  minute  !  the  same  instant,  with  no  lapse  or  interval 
between ! — he  and  his  son  were  being  passed  from  hand  to 
hand,  through  the  dense  crowd  in  the  street,  and  were  glanc- 
ing backward  at  a  burning  pile  which  some  one  said  was 
Newgate. 

From  the  moment  of  their  first  entrance  into  the  prison 
the  crowd  dispersed  themselves  about  it,  and  swarmed 
into  every  chink  and  crevice,  as  if  they  had  a  perfect  ac- 
quaintance with  its  innermost  parts,  and  bore  in  their 
minds  an  exact  plan  of  the  whole.  For  this  immediate 
knowledge  of  the  place,  they  were,  no  doubt,  in  a  great 
degree,  indebted  to  the  hangman,  who  stood  in  the  lobby, 
directing  some  to  go  this  way,  some  that,  and  some  the 
other  ;  and  who  materially  assisted  in  bringing  about  the 
wonderful  rapidity  with  which  the  release  of  the  prisoners 
was  effected. 

But  this  functionary  of  the  law  reserved  one  important 
piece  of  intelligence,  and  kept  it  snugly  to  himself.  When 
he  had  issued  his  instructions  relative  to  every  other  part  of 
the  building,  and  the  mob  was  dispersed  from  end  to  end, 
and  busy  at  their  work,  he  took  a  bundle  of  keys  from  a  kind 
of  cupboard  in  the  wall,  and  going  by  a  kind  of  passage  near 
the  chapel  (it  joined  the  governor's  house,  and  was  then  on 


486  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

fire),  betook  himself  to  the  condemned  cells,  which  were  a 
series  of  small,  strong,  dismal  rooms,  opening  on  a  low  gal- 
lery, guarded  at  the  end  at  which  he  entered  by  a  strong 
iron  wicket,  and  at  its  opposite  extremity  by  two  doors 
and  a  thick  gate.  Having  double  locked  the  wicket,  and 
assured  himself  that  the  other  entrances  were  w^ell  se- 
cured, he  sat  down  upon  a  bench  in  the  gallery,  and  sucked 
the  head  of  his  stick  with  the  utmost  complacency,  tranquil- 
lity, and  contentment. 

It  would  have  been  strange  enough,  a  man's  enjoying  him- 
self in  this  quiet  manner,  while  the  prison  was  burning,  and 
such  a  tumult  was  cleaving  the  air,  though  he  had  been  out- 
side the  walls.  But  here  in  the  very  heart  of  the  building, 
and  moreover  with  the  prayers  and  cries  of  the  four  men 
under  sentence  sounding  in  his  ears,  and  their  hands, 
stretched  out  through  the  gratings  of  their  cell-doors,  clasped 
in  frantic  entreaty  before  his  very  eyes,  it  was  particularly 
remarkable.  Indeed,  Mr.  Dennis  appeared  to  think  it  an 
uncommon  circumstance,  and  to  banter  himself  upon  it  ; 
for  he  thrust  his  hat  on  one  side  as  some  men  do  when 
they  are  in  a  waggish  humor,  sucked  the  head  of  his 
stick  with  a  higher  relish,  and  smiled  as  though  he  would 
say,  *'  Dennis,  you're  a  rum  dog  ;  you're  a  queer  fellow  ; 
you're  capital  company,  Dennis,  and  quite  a  character  !  " 

He  sat  in  this  way  for  some  minutes,  while  the  four  men 
in  the  cells,  certain  that  somebody  had  entered  the  gallery, 
but  they  could  not  see  who,  gave  vent  to  such  piteous  en- 
treaties as  wretches  in  their  miserable  condition  may  be  sup- 
posed to  have  been  inspired  with  ;  urging  whoever  it  was  to 
set  them  at  liberty,  for  the  love  of  heaven  ;  and  protesting 
with  great  fervor,  and  truly  enough,  perhaps,  for  the  time, 
that  if  they  escaped  they  would  amend  their  ways,  and  would 
never,  never,  never  again  do  wrong  before  God  or  man,  but 
would  lead  penitent  and  sober  lives,  and  sorrowfully  repent 
the  crimes  they  had  committed.  The  terrible  energy  with 
which  they  spoke  would  have  moved  any  person,  no  matter 
how  good  or  just  (if  any  good  or  just  person  could  have 
strayed  into  that  sad  place  that  night),  to  have  set  them  at 
liberty;  and,  while  he  would  have  left  any  other  punishment 
to  its  free  course,  to  have  saved  them  from  this  last  dread- 
ful and  repulsive  penalty  ;  which  never  turned  a  man  in- 
clined to  evil,  and  has  hardened  thousands  who  were  half 
inclined  to  pood. 

Mr.  Dennis,  who  had  been  bred  and  matured  in  the  good 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  487 

old  school,  and  had  administered  the  good  old  laws  on  the 
good  old  plan,  always  once  and  sometimes  twice  every  six 
weeks,  for  a  long  time,  bore  these  appeals  with  a  deal  of  phil- 
osophy. Being  at  last,  however,  rather  disturbed  in  his 
pleasant  reflection  by  their  repetition,  he  rapped  at  one  of 
the  doors  with  his  stick,  and  cried  : 

"  Hold  your  noise  there,  will  you  ? " 

At  this  they  all  cried  together  that  they  were  to  be  hanged 
on  the  next  day  but  one  ;  and  again  implored  his  aid. 

"Aid  !  For  what?  "  said  Mr.  Dennis,  playfully  rapping 
the  knuckles  of  the  hand  nearest  him. 

"  To  save  us  !  "  they  cried. 

''  Oh,  certainly,"  said  Mr.  Dennis,  winking  at  the  wall  in 
the  absence  of  any  friend  with  whom  he  could  humor  the 
joke.     "  And  so  you're  to  be  worked  off,  are  you,  brothers  ?  " 

"  Unless  we  are  released  to-night,"  one  of  them  cried, 
*'  we  are  dead  men  !  " 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  the  hangman,  gravely  ;  "I'm 
afraid  my  friend  that  you're  not  in  that  'ere  state  of  mind 
that's  suitable  to  your  condition  then  ;  you're  not  a-going  to 
be  released  ;  don't  think  it.  Will  you  leave  off  that  'ere  inde- 
cent row  ?     I  wonder  you  an't  ashamed  of  yourselves,  I  do." 

He  followed  up  this  reproof  by  rapping  every  set  of 
knuckles  one  after  the  other,  and  having  done  so,  resumed 
his  seat  again  with  a  cheerful  countenance. 

"  You've  had  law,"  he  said,  crossing  his  legs  and  elevating 
his  eyebrows  :  "  laws  have  been  made  a  purpose  for  you  ;  a 
wery  handsome  prison's  been  made  a  purpose  for  you  ;  a 
parson's  kept  a  purpose  for  you  ;  a  constitootional  officer's 
appointed  a  purpose  for  you  ;  carts  is  maintained  a  purpose 
for  you — and  yet  you're  not  contented  ! — Will  yoM  hold  that 
noise,  you,  sir,  in  the  furthest  ?  " 

A  groan  was  the  only  answer. 

"  So  well  as  I  can  make  out,"  said  Mr.  Dennis,  in  a  tone 
of  mingled  badinage  and  remonstrance,  "  there's  not  a  man 
among  you.  I  begin  to  think  I'm  on  the  opposite  side,  and 
among  the  ladies  ;  though  for  the  matter  of  that,  I've  seen  a 
many  ladies  face  it  out,  in  a  manner  that  did  honor  to  the 
sex.  You  in  number  two,  don't  grind  them  teeth  of  yours. 
Worse  manners,"  said  the  hangman,  rapping  at  the  door  with 
his  stick,  "  I  never  see  in  this  place  afore.  I'm  ashamed 
of  you.     You're  a  disgrace  to  the  Bailey." 

After  pausing  for  a  moment  to  hear  if  any  thing  could  be 
pleaded  in  justification,  Mr.  Dennis  resumed  in  a  sort  of 
coaxing  tone  : 


488  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  Now  look'ee  here,  you  four.  I'm  come  here  to  take  care 
of  you,  and  see  that  you  an't  burned,  instead  of  the  other 
thing.  It's  no  use  your  making  any  noise,  for  you  won't  be 
found  out  by  them  as  has  broken  in,  and  you'll  only  be 
hoarse  when  you  come  to  the  speeches — which  is  a  pity. 
What  I  say  in  respect  to  the  speeches  always  is,  *  Give  it 
mouth.'  That's  my  maxim.  Give  it  mouth.  I've  heerd," 
said  the  hangman,  pulling  off  his  hat  to  take  his  handker- 
chief from  the  crown  and  wipe  his  face,  and  then  putting  it 
on  again  a  little  more  on  one  side  than  before,  "  I've  heerd 
a  eloquence  on  them  boards — you  know  what  boards  I  mean 
— and  have  heerd  a  degree  of  mouth  given  to  them  speeches, 
that  they  was  as  clear  as  a  bell,  and  as  good  as  a  play. 
There's  a  pattern  !  And  always,  when  a  thing  of  this 
natur's  to  come  off,  what  I  stand  up  for,  is  a  proper  frame 
of  mind.  Let's  have  a  proper  frame  of  mind,  and  we  can  go 
through  with  it,  creditable — pleasant — social.  Whatever 
you  do  (and  I  address  myself,  in  particular,  to  you  in  the 
furthest),  never  snivel.  I'd  sooner  by  half,  though  I  lose 
by  it,  see  a  man  tear  his  clothes  a  purpose  to  spile  'em 
before  they  come  to  me,  than  find  him  sniveling.  It's  ten 
to  one  a  better  frame  of  mind,  every  way  !  " 

While  the  hangman  addressed  them  to  this  effect,  in  the 
tone  and  with  the  air  of  a  pastor  in  familiar  conversation 
with  his  flock,  the  noise  had  been  in  some  degree  subdued  ; 
for  the  rioters  were  busy  in  conveying  the  prisoners  to  the 
Sessions  House,  which  was  beyond  the  main  walls  of  the 
prison,  though  connected  with  it,  and  the  crowd  were  busy 
too,  in  passing  them  from  thence  along  the  street.  But 
when  he  had  got  thus  far  in  his  discourse,  the  sound  of 
voices  in  the  yard  showed  plainly  that  the  mob  had  returned 
and  were  coming  that  way  ;  and  directly  afterward  a  violent 
crashing  at  the  grate  below,  gave  note  of  their  attack  upon 
the  cells  (as  they  were  called)  at  last. 

It  was  in  vain  the  hangman  ran  from  door  to  door,  and 
covered  the  grates,  one  after  another,  with  his  hat,  in  futile 
efforts  to  stifle  the  cries  of  the  four  men  within  ;  it  was  in 
vain  he  dogged  their  outstretched  hands,  and  beat  them  with 
his  stick,  or  menaced  them  with  new  and  lingering  pains  in 
the  execution  of  his  office  ;  the  place  resounded  with  their 
cries.  These,  together  with  the  feeling  that  they  were  now 
the  last  men  in  the  jail,  so  worked  upon  and  stimulated  the 
besiegers,  that  in  an  incredibly  short  space  of  time  they 
forced  the  strong  grate  down  below,  which  was  formed  of 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  489 

iron  rods  two  inches  square,  drove  in  the  two  other  doors, 
as  if  they  had  been  but  deal  partitions,  and  stood  at  the  end 
of  the  gallery  with  only  a  bar  or  two  between  them  and  the 
cells. 

"  Halloo  !  "  cried  Hugh,  who  was  the  first  to  look  into  the 
dusky  passage  ;  "  Dennis  before  us  !  Well  done,  old  boy. 
Be  quick,  and  open  here,  for  we  shall  be  suffocated  in  the 
smoke,  going  out." 

'*  Go  out  at  once,  then,"  said  Dennis.  *'  What  do  you 
want  here  ?  " 

"  Want !  "  echoed  Hugh.     "  The  four  men." 

"  Four  devils  !  "  cried  the  hangman.  "  Don't  you  know 
they're  left  for  death  on  Thursday?  Don't  you  respect 
the  law — the  constitootion — nothing  ?  Let  the  four  men 
be." 

"  Is  this  a  time  for  joking  ?  "  cried  Hugh.  "  Do  you  hear 
'em  ?  Pull  away  these  bars  that  have  got  fixed  between  the 
door  and  the  ground  ;  and  let  us  in," 

"  Brother,"  said  the  hangman,  in  a  low  voice,  as  he 
stooped  under  pretense  of  doing  what  Hugh  desired,  but 
only  looked  up  in  his  face,  "  can't  you  leave  these  here  four 
men  to  me,  if  I've  the  whim  !  You  do  what  you  like,  and 
have  what  you  like  of  every  thing  for  your  share — give  me 
my  share.     I  want  these  four  men  left  alone,  I  tell  you  I" 

''  Pull  the  bars  down,  or  stand  out  of  the  way,"  was. 
Hugh's  reply. 

"  You  can  turn  the  crowd  if  you  like,  you  know  that  well 
enough,  brother,"  said  the  hangman,  slowly.  "  What  !  You 
W//  come  in,  will  you  ?  " 

•''  Yes." 

''You  won't  let  these  men  alone,  and  leave  'em  to  me  ? 
You've  no  respect  for  nothing — haven't  you?"  said  the 
hangman,  retreating  to  the  door  by  which  he  had  entered, 
and  regarding  his  companion  with  a  scowl.  "You  wi// 
come  m,  will  you,  brother  ?  " 

"  I  tell  you,  yes.  What  the  devil  ails  you  ?  Where  are 
you  going  ?" 

"  No  matter  where  I'm  going,"  rejoined  the  hangman, 
looking  in  again  at  the  iron  wicket,  which  he  had  nearly  shut 
upon  himselt,  and  held  ajar.  "  Remember  where  you're  com- 
ing.    That's  all  ?" 

With  that,  he  snook  his  likeness  at  Hugh,  and  giving  him 
a  grin,  compared  with  which  his  usual  smile  was  amiable, 
disappeared  and  shuv  "he  door. 


49©  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

Hugh  paused  no  longer,  but  goaded  alike  by  the  cries  of 
the  convicts,  and  by  the  impatience  of  the  crowd,  warned 
the  man  immediately  behind  him — the  way  was  only  wide 
enough  for  one  abreast — to  stand  back,  and  wielded  a  sledge- 
hammer with  such  strength  that  after  a  few  blows  the  iron 
bent  and  broke,  and  gave  them  free  admittance. 

If  the  two  sons  of  one  of  these  men,  of  whom  mention  has 
been  made,  were  furious  in  their  zeal  before,  they  had  now 
the  wrath  and  vigor  of  lions.  Calling  to  the  man  within 
each  cell,  to  keep  as  far  back  as  he  could,  lest  the  axes 
crashing  through  the  door  should  wound  him,  a  party  went 
to  work  upon  each  one,  to  beat  it  in  by  sheer  strength,  and 
force  the  bolts  and  staples  from  their  hold.  But  although 
these  two  lads  had  the  weakest  party,  and  the  worst  armed, 
and  did  not  begin  until  after  the  others,  having  stopped  to 
whisper  to  him  through  the  grate,  that  door  was  the  first 
open,  and  that  man  was  the  first  out.  As  they  dragged  him 
into  the  gallery  to  knock  off  his  irons,  he  fell  down  among 
them,  a  mere  heap  of  chains,  and  was  carried  out  in  that 
state  on  men's  shoulders,  with  no  sign  of  life. 

The  release  of  these  four  wretched  creatures  and  convey- 
ing them,  astounded  and  bewildered,  into  the  streets  so  full 
of  life — a  spectacle  they  had  never  thought  to  see  again,  un- 
til they  emerged  from  solitude  and  silence  upon  that  last 
journey,  when  the  air  should  be  heavy  with  the  pent-up 
breath  of  thousands,  and  the  streets  and  houses  should  be 
built  and  roofed  with  human  faces,  not  with  bricks  and  tiles 
and  stones — was  the  crowning  horror  of  the  scene.  Their 
pale  and  haggard  looks  and  hollow  eyes  ;  their  staggering 
feet,  and  hands  stretched  out  as  if  to  save  themselves  from 
falling  ;  their  wandering  uncertain  air  ;  the  way  they  heaved 
and  gasped  for  breath,  as  though  in  water,  when  they  were 
first  plunged  into  the  crowd  ;  all  marked  them  for  the  men. 
No  need  to  say  "  this  one  was  doomed  to  die  ;  "  for  there 
were  the  words  broadly  stamped  and  branded  on  his  face. 
The  crowd  fell  off,  as  if  they  had  been  laid  out  for  burial, 
and  had  risen  in  their  shrouds  ;  and  many  were  seen  to 
shudder,  as  though  they  had  been  actually  dead  men,  when 
they  chanced  to  touch  or  brush  against  their  garments. 

At  the  bidding  of  the  mob,  the  houses  were  all  illuminated 
that  night — lighted  up  from  top  to  bottom  as  at  a  time  of 
public  gayety  and  joy.  Many  years  afterward,  old  people 
who  lived  in  their  youth  near  this  part  of  the  city,  remem- 
bered being  in  a  great  glare  of  light,  within  doors  and  with- 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  491 

out,  and  as  they  looked,  timid  and  frightened  children,  from 
the  windows,  seeing  a  face  go  by.  Though  the  whole  great 
crowd  and  all  its  other  terrors  had  faded  from  their  recol- 
lection, this  one  object  remained  ;  alone,  distinct,  and  well 
remembered.  Even  in  the  unpracticed  minds  of  infants  one 
of  these  doomed  men  darting  past,  and  but  an  instant  seen, 
was  an  image  of  force  enough  to  dim  the  whole  concourse  ; 
to  find  itself  an  all-absorbing  place,  and  hold  it  ever  after. 

When  this  last  task  had  been  achieved,  the  shouts  and 
cries  grew  fainter  ;  the  clank  of  fetters,  which  had  resounded 
on  all  sides  as  the  prisoners  escaped,  was  heard  no  more  ; 
all  the  noises  of  the  crowd  subsided  into  a  hoarse  and  sullen 
murmur  as  it  passed  into  the  distance  ;  and  when  the  human 
tide  had  rolled  away,  a  melancholy  heap  of  smoking  ruins 
marked  the  spot  where  it  had  lately  chafed  and  roared. 


CHAPTER  LXVI. 

Although  he  had  had  no  rest  upon  the  previous  night,  and 
had  watched  with  little  intermission  for  some  weeks  past, 
sleeping  only  in  the  day  by  starts  and  snatches,  Mr.  Haredale, 
from  the  dawn  of  morning  until  sunset,  sought  his  niece  in 
every  place  where  he  deemed  it  possible  she  could  have  taken 
refuge.  All  day  long,  nothing,  save  a  draught  of  water, 
passed  his  lips  ;  though  he  prosecuted  his  inquiries  far  and 
wide,  and  never  so  much  as  sat  down,  once. 

In  every  quarter  he  could  think  of  ;  at  Chigwell  and  in 
London  ;  at  the  houses  of  the  tradespeople  with  whom  he 
dealt,  and  of  the  friends  he  knew  ;  he  pursued  his  search.  A 
prey  to  the  most  harrowing  anxieties  and  apprehensions, 
he  went  from  magistrate  to  magistrate,  and  finally  to  the 
secretary  of  state.  The  only  comfort  he  received  was  from 
this  minister,  who  assured  him  that  the  government,  being 
now  driven  to  the  exercise  of  the  extreme  prerogatives  of  the 
crown,  were  determined  to  exert  them  ;  that  a  proclama- 
tion would  probably  be  out  upon  the  morrow,  giving  to  the 
military  discretionary  and  unlimited  power  in  the  suppres- 
sion of  the  riots  ;  that  the  sympathies  of  the  king,  the  ad- 
ministration, and  both  houses  of  parliament,  and  indeed  of 
all  good  men  of  every  religious  persuasion,  were  strongly 
with  the  injured  Catholics  ;  and  that  justice  should  be  done 
them  at  any  cost  or  hazard.  He  told  him,  moreover,  that 
other  persons  whose  houses  had  been  burned,  had  for  a  time 


492  BARISTABY  RUDGE. 

lost  sight  of  their  children  or  their  relatives,  but  had,  in 
every  case,  within  his  knowledge,  succeeded  in  discovering 
them  ;  that  his  complaint  should  be  remembered,  and  fully 
stated  in  the  instructions  given  to  the  officers  in  command, 
and  to  all  the  inferior  myrmidons  of  justice  ;  and  that  every 
thing  that  could  be  done  to  help  him,  should  be  done,  with 
a  good-will  and  in  good  faith. 

Grateful  for  this  consolation,  feeble  as  it  was  in  its  refer- 
ence to  the  past,  and  little  hope  as  it  afforded  him  in  con- 
nection with  the  subject  of  distress  which  lay  nearest  to  his 
heart  ;  and  really  thankful  for  the  interest  the  minister  ex- 
pressed, and  seemed  to  feel,  in  his  condition  ;  Mr.  Hare- 
dale  withdrew.  He  found  himself,  with  the  night  coming 
on,  alone  in  the  streets  ;  and  destitute  of  any  place  in  which 
to  lay  his  head. 

He  entered  an  hotel  near  Charing  Cross,  and  ordered 
some  refreshment  and  a  bed.  He  saw  that  his  faint  and 
worn  appearance  attracted  the  attention  of  the  landlord  and 
his  waiters  ;  and  thinking  that  they  might  suppose  him  to 
be  penniless,  took  out  his  purse,  and  laid  it  on  the  table. 
It  was  not  that,  the  landlord  said,  in  a  faltering  voice.  If 
he  were  one  of  those  who  had  suffered  by  the  rioters,  he 
durst  not  give  him  entertainment.  He  had  a  family  of  chil- 
dren, and  had  been  twice  warned  to  be  careful  in  receiving 
guests.  He  heartily  prayed  his  forgiveness,  but  what  could 
he  do  ? 

Nothing.  No  man  felt  that  more  sincerely  than  Mr. 
Haredale.     He  told  the  man  as  much,  and  left  the  house. 

Feeling  that  he  might  have  anticipated  this  occurrence, 
after  what  he  had  seen  at  Chigwell  in  the  morning,  where  no 
man  dared  to  touch  a  spade,  though  he  offered  a  large  re- 
ward to  all  who  would  come  and  dig  among  the  ruins  of  his 
house  he  walked  along  the  Strand  ;  too  proud  to  expose  him- 
self to  another  refusal,  and  of  too  generous  a  spirit  to  involve  in 
distress  or  ruin  any  honest  tradesman  who  might  be  weak 
enough  to  give  him  shelter.  He  wandered  into  one  of  the 
streets  by  the  side  of  the  river,  and  was  pacing  in  a  thought- 
ful manner  up  and  down,  thinking  of  things  that  happened 
long  ago,  when  he  heard  a  servant-man  at  an  upper  window 
call  to  another  at  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  that  the 
mob  were  setting  fire  to  Newgate. 

To  Newgate  !  where  that  man  was  !  His  failing  strength 
returned,  his  energies  came  back  with  tenfold  vigor,  on  the 
instant.     If  it  were  possible — if  they  should  set  the  mur- 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  493 

derer  free — was  he,  after  all  he  had  undergone,  to  die  with 
the  suspicion  of  having  slain  his  own  brother,  dimly  gather- 
ing about  him — 

He  had  no  consciousness  of  going  to  the  jail  ;  but  there 
he  stood,  before  it.  There  was  a  crowd  wedged  and  pressed 
together  in  a  dense,  dark,  moving  mass  ;  and  there  were 
the  flames  soaring  up  into  the  air.  His  head  turned  round 
and  round,  lights  flashed  before  his  eyes,  and  he  struggled 
hard  with  two  men, 

"  Nay,  nay,"  said  one.  "Be  more  yourself,  my  good  sir. 
We  attract  attention  here.  Come  away.  What  can  you  do 
among  so  many  men  ?  " 

"  The  gentleman's  always  for  doing  something,"  said  the 
other,  forcing  him  along  as  he  spoke.  "  I  like  him  for  that. 
I  do  like  him  for  that." 

They  had  by  this  time  got  into  a  court,  hard  by  the 
prison.  He  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  and  as  he  tried 
to  release  himself,  felt  that  he  tottered  on  his  feet.  He  who 
had  spoken  first,  was  the  old  gentleman  whom  he  had  seen 
at  the  lord  mayor's.  The  other  was  John  Grueby,  who 
had  stood  by  him  so  manfully  at  Westminster. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  "  he  asked  them  faintly.  "  How 
came  we  together  ?  " 

"  On  the  skirts  of  the  crowd,"  returned  the  distiller  ;  "but 
come  with  us.  Pray  come  with  us.  You  seem  to  know  my 
friend  here  ?  " 

"  Surely,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  looking  in  a  kind  of  stupor 
at  John. 

"  He'll  tell  you  then,"  returned  the  old  gentleman,  "  that 
I  am  a  man  to  be  trusted.  He's  my  servant.  He  was  lately 
(as  you  know,  I  have  no  doubt)  in  Lord  George  Gordon's 
service  ;  but  he  left  it,  and  brought,  in  pure  good-will  to  me 
and  others,  who  were  marked  by  the  rioters,  such  intelli- 
gence as  he  had  picked  up,  of  their  designs." 

— "  On  one  condition,  please,  sir,"  said  John,  touching  his 
hat.  "  No  evidence  against  my  lord — a  misled  man — a  kind- 
hearted  man,  sir.     My  lord  never  intended  this." 

"  The  condition  will  be  observed,  of  course,"  rejoined  the 
old  distiller.  "  It's  a  point  of  honor.  But  come  with  us, 
sir  ;  pray  come  with  us." 

John  Grueby  added  no  entreaties,  but  he  adopted  a  differ- 
ent kind  of  persuasion,  by  putting  his  arm  through  one  of 
Mr.  Haredale's,  while  his  master  took  the  other,  and  leading 
him  away  with  all  speed. 


494 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


Sensible,  from  a  strange  lightness  in  his  head,  and  a  diffi 
culty  in  fixing  his  thoughts  on  any  thing,  even  to  the  extent 
of  bearing  his  companions  in  his  mind  for  a  minute  together 
without  looking  at  them,  that  his  brain  was  affected  by  the 
agitation  and  suffering  through  which  he  had  passed,  and  to 
which  he  was  still  a  prey,  Mr.  Haredale  let  them  lead  him 
where  they  would.  As  they  went  along,  he  was  conscious 
of  having  no  command  over  what  he  said  or  thought,  and 
that  he  had  a  fear  of  going  mad. 

The  distiller  lived,  as  he  had  told  him  when  they  first 
met,  on  Holborn  Hill,  where  he  had  great  storehouses  and 
drove  a  large  trade.  They  approached  his  house  by  a  back 
entrance,  lest  they  should  attract  the  notice  of  the  crowd, 
and  went  into  an  upper  room  which  faced  toward  the  street ; 
the  windows,  however,  in  common  with  those  of  every  other 
room  in  the  house,  were  boarded  up  inside,  in  order  that, 
out  of  doors,  all  might  appear  quite  dark. 

They  laid  him  on  a  sofa  in  this  chamber,  perfectly  insen- 
sible ;  but  John  immediately  fetching  a  surgeon,  who  took 
from  him  a  large  quantity  of  blood,  he  gradually  came  to 
himself.  As  he  was,  for  the  time,  too  weak  to  w^alk,  they 
had  no  difficulty  in  persuading  him  to  remain  there  all 
night,  and  got  him  to  bed  without  loss  of  a  minute.  That 
done,  they  gave  him  cordial  and  some  toast,  and  presently 
a  pretty  strong  composing-draught,  under  the  influence  of 
which  he  soon  fell  into  a  lethargy,  and,  for  a  time,  forgot 
his  troubles. 

The  vintner,  who  was  a  very  hearty  old  fellow  and  a 
worthy  man,  had  no  thoughts  of  going  to  bed  himself,  for  he 
had  received  several  threatening  warnings  from  the  rioters, 
and  had  indeed  gone  out  that  evening  to  try  and  gather 
from  the  conversation  of  the  mob  whether  his  house  was  to 
be  the  next  attacked.  He  sat  all  night  in  an  easy-chair  in 
the  same  room — dozing  a  little  now  and  then — and  received 
from  time  to  time  the  reports  of  John  Grueby  and  tw^o  or 
three  other  trustworthy  persons  in  his  employ,  who  went 
out  into  the  streets  as  scouts  ;  and  for  whose  entertainment 
an  ample  allowance  of  good  cheer  (which  the  old  Yintner, 
despite  his  anxiety,  now  and  then  attacked  himself)  was  set 
forth  in  an  adjoining  chamber. 

These  accounts  were  of  a  sufficiently  alarming  nature 
from  the  first  ;  but  as  the  night  wore  on,  they  grew  so  much 
worse,  and  involved  such  a  fearful  amount  of  riot  and  de- 
struction, that  in  comparison  with  these  new  tidings  all  the 
previous  disturbances  sunk  to  nothinsr. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  495 

The  first  intelligence  that  came,  was  the  taking  of  New- 
gate, and  the  escape  of  all  the  prisoners,  whose  track,  as 
they  made  up  Holborn  and  into  the  adjacent  streets, 
was  proclaimed  to  those  citizens  who  were  shut  up  in 
their  houses,  by  the  rattling  of  their  chains,  which  formed  a 
dismal  concert,  and  was  heard  in  every  direction,  as  though 
so  many  forges  were  at  work.  The  flames  too,  shone  so 
brightly  through  the  vintner's  skylights,  that  the  rooms  and 
staircases  below  were  nearly  as  light  as  in  broad  day  ;  while 
the  distant  shouting  of  the  mob  seemed  to  shake  the  very 
walls  and  ceilings. 

At  length  they  were  heard  approaching  the  house,  and 
some  minutes  of  terrible  anxiety  ensued.  They  came  close 
up,  and  stopped  before  it,  but  after  giving  three  loud  yells, 
went  on.  And  although  they  returned  several  times  that 
night,  creating  new  alarms  each  time,  they  did  nothing  there  ; 
having  their  hands  full.  Shortly  after  they  had  gone  away 
for  the  first  time,  one  of  the  scouts  came  running  in  with 
the  news  that  they  had  stopped  before  Lord  Mansfield's 
house  in  Bloomsbury  Square. 

Soon  afterward  there  came  another,  and  another,  and  then 
the  first  returned  again,  and  so,  by  little  and  little,  their  tale 
was  this  : — That  the  mob  gathering  round  Lord  Mansfield's 
house,  had  called  on  those  within  to  open  the  door,  and  re- 
ceiving no  reply  (for  Lord  and  Lady  Mansfield  were  at  that 
moment  escaping  by  the  backway),  forced  an  entrance  accord- 
ing to  their  usual  custom.  That  they  then  began  to  demolish 
the  house  with  great  fury,  and  setting  fire  to  it  in  several  parts, 
involved  in  a  common  ruin  the  whole  of  the  costly  furniture, 
the  plate  and  jewels,  a  beautiful  gallery  of  pictures,  the  rarest 
collection  of  manuscripts  ever  possessed  by  any  one  private 
person  in  the  world,  and  worse  than  all,  because  nothing  could 
replace  this  loss,  the  great  Law  Library,  on  almost  every  page 
of  which  were  notes  in  the  judge's  own  hand,  of  inestimable 
value — being  the  results  of  the  study  and  experience  of  his 
whole  life.  That  while  they  were  howling  and  exulting  round 
the  fire,  a  troop  of  soldiers,  with  a  magistrate  among  them, 
came  up,  and  being  too  late  (for  the  mischief  was  by  that 
time  done),  began  to  disperse  the  crowd.  That  the  Riot 
Act  being  read,  and  the  crowd  still  resisting,  the  soldiers  re- 
ceived orders  to  fire,  and  leveling  their  muskets  shot  dead  at 
the  first  discharge  six  men  and  a  woman,  and  wounded  many 
persons  ;  and  loading  again  directly,  fired  another  volley, 
but  over  the  people's  heads  it  was  supposed,  as  uone  were 


496  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

seen  to  fall.  That  thereupon,  and  daunted  by  the  shrieks 
and  tumult,  the  crowd  began  to  disperse,  and  the  soldiers 
went  away,  leaving  the  killed  and  wounded  on  the  ground  : 
which  they  had  no  sooner  done  than  the  rioters  came  back 
again,  and  taking  up  the  dead  bodies,  and  the  wounded  peo- 
ple, formed  into  a  rude  procession,  having  the  bodies  in 
the  front.  That  in  this  order  they  paraded  off  with  a  horri- 
ble merriment  ;  fixing  weapons  in  the  dead  men's  hands  to 
make  them  look  as  if  alive  ;  and  preceded  by  a  fellow 
ringing  Lord  Mansfield's  dinner-bell  with  all  his  might. 

The  scouts  reported  further,  that  this  party  meeting  with 
some  others  who  had  been  at  similar  work  elsewhere,  they 
all  united  into  one,  and  drafting  off  a  few  men  with  the 
killed  and  wounded,  marched  away  to  Lord  Mansfield's 
country  seat  at  Caen  Wood,  between  Hampstead  and  High- 
gate  ;  bent  upon  destroying  that  house  likewise,  and  lighting 
up  a  great  fire  there,  which  from  that  height  should  be  seen 
all  over  London.  But  in  this  they  were  disappointed,  for  a 
party  of  horse  having  arrived  before  them,  they  retreated 
faster  than  they  went,  and  came  straight  back  to  town. 

There  being  now  a  great  many  parties  in  the  streets,  each 
went  to  work  according  to  its  humor,  and  a  dozen  houses 
were  quickly  blazing,  including  those  of  Sir  John  Fielding 
and  two  other  justices,  and  four  in  Holborn — one  of  the 
greatest  thoroughfares  in  London — which  were  all  burning 
at  the  same  time,  and  burned  until  they  went  out  of  them- 
selves, for  the  people  cut  the  engine  hose,  and  would  not 
suffer  the  firemen  to  play  upon  the  flames.  At  one  house 
near  Moorfields,  they  found  in  one  of  the  rooms  some 
canary  birds  in  cages,  and  these  they  cast  into  the  fire  alive. 
The  poor  little  creatures  screamed,  it  was  said,  like  infants, 
when  they  were  flung  upon  the  blaze  ;  and  one  man  was  so 
touched  that  he  tried  in  vain  to  save  them,  which  roused 
the  indignation  of  the  crowd,  and  nearly  cost  him  his  life. 

At  this  same  house,  one  of  the  fellows  who  went  through 
the  rooms,  breaking  the  furniture  and  helping  to  destroy  the 
building,  found  a  child's  doll — a  poor  toy — which  he  ex- 
hibited at  the  window  to  the  mob  below,  as  the  image  of 
some  unholy  saint  which  the  late  occupants  had  worshiped. 
While  he  was  doing  this,  another  man  with  an  equally  tender 
conscience  (they  had  both  been  foremost  in  throwing  down 
the  canary  birds  for  roasting  alive),  took  his  seat  on  the  para- 
pet of  the  house,  and  harangued  the  crowd  from  a  pamphlet 
circulated  by  ^h^  asspd^tion,  relative  to  the  true  principles 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  497 

of  Christianity  !  Meanwhile  the  lord  mayor,  with  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  looked  on  as  an  idle  man  might  look  at  any 
other  show,  and  seem  mightily  satisfied  to  have  got  a  good 
place. 

Such  were  the  accounts  brought  to  the  old  vintner  by  his 
servants  as  he  sat  at  the  side  of  Mr.  Haredale's  bed,  having 
been  unable  even  to  doze,  after  the  first  part  of  the  night  ;  too 
much  disturbed  by  his  own  fears  ;  by  the  cries  of  the  mob, 
the  light  of  the  fires,  and  the  firing  of  the  soldiers.  Such, 
vv^ith  the  addition  of  the  release  of  all  the  prisoners  in  the 
New  Jail  at  Clerkenwell,  and  as  many  robberies  of  passen- 
gers in  the  streets  as  the  crowd  had  leisure  to  indulge  in, 
were  the  scenes  of  which  Mr.  Haredale  was  happily  uncon- 
scious, and  which  were  all  enacted  before  midnight. 


CHAPTER   LXVII. 

When  darkness  broke  away  and  morning  began  to  dawn, 
the  town  wore  a  strange  aspect  indeed. 

Sleep  had  hardly  been  thought  of  all  night.  The  general 
alarm  was  so  apparent  in  the  faces  of  the  inhabitants,  and  its 
expression  was  so  aggravated  by  want  of  rest  (few  persons, 
with  any  property  to  lose,  having  dared  to  go  to  bed  since 
Monday),  that  a  stranger  coming  into  the  streets  would  have 
supposed  some  mortal  pest  or  plague  to  have  been  raging. 
In  place  of  the  usual  cheerfulness  and  animation  of  morn- 
ing, every  thing  was  dead  and  silent.  The  shops  remained 
unclosed,  ofifices  and  warehouses  were  shut,  the  coach  and 
chair  stands  were  deserted,  no  carts  or  wagons  rumbled 
through  the  slowly  waking  streets,  the  early  cries  were  all 
hushed  ;  a  universal  gloom  prevailed.  Great  numbers  of 
people  were  out,  even  at  daybreak,  but  they  flitted  to  and 
fro  as  though  they  shrank  from  the  sound  of  their  own  foot- 
steps ;  the  public  ways  were  haunted  rather  than  frequented  ; 
and  round  the  smoking  ruins  people  stood  apart  from  one 
another  in  silence,  not  venturing  to  condemn  the  rioters,  or 
to  be  supposed  to  do  so,  even  in  whispers. 

At  the  lord  president's  in  Piccadilly,  at  Lambert  Palace, 
at  the  lord  chancellor's  in  Great  Ormond  Street,  in  the  Royal 
Exchange,  the  Bank,  the  Guildhall,  the  Inns  of  Court,  the 
Courts  of  Law,  and  every  chamber  fronting  the  streets  near 
Westminster  Hall  and  the  houses  of  parliament,  parties  of 
SGldieis  were  ^.osted  before  daylight.  A  body  of  Horse  Guards 


498  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

paraded  Palace  Yard  ;  an  encampment  was  formed  in  the 
park,  where  fifteen  hundred  men  and  five  battalions  of  militia 
were  under  arms  ;  the  Tower  was  fortified,  the  drawbridges 
were  raised,  the  cannon  loaded  and  pointed,  and  two  regi- 
ments of  artillery  busied  in  strengthening  the  fortress  and 
preparing  it  for  defense.  A  numerous  detachment  of  sol- 
diers were  stationed  to  keep  guard  at  the  New  River  Head, 
which  the  people  had  threatened  to  attack,  and  where,  it  was 
said,  they  meant  to  cut  off  the  main-pipes,  so  that  there 
might  be  no  water  for  the  extinction  of  the  flames.  In  the 
Poultry,  and  on  Cornhill,  and  at  several  other  leading  points, 
iron  chains  were  drawn  across  the  street  ;  parties  of  soldiers 
were  distributed  in  some  of  the  old  city  churches  while  it 
was  yet  dark  ;  and  in  several  private  houses  (among  them, 
Lord  Rockingham's  in  Grosvenor  Square)  ;  which  were 
blockaded  as  though  to  sustain  a  siege,  and  had  guns  pointed 
from  the  windows.  When  the  sun  rose,  it  shone  into  hand- 
some apartments  filled  with  armed  men ;  the  furniture 
hastily  heaped  away  in  corners,  and  made  of  little  or  no  ac- 
count, in  the  terror  of  the  time — on  arms  glittering  in  city 
chambers,  among  desks  and  stools,  and  dusty  books — into 
little  smoky  church-yards  in  odd  lanes  and  by-ways,  with  sol- 
diers lying  down  among  the  tombs,  or  lounging  under  the 
shade  of  the  one  old  tree,  and  their  pile  of  muskets  spark- 
ling in  the  light — on  solitary  sentries  pacing  up  and  down  in 
court-yards,  silent  now,  but  yesterday  resounding  v/ith  the 
din  and  hum  of  business — everywhere  on  guard-rooms,  gar- 
risons, and  threatening  preparations. 

As  the  day  crept  on,  still  more  unusual  sights  were 
witnessed  in  the  streets.  The  gates  of  the  King's  Bench  and 
Fleet  Prisons  being  opened  at  the  usual  hour,  were  found  to 
have  notices  affixed  to  them,  announcing  that  the  rioters 
would  come  that  night  to  burn  them  down.  The  wardens, 
too  well  knowing  the  likelihood  there  was  of  this  promise 
being  fulfilled,  were  fain  to  set  their  prisoners  at  liberty,  and 
give  them  leave  to  move  their  goods  ;  so,  all  day,  such  of 
them  as  had  any  furniture  were  occupied  in  conveying  it, 
some  to  this  place,  and  some  to  that,  and  not  a  few  to  the 
brokers'  shops,  where  they  gladly  sold  it,  for  any  wretched 
price  those  gentry  chose  to  give.  There  were  some  broken 
men  among  these  debtors  who  had  been  in  jail  so  long,  and 
were  so  miserable  and  destitute  of  friends,  so  dead  to  the 
world,  and  utterly  forgotten  and  uncared  for,  that  they  im- 
plored their  jailer  not  to  set  them  free,  and  to  send  them,  if 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  499 

need  were,  to  some  other  place  of  custody.  But  they,  refus- 
ing to  comply,  lest  they  should  incur  the  anger  of  the  mob, 
turned  them  into  the  streets,  where  they  wandered  up  and 
down  hardly  remembering  the  ways  untrodden  by  their  feet 
so  long,  and  crying — such  abject  things  those  rotten-hearted 
jails  had  made  them — as  they  slunk  off  in  their  rags,  and 
dragged  their  slipshod  feet  along  the  pavement. 

Even  of  the  three  hundred  prisoners  who  had  escaped  from 
Nev/gate,  there  were  some — a  few,  but  there  were  some — 
who  sought  their  jailers  out  and  delivered  themselves  up:  pre- 
ferring imprisonment  and  punishment  to  the  horrors  of  such 
another  night  as  the  last.  Many  of  the  convicts,  drawn  back 
to  their  old  place  of  captivity  by  some  indescribable  attrac- 
tion, or  by  a  desire  to  exult  over  it  in  its  downfall  and  glut 
their  revenge  by  seeing  it  in  ashes,  actually  went  back  in 
broad  noon,  and  loitered  about  the  cells.  Fifty  were  retaken 
at  one  time  on  this  next  day,  within  the  prison  wall  ;  but 
their  fate  did  not  deter  others,  for  there  they  went  in  spite 
of  every  thing,  and  there  they  were  taken  in  twos  and  threes 
twice  or  thrice  a  day,  all  through  the  week.  Of  the  fifty 
just  mentioned,  some  were  occupied  in  endeavoring  to  re- 
kindle the  fire  ;  but  in  general  they  seemed  to  have  no  ob- 
ject in  view  but  to  prowl  and  lounge  about  the  old  place  : 
being  often  found  asleep  in  the  ruins,  or  sitting  talking 
there,  or  even  eating  and   drinking  as  in  a  choice  retreat. 

Besides  the  notices  on  the  gates  of  the  Fleet  and  the 
King's  Bench,  many  similar  announcements  were  left,  before 
one  o'clock  at  noon,  at  the  houses  of  private  individuals  ; 
and  further,  the  mob  proclaimed  their  intention  of  seizing 
on  the  Bank,  the  Mint,  the  Arsenal  at  Woolwich,  and  the 
Royal  Palaces.  The  notices  were  seldom  delivered  by  more 
than  one  man,  who,  if  it  were  at  a  shop,  went  in,  and  laid  it, 
with  a  bloody  threat  perhaps,  upon  the  counter  ;  or  if  it  were 
at  a  private  house,  knocked  at  the  door,  and  thrust  it  in  the 
servant's  hand.  Notwithstanding  the  presence  of  the  mili- 
tary in  every  quarter  of  the  town,  and  the  great  force  in  the 
park,  these  messengers  did  their  errands  with  impunity  all 
through  the  day.  So  did  two  boys  who  went  down  Holborn 
alone,  armed  with  bars  taken  from  the  railings  of  Lord 
Mansfield's  house,  and  demanded  money  for  the  rioters. 
So  did  a  tall  man  on  horseback  who  made  a  collection  for 
the  same  purpose  in  Fleet  Street,  and  refused  to  take  any 
thing  but  gold. 

A  rumor  had  now  got  into  circulation,  too,  which  diffused 


500  BARNABY  RUDGfe. 

a  greater  dread  all  through  London,  even  than  these  publicly 
announced  intentions  of  the  rioters,  though  all  men  knew 
that  if  they  were  successfully  effected,  there  must  ensue  a 
national  bankruptcy  and  general  ruin.  It  was  said  that  they 
meant  to  throw  the  gates  of  Bedlam  open,  and  let  all  the 
madmen  loor.e.  This  suggested  such  dreadful  images  to  the 
people's  minds,  and  was  indeed  an  act  so  fraught  with  new 
and  unimaginable  horrors  in  the  contemplation,  that  it  beset 
them  more  than  any  loss  or  cruelty  of  which  they  could  fore- 
see the  worst,  and  drove  many  sane  men  nearly  mad  them- 
selves. 

So  the  day  passed  on  ;  the  prisoners  moving  their  goods  ; 
people  running  to  and  fro  in  the  streets,  carrying  away  their 
property  ;  groups  standing  in  silence  round  the  ruins  ;  all 
business  suspended  ;  and  the  soldiers  disposed  as  has  been 
already  mentioned,  remaining  quite  inactive.  So  the  day 
passed  on,  and  dreaded  night  drew  near  again. 

At  last,  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening,  the  privy  council 
issued  a  solemn  proclamation  that  it  was  now  necessary  to 
employ  the  military,  and  that  the  officers  had  most  direct 
and  effectual  orders,  by  an  immediate  exertion  of  their 
utmost  force,  to  repress  the  disturbances  ;  and  warning  all 
good  subjects  of  the  king  to  keep  themselves,  their  servants, 
and  apprentices,  within  doors  that  night.  There  was  then 
delivered  out  to  every  soldier  on  duty  thirty-six  rounds  of 
powder  and  ball ;  the  drums  beat ;  and  the  whole  force  was 
under  arms  at  sunset. 

The  city  authorities,  stimulated  by  these  vigorous  meas- 
ures, held  a  common  council ;  passed  a  vote  thanking  the 
military  associations  who  had  tendered  their  aid  to  the  civil 
authorities  ;  accepted  it  ;  and  placed  them  under  the  direc- 
tion of  the  two  sheriffs.  At  the  queen's  palace,  a  double 
guard,  the  yeomen  on  duty,  the  groom-porters,  and  all  other 
attendants,  were  stationed  in  the  passages  and  on  the  stair- 
cases at  seven  o'clock,  with  strict  instructions  to  be  watchful 
on  their  posts  all  night ;  and  all  the  doors  were  locked. 
The  gentlemen  of  the  Temple,  and  the  other  Inns,  mounted 
guard  within  their  gates,  and  strengthened  them  with  the 
great  stones  of  the  pavement,  which  they  took  up  for  the 
purpose.  In  Lincoln's  Inn  they  gave  up  the  hall  and  com- 
mons to  the  Northumberland  militia,  under  the  command  of 
Lord  Algernon  Percy  ;  in  some  few  of  the  city  wards  the 
burgesses  turned  out,  and  without  making  a  very  fierce  show, 
looked  brave  enough.     Some  hundreds  of  stout  gentlemen 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  501 

threw  themselves,  armed  to  the  teeth,  into  the  halls  of  the 
different  companies,  double-locked  and  bolted  all  the  gates, 
and  dared  the  rioters  (among  themselves)  to  come  on  at  their 
peril.  These  arrangements  being  all  made  simultaneously, 
or  nearly  so,  were  completed  by  the  time  it  got  dark  ;  and 
then  the  streets  were  comparatively  clear,  and  were  guarded 
at  all  the  great  corners  and  chief  avenues  by  the  troops  ; 
while  parties  of  the  officers  rode  up  and  down  in  all  direc- 
tions, ordering  chance  stragglers  home,  and  admonishing  the 
residents  to  keep  within  their  houses,  and,  if  any  firing  en- 
sued, not  to  approach  the  windows.  More  chains  were 
drawn  across  such  of  the  thoroughfares  as  were  of  a  nature 
to  favor  the  approach  of  a  great  crowd,  and  at  each  of  these 
points  a  considerable  fcM-ce  was  stationed.  All  these  pre- 
cautions having  been  taken,  and  it  being  now  quite  dark, 
those  in  command  awaited  the  result  in  some  anxiety  ;  and 
not  without  a  hope  that  such  vigilant  demonstrations  might 
of  themselves  dishearten  the  populace,  and  prevent  any  new 
outrages. 

But  in  this  reckoning  they  were  cruelly  mistaken,  for  in 
half  an  hour,  or  less,  as  though  the  setting  in  of  night  had 
been  their  preconcerted  signal,  the  rioters  having  previously, 
in  small  parties,  prevented  the  lighting  of  the  street  lamps, 
rose  like  a  great  sea  ;  and  that  in  so  many  places  at  once, 
and  with  such  inconceivable  fury,  that  those  who  had  the 
direction  of  the  troops  knew  not,  at  first,  where  to  turn  or 
what  to  do.  One  after  another,  new  fires  blazed  up  in  every 
quarter  of  the  town,  as  though  it  were  the  intention  of  the 
insurgents  to  wrap  the  city  in  a  circle  of  flames,  which,  con- 
tracting by  degrees,  should  burn  the  whole  to  ashes  ;  the 
crowd  swarmed  and  roared  in  every  street ;  and  none  but 
rioters  and  soldiers  being  out  of  doors,  it  seemed  to  the  latter 
as  if  all  London  were  arrayed  against  them,  and  they  stood 
alone  against  the  town. 

In  two  hours  six-and-thirty  fires  were  raging— six-and- 
thirty  great  conflagrations.  Among  them  the  Borough  Clink 
in  Tooley  Street,  the  King's  Bench,  the  Fleet,  and  the  New 
Bridewell.  In  almost  every  street  there  was  a  battle  ;  and 
in  every  quarter  the  muskets  of  the  troops  were  heard  above 
the  shouts  and  tumult  of  the  mob.  The  firing  began  in  the 
Poultry,  where  the  chain  was  drawn  across  the  road,  where 
nearly  a  score  of  people  were  killed  on  the  first  discharge. 
Their  bodies  having  been  hastily  carried  into  St.  Mildred's 
Church  by  the  soldiers,  the  latter  fired  again,  and  following 


502  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

fast  upon  the  crowd,  who  began  to  give  way  when  they  saw 
the  execution  that  was  done,  formed  across  Cheapside,  and 
charged  them  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet. 

The  streets  were  now  a  dreadful  spectacle.  The  shouts  of 
the  rabble,  the  shrieks  of  women,  the  cries  of  the  wounded, 
and  the  constant  firing,  formed  a  deafening  and  an  awful 
accompaniment  to  the  sights  which  every  corner  presented. 
Wherever  the  road  was  obstructed  by  the  chains,  there  the 
fighting  and  the  loss  of  life  were  greatest  ;  but  there  was  hot 
work  and  bloodshed  in  almost  every  leading  thoroughfare. 

At  Holborn  Bridge,  and  on  Holborn  Hill,  the  confusion 
was  greater  than  in  any  other  part  ;  for  the  crowd  that 
poured  out  of  the  city  in  two  great  streams,  one  by  Ludgate 
Hill,  and  one  by  Newgate  Street,  u^iited  at  that  spot,  and 
formed  a  mass  so  dense,  that  at  eJery  volley  the  people 
seemed  to  fall  in  heaps.  At  this  place  a  large  detachment 
of  soldiery  were  posted,  who  fired,  now  up  Fleet  Market, 
now  up  Holborn,  now  up  Snow  Hill — constantly  raking  the 
streets  in  each  direction.  At  this  place  too,  several  large 
fires  were  burning,  so  that  all  the  terrors  of  that  terrible 
night  seemed  to  be  cencentrated  in  one  spot. 

Full  twenty  times  the  rioters,  headed  by  one  man  who 
wielded  an  ax  in  his  right  hand,  and  bestrode  a  brewer's 
horse  of  great  size  and  strength,  caparisoned  with  fetters 
taken  out  of  Newgate,  which  clanked  and  jingled  as  he  went, 
made  an  attempt  to  force  a  passage  at  this  point,  and  fire  the 
vintner's  house.  Full  tvv^enty  times  they  were  repulsed  with 
loss  of  life,  and  still  came  back  again  ;  and  though  the  fellow 
at  their  head  was  marked  and  singled  out  by  all,  and  was  a 
conspicuous  object  as  the  only  rioter  on  horseback,  not  a 
man  could  hit  him.  So  surely  as  the  smoke  cleared  away, 
so  surely  there  was  he  ;  calling  hoarsely  to  his  companions, 
brandishing  his  ax  above  his  head,  and  dashing  on  as 
though  he  bore  a  charmed  life,  and  was  proof  against  ball 
and  powder. 

This  man  was  Hugh  ;  and  in  every  part  of  the  riot,  he  was 
seen.  He  headed  two  attacks  upon  the  Bank,  helped  to 
break  open  the  toll-houses  on  Blackfriars  Bridge,  and  cast 
the  money  into  the  street  ;  fired  two  of  the  prisons  with  his 
own  hand  ;  was  here,  and  there,  and  everywhere — always 
foremost — always  active — striking  at  the  soldiers,  cheering 
on  the  crowd,  making  his  horse's  iron  music  heard  through 
all  the  yell  and  uproar  ;  but  never  hurt  or  stopped.  Turn 
him  at  one  place,  and  he  made  a  new  struggle  in  another  ; 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  503 

force  him  to  retreat  at  this  point,  and  he  advanced  on  that, 
directly.  Driven  from  Holborn  for  the  twentieth  time,  he 
rode  at  the  head  of  a  great  crowd  straight  upon  Saint  Paul's, 
attacked  a  guard  of  soldiers  who  kept  watch  over  a  body  of 
prisoners  within  the  iron  railings,  forced  them  to  retreat, 
rescued  the  men  they  had  in  custody,  and  with  this  acces- 
sion to  his  party,  came  back  again,  mad  with  liquor  and  ex- 
citement, and  hallooing  them  on  like  a  demon. 

It  would  have  been  no  easy  task  for  the  most  careful  rider 
to  sit  a  horse  in  the  midst  of  such  a  throng  and  tumult  ;  but 
though  this  madman  rolled  upon  his  back  (he  had  no  sad- 
dle) like  a  boat  upon  the  sea,  he  never  for  an  instant  lost  his 
seat,  or  failed  to  guide  him  where  he  would.  Through  the 
very  thickest  of  the  press,  over  dead  bodies  and  burning 
fragments,  now  on  the  pavement,  now  in  the  road,  now  rid- 
ing up  a  flight  of  steps  to  make  himself  the  more  conspic- 
uous to  his  party,  and  now  forcing  a  passage  through  a  mass 
of  human  beings,  so  closely  squeezed  together  that  it  seemed 
as  if  the  edge  of  a  knife  would  scarcely  part  them — on  he 
went,  as  though  he  could  surmount  all  obstacles  by  the  mere 
exercise  of  his  will.  And  perhaps  his  not  being  shot  was  in 
some  degree  attributable  to  this  very  circumstance  ;  for  his 
extreme  audacity,  and  the  conviction  that  he  must  be  one  of 
those  to  whom  the  proclamation  referred,  inspired  the  soldiers 
with  a  desire  to  take  him  alive,  and  diverted  many  an  aim 
which  otherwise  might  have  been  more  near  the  mark. 

The  vintner  and  Mr.  Haredale,  unable  to  sit  quietly 
listening  to  the  noise  without  seeing  what  went  on,  had 
climbed  to  the  roof  of  the  house,  and  hiding  behind  a  stack 
of  chimneys,  were  looking  cautiously  down  into  the  street, 
almost  hoping  that  after  so  many  repulses  the  rioters  w^ould 
be  foiled,  when  a  great  shout  proclaimed  that  a  party  were 
coming  round  the  other  way  ;  and  the  dismal  jingling  of 
those  accursed  fetters  warned  them  next  moment  that  they 
too  were  led  by  Hugh.  The  soldiers  had  advanced  into 
Fleet  Market  and  were  dispersing  the  people  there  ;  so  that 
they  came  on  with  hardly  any  check,  and  were  soon  before 
the  house. 

''  All's  over  now,"  said  the  vintner.  ''  Fifty  thousand 
pounds  will  be  scattered  in  a  minute.  We  must  save 
ourselves.  We  can  do  no  more,  and  shall  have  reason  to  be 
thankful  if  we  do  as  much." 

Their  first  impulse  was  to  clamber  along  the  roofs  of  the 
houses,  and,  knocking  at  some  garret  window  for  admission, 


504 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


pass  down  that  way  into  the  street,  and  so  escape.  But 
another  fiercer  cry  from  below,  and  a  general  upturning  of 
the  face  of  the  crowd,  apprised  them  that  they  were  dis- 
covered, and  even  that  Mr.  Haredale  was  recognized  ;  for 
Hugh,  seeing  him  plainly  in  the  bright  glare  of  the  fire, 
which  in  that  part  made  it  as  light  as  day,  called  to  him  by 
his  name,  and  swore  to  have  his  life. 

"Leave  me  here,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  "and  in  heaven's 
name,  my  good  friend,  save  yourself  !  Come  on,"  he  mut- 
tered, as  he  turned  toward  Hugh  and  faced  him  without  any 
further  effort  of  concealment  ;  *'  this  roof  is  high,  and  if  w^e 
close,  we  will  die  together  !  " 

"  Madness,"  said  the  honest  vintner,  pulling  him  back, 
"sheer  madness.  Hear  reason,  sir.  My  good  sir,  hear  rea- 
son. I  could  never  make  myself  heard  by  knocking  at  a 
window  now  ;  and  if  I  could,  no  one  would  be  bold  enough 
to  connive  at  my  escape.  Through  the  cellars  there's  a  kind 
of  passage  into  the  back  street  by  which  we  roll  casks  in  and 
out.  We  shall  have  time  to  get  down  there  before  they  can 
force  an  entry.  Do  not  delay  an  instant  but  conie  with  me 
— for  both  our  sakes — for  mine — my  dear  good  sir  !  " 

As  he  spoke  and  drew  Mr.  Haredale  back,  they  had  both 
a  glimpse  of  the  street.  It  was  but  a  glimpse,  but  it  showed 
them  the  crowd,  gathering  and  clustering  round  the  house  : 
some  of  the  armed  men  pressing  to  the  front  to  break  down 
the  doors  and  windows,  some  bringing  brands  from  the  near- 
est fire,  some  with  lifted  faces  following  their  course  upon 
the  roof  and  pointing  them  out  to  their  companions  ;  all 
raging  and  roaring  like  the  flames  they  lighted  up.  They  saw 
some  men  thirsting  for  the  treasures  of  strong  liquor  which 
they  knew  were  stored  within  ;  they  saw  others,  who  had 
been  wounded,  sinking  down  into  the  opposite  doorways  and 
dying,  solitary  wretches,  in  the  midst  of  all  the  vast  assem- 
blage ;  here,  a  frightened  woman  trying  to  escape  ;  and  there 
a  lost  child  ;  and  there  a  drunken  ruffian,  unconscious  of  the 
death-wound  on  his  head,  raving  and  fighting  to  the  last.  AH 
these  things,  and  even  such  trivial  incidents  as  a  man  with 
his  hat  off,  or  turning  round,  or  stooping  down,  or  shaking 
hands  with  another,  they  marked  distinctly  ;  yet  in  a  glance 
so  brief,  that,  in  the  act  of  stepping  back,  they  lost  the  whole, 
and  saw  but  the  pale  faces  of  each  other,  and  the  red  sky 
above  them. 

Mr.  Haredale  yielded  to  the  entreaties  of^  his  companion 
— more  because  he  was  resolved  to  defend  him,  than  for  any 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  505 

thought  he  had  of  his  own  life,  or  any  care  he  entertained 
for  his  own  safety — and  quickly  re-entering  the  house,  they 
descended  the  stairs  together.  Loud  blows  were  thundering 
on  the  shutters,  crowbars  were  already  thrust  beneath  the 
door,  the  glass  fell  from  the  sashes,  a  deep  light  shone 
through  every  crevice,  and  they  heard  the  voices  of  the  fore- 
most in  the  crowd  so  close  to  every  chink  and  keyhole,  that 
they  seemed  to  be  hoarsely  whispering  their  threats 
into  their  very  ears.  They  had  but  a  moment  reached  the 
bottom  of  the  cellar-steps  and  shut  the  door  behind  them, 
when  the  mob  broke  in. 

The  vaults  were  profoundly  dark,  and  having  no  torch  or 
candle — for  they  had  been  afraid  to  carry  one,  lest  it  should 
betray  their  place  of  refuge — they  were  obliged  to  grope  with 
their  hands.  But  they  were  not  long  without  light,  for  they 
had  not  gone  far  when  they  heard  the  crowd  forcing  the  door  ; 
and,  looking  back  among  the  low-arched  passages,  could  see 
them  in  the  distance,  hurrying  to  and  fro  with  flashing  links, 
broaching  the  casks,  staving  the  great  vats,  turning  off  upon 
the  right  hand  and  the  left,  into  the  different  cellars,  and 
lying  down  to  drink  at  the  channels  of  strong  spirits  which 
were  already  flowing  on  the  ground. 

They  hurried  on,  not  the  less  quickly  for  this  ;  and  had 
reached  the  only  vault  which  lay  between  them  and  the  pas- 
sage out,  when  suddenly  from  the  direction  in  which  they 
were  going,  a  strong  light  gleamed  upon  their  faces  ;  and 
before  they  could  slip  aside  or  turn  back,  or  hide  themselves, 
two  men  (one  bearing  a  torch)  came  upon  them,  and  cried 
in  an  astonished  whisper,  "  Here  they  are  !  " 

At  the  same  instant  they  pulled  off  what  they  wore  upon 
their  heads.  Mr.  Haredale  saw  before  him  Edward  Ches- 
ter, and  then  saw  when  the  vintner  gasped  his  name,  Joe 
Willet. 

Ay,  the  same  Joe,  though  with  an  arm  the  less,  who  used 
to  make  the  quarterly  journey  on  the  gray  mare  to  pay  the 
bill  to  the  purple-faced  vintner  ;  and  that  very  same  purple- 
faced  vintner,  formerly  of  Thames  Street,  now  looked  him 
in  the  face,  and  challenged  him  by  name. 

"  Give  me  your  hand,"  said  Joe  softly,  taking  it  whether 
the  astonished  vintner  would  or  no.  "  Don't  fear  to  shake 
it  ;  it's  a  friendly  one  and  a  hearty  one,  though  it  has  no  fel- 
low. Why,  how  well  you  look,  and  how  bluff  you  are  !  And 
you — God  bless  you,  sir.  Take  heart,  take  heart.  We'll  find 
them.     Be  of  good  cheer  ;  we  have  not  been  idle." 


5o6  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

There  was  something  so  honest  and  frank  in  Joe's  speech, 
that  Mr.  Haredale  put  his  hand  in  his  involuntarily,  though 
their  meeting  was  suspicious  enough.  But  his  glance  at  Ed- 
ward Chester,  and  that  gentleman's  keeping  aloof,  were  not 
lost  upon  Joe,  who  said  bluntly,  glancing  at  Edward  while 
he  spoke  : 

*'  Times  are  changed,  Mr.  Haredale,  and  times  have  come 
when  we  ought  to  know  friends  from  enemies,  and  make  no 
confusion  of  names.  Let  me  tell  you  that  but  for  this  gen- 
tleman, you  would  most  likely  have  been  dead  by  this  time, 
or  badly  wounded  at  the  best." 

•'  What  do  you  say  ?  "  cried  Mr.  Haredale. 

"I  say,"  said  Joe,  "first,  that  it  was  a  bold  thing  to  be  in 
the  crowd  at  all  disguised  as  one  of  them  ;  though  I  won't 
say  much  dbout  that,  on  second  thoughts,  for  that's  my  case 
too.  Secondly,  that  it  was  a  brave  and  glorious  action— 
that's  what  I  call  it — to  strike  that  fellow  off  his  horse  before 
their  eyes  !  " 

'*  What  fellow  ?     Whose  eyes  ? " 

*'  What  fellow,  sir  !  "  cried  Joe.  "  A  fellow  who  has  no 
good-will  to  you,  and  who  has  the  daring  devilry  in  him  of 
twenty  fellows.  I  know  him  of  old.  Once  in  the  house,  he 
would  have  found  you,  here  or  anywhere.  The  rest  owe  you 
no  particular  grudge,  and,  unless  they  see  you,  will  only  think 
of  drinking  themselves  dead.  But  we  lose  time.  Are  you 
ready  ?  " 

"  Quite,"  said  Edward.  "  Put  out  the  torch,  Joe,  and  go 
on.     And  be  silent,  there's  a  good  fellow." 

"  Silent  or  not  silent,"  murmured  Joe,  as  he  dropped  the 
flaring  link  upon  the  ground,  crushed  it  with  his  foot,  and 
gave  his  hand  to  Mr.  Haredale,  ''  it  was  a  brave  and  glorious 
action  ; — no  man  can  alter  that." 

Both  Mr.  Haredale  and  the  worthy  vintner  were  too 
amazed  and  too  much  hurried  to  ask  any  further  questions, 
so  followed  their  conductors  in  silence.  It  seemed,  from  a 
short  whispering  which  presently  ensued  between  them  and 
the  vintner  relative  to  the  best  way  of  escape,  that  they  had 
entered  by  the  back  door,  with  the  connivance  of  John 
Grueby,  who  watched  oi!tside  with  the  key  in  his  pocket,  and  ' 
whom  they  had  taken  into  their  confidence.  A  party  of  the 
crowd  coming  up  the  way,  just  as  they  entered,  John  had 
double-locked  the  door  again,  and  made  off  for  the  soldiers, 
so  that  means  of  retreat  was  cut  off  from  under  them. 

However,   as  the   front-door  had   been  forced,  and   this 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  507 

minor  crowd,  being  anxious  to  get  at  the  liquor,  had  no 
fancy  for  losing  time  in  breaking  down  another,  but  had 
gone  round  and  got  in  from  Holborn  with  the  rest,  the  nar- 
row lane  in  the  rear  was  quite  free  of  people.  So,  when  they 
had  crawled  through  the  passage  indicated  by  the  vintner 
(which  was  a  mere  shelving  trap  for  the  admission  of  casks), 
and  had  managed  with  some  difficulty  to  unchain  and  raise 
the  door  at  the  upper  end,  they  emerged  into  the  street  with- 
out being  observed  or  interrupted.  Joe  still  holding  Mr. 
Haredale  tight,  and  Edward  taking  the  same  care  of  the 
vintner,  they  hurried  through  the  streets  at  a  rapid  pace  ; 
occasionally  standing  aside  to  let  some  fugitives  go  by,  or 
to  keep  out  of  the  way  of  the  soldiers  who  followed  them, 
and  whose  questions,  when  they  halted  to  put  any,  were 
speedily  stopped  by  one  whispered  word  from  Joe. 


CHAPTER    LXVIII. 

While  Newgate  was  burning  on  the  previous  night,  Barn- 
aby  and  his  father,  having  been  passed  among  the  crowd 
from  hand  to  hand,  stood  in  Smithfield,  on  the  outskirts  of 
the  mob,  gazing  at  the  flames  like  men  who  had  been  sud- 
denly roused  from  sleep.  Some  moments  elapsed  before 
they  could  distinctly  remember  where  they  were,  or  how  they 
got  there  ;  or  recollected  that  w^hile  they  were  standing  idle 
and  listless  spectators  of  the  fire,  they  had  tools  in  their 
hands  which  had  been  hurriedly  given  them  that  they  might 
free  themselves  from  their  fetters. 

Barnaby,  heavily  ironed  as  he  was,  if  he  had  obeyed  his 
first  impulse,  or  if  he  had  been  alone,  would  have  made  his 
way  back  to  the  side  of  Hugh,  who  to  his  clouded  intellect 
now  shone  forth  with  the  new  luster  of  being  his  preserver 
and  truest  friend.  But  his  father's  terror  of  remaining  in 
the  streets,  communicated  itself  to  him  when  he  compre- 
hended the  full  extent  of  his  fears,  and  impressed  him  with 
the  same  eagerness  to  fly  to  a  place  of  safety. 

In  a  corner  of  the  market  among  the  pens  for  cattle,  Barn- 
aby kneeled  down,  and  pausing  every  now  and  then  to  pass 
his  hand  over  his  father's  face,  or  look  up  to  him  with  a 
smile,  knocked  off  his  irons.  When  he  had  seen  him  spring, 
a  free  man,  to  his  feet,  and  had  given  vent  to  the  transport 
of  delight  which  the  sight  awakened,  he  went  to  work  upon 


5o8  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

his  own,  which  soon  fell  rattling  down  upon  the  ground,  and 
left  his  limbs  unfettered. 

Gliding  away  together  when  this  task  was  accomplished, 
and  passing  several  groups  of  men,  each  gathered  around  a 
stooping  figure  to  hide  him  from  those  who  passed,  but  unable 
to  repress  the  clanking  sound  of  hammers,  which  told  that 
they  too  were  busy  at  the  same  work — the  two  fugitives 
made  toward  Clerkenwell,  and  passing  thence  to  Islington, 
as  the  nearest  point  of  egress,  were  quickly  in  the  fields. 
After  wandering  about  for  a  long  time,  they  found  in  a 
pasture  near  Finchley  a  poor  shed,  with  walls  of  mud,  and 
roof  of  grass  and  brambles,  built  for  some  cow-herd,  but 
now  deserted.     Here  they  lay  dowm  for  the  rest  of  the  nigM. 

They  wandered  to  and  fro  when  it  was  day,  and  onse 
Barnaby  went  off  alone  to  a  cluster  of  little  cottages  two  or 
three  miles  away,  to  purchase  some  bread  and  milk.  But 
finding  no  better  shelter,  they  returned  to  the  same  place, 
and  lay  down  again  to  wait  for  night. 

Heaven  alone  can  tell,  with  what  vague  hopes  of  duty, 
and  affection  ;  with  what  strange  promptings  of  nature, 
intelligible  to  him  as  to  a  man  of  radiant  mind  and  most 
enlarged  capacity  ;  with  what  dim  memories  of  children  he 
had  played  with  when  a  child  himself,  who  had  prattled  of 
their  fathers,  and  of  loving  them,  and  being  loved  ;  with 
how  many  half-remembered,  dreamy  associations  of  his 
mother's  grief  and  tears  and  widov/hood  ;  he  watched  and 
tended  this  man.  But  that  a  vague  and  shadowy  crowd  of 
such  ideas  came  slowly  on  him  ;  that  they  taught  him  to  be 
sorry  when  he  looked  upon  his  haggard  face  ;  that  they 
overflowed  his  eyes  when  he  stooped  to  kiss  him  ;  that  they 
kept  him  waking  in  a  tearful  gladness,  shading  him  from 
the  sun,  fanning  him  with  leaves,  soothing  him  when  he 
started  in  his  sleep — ah  !  what  a  troubled  sleep  it  was — and 
wondering  when  she  would  come  to  join  them  and  be  happy, 
is  the  truth.  He  sat  beside  him  all  that  day  ;  listening  for 
her  footsteps  in  every  breath  of  air,  looking  for  her  shadow 
on  the  gently-waving  grass,  twining  the  hedge  flowers  for 
her  pleasure  when  she  came,  and  his  when  he  aw^oke  ;  and 
stooping  down  from  time  to  time  to  listen  to  his  mutterings, 
and  wonder  why  he  was  so  restless  in  that  quiet  place. 
The  sun  went  dowm,  and  night  came  on,  and  he  was  still 
quite  tranquil  ;  busied  with  these  thoughts,  as  if  there  were 
no  other  people  in  the  world,  and  the  dull  cloud  of  smoke 
hanging  on  the  immense  city  in  the  distance,  hid  no  vices, 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  509 

no  crimes,  no  life  or  death,  or  cause  of  disquiet — nothing 
but  clear  air. 

But  the  hour  had  now  come  when  he  must  go  alone  to 
find  out  the  blind  man  (a  task  that  filled  him  with  delight), 
and  bring  him  to  that  place  :  taking  especial  care  that  he 
was  not  watched  or  followed  on  his  way  back.  He  listened 
to  the  directions  he  must  observe,  repeated  them  again  and 
again,  and  after  twice  or  thrice  returning  to  surprise  his 
father  with  a  light-hearted  laugh,  went  forth,  at  last,  upon 
his  errand  :  leaving  Grip,  whom  he  had  carried  from  the 
jail  in  his  arms,  to  his  care. 

Fleet  of  foot,  and  anxious  to  return,  he  sped  swiftly  on 
toward  the  city,  but  could  not  reach  it  before  the  fires 
began  and  made  the  night  angry  with  her  dismal  luster. 
When  he  entered  the  town — it  might  be  that  he  was  changed 
by  going  there  without  his  late  companions,  and  on  no  vio- 
lent errand  ;  or  by  the  beautiful  solitude  in  which  he  had 
passed  the  day  ;  or  by  the  thoughts  that  had  come  upon 
him,  but  it  seemed  peopled  by  a  legion  of  devils.  This 
flight  and  pursuit,  this  cruel  burning  and  destroying,  these 
dreadful  cries  and  stunning  noises,  were  they  the  good 
lord's  noble  cause  ? 

Though  almost  stupefied  by  the  bewildering  scene,  still 
he  found  the  blind  man's  house.  It  was  shut  up  and  ten- 
antless. 

He  waited  for  a  long  while,  but  no  one  came.  At  last  he 
withdrew  ;  and  as  he  knew  by  this  time  that  the  soldiers 
were  firing,  and  many  people  must  have  been  killed,  he 
went  down  into  Holborn,  where  he  heard  the  great  crowd 
was,  to  try  if  he  could  find  Hugh,  and  persuade  him  to 
avoid  the  danger,  and  return  with  him. 

If  he  had  been  stunned  and  shocked  before,  his  horror 
was  increased  a  thousand-fold  when  he  got  into  this  vortex 
of  the  riot,  and  not  being  an  actor  in  the  terrible  spectacle, 
had  it  all  before  his  eyes.  But  there,  in  the  midst,  towering 
above  them  all,  close  before  the  house  they  were  attacking 
now,  was  Hugh  on  horseback,  calling  to  the  rest ! 

Sickened  by  the  sights  surrounding  him  on  every  side,  and 
by  the  heat  and  roar  and  crash,  he  forced  his  way  among 
the  crowd  (where  many  recognized  him,  and  with  shouts 
pressed  back  to  let  him  pass),  and  in  time  was  nearly  up 
with  Hugh,  who  was  savagely  threatening  some  one,  but 
whom,  or  what  he  said,  he  could  not,  in  the  great  confusion, 
understand.     At  that  moment  the  crowd  forced  their  way 


5 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


into  the  house,  and  Hugh — it  was  impossible  to  see  by  what 
means,  in  such  a  concourse— fell  headlong  down/ 

Barnaby  was  beside  him  when  he  staggered  to  his  feet. 
It  was  well  he  made  him  hear  his  voice,  or  Hugh,  with  his 
uplifted  ax,  would  have  cleft  his  skull  in  twain. 

"  Barnaby — you  !  Whose  hand  was  that,  that  struck  me 
down  ?  " 

''Not  mine." 

"Whose? — I  say,  whose?"  he  cried,,  reeling  back,  and 
looking  wildly  around.  "  What  are  you  doing  ?  Where  is 
he  ?     Show  me  !  " 

"You  are  hurt,"  said  Barnaby — as  indeed  he  was,  in  the 
head,  both  by  the  blow  he  had  received,  and  by  his  horse's 
hoof.     "  Come  away  with  me." 

As  he  spoke,  he  took  the  horse's-bridle  in  his  hand,  turned 
him,  and  dragged  Hugh  several  paces.  This  brought  them 
out  of  the  crowd,  which  was  pouring  from  the  street  into 
tb.e  vintner's  cellars. 

"Where's — where's  Dennis?"  said  Hugh,  coming  to  a 
stop,  and  checking  Barnaby  with  his  strong  arm.  "  Where 
has  he  been  all  day?  What  did  he  mean  by  leaving  me  as 
he  did,  in  the  jail,  last  night  ?     Tell  me,    you— d'ye  hear  !  " 

With  a  flourish  of  his  dangerous  weapon,  he  fell  down  upon 
the  ground  like  a  log.  After  a  minute,  though  already  frantic 
with  drinking  and  with  the  wound  in  his  head,  he  crawled 
to  a  stream  of  burning  spirit  which  was  pouring  down  the 
kennel,  and  began  to  drink  at  it  as  if  it  were  a  brook  of  water. 

Barnaby  drew  him  away  and  forced  him  to  rise.  Though 
he  could  neither  stand  nor  walk,  he  involuntarily  staggered 
to  his  horse,  climbed  upon  his  back,  and  clung  there.  After 
vainly  attempting  to  divest  the  animal  of  his  clanking  trap- 
pings, Barnaby  sprung  up  behind  him,  snatched  the  bridle, 
turned  into  Leather  Lane,  which  was  close  at  hand,  and 
urged  the  frightened  horse  into  a  heavy  trot. 

He  looked  back,  once,  before  he  left  the  street  ;  and 
looked  upon  a  sight  not  easily  to  be  erased,  even  from  his 
remembrance,  so  long  as  he  had  life. 

The  vintner's  house,  with  half  a  dozen  others  near  at  hand, 
was  one  great,  glowing  blaze.  All  night  no  one  had  essayed 
to  quench  the  flames,  or  stop  their  progress  ;  but  now  a  body 
of  soldiers  were  actively  engaged  in  pulling  down  two  old 
wooden  houses,  which  were  every  moment  in  danger  of  tak- 
ing fire,  and  which  could  scarcely  fail,  if  they  were  left  to 
burn^  to   extend  the   conflagration  immensely.     The   turn- 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  51 1 

bling  down  of  nodding  walls  and  heavy  blocks  of  wood,  the 
hooting  and  the  execrations  of  the  crowd,  the  distant  firing 
of  other  military  detachments,  the  distracted  looks  and  cries 
of  those  whose  habitations  were  in  danger,  the  hurrying  to 
and  fro  of  frightened  people  with  their  goods  ;  the  reflec- 
tions in  every  quarter  of  the  sky,  of  deep  red,  soaring  flames, 
as  though  the  last  day  had  come  and  the  whole  universe 
were  burning  ;  the  dust,  and  smoke,  and  drift  of  fiery  par- 
ticles, scorching  and  kindling  all  it  fell  upon  ;  the  hot  un- 
wholesome vapor,  the  blight  on  every  thing  ;  the  stars,  and 
moon,  and  very  sky,  obliterated  ; — made  up  such  a  sum  of 
dreariness  and  ruin,  that  it  seemed  as  if  the  face  of  heaven 
were  blotted  out,  and  night,  in  its  rest  and  quiet,  and  soft- 
ened light,  never  could  look  upon  the  earth  again. 

But  there  was  a  worse  spectacle  than  this — worse  by  far 
than  fire  and  smoke,  or  even  the  rabble's  unappeasable  and 
maniac  rage.  The  gutters  of  the  street,  and  every  crack  and 
fissure  in  the  stones,  ran  with  scorching  spirit,  which  being 
dammed  up  by  busy  hands,  overflowed  the  road  and  pave- 
ment, and  formed  a  great  pool,  into  which  the  people  dropped 
down  dead  by  dozens.  They  lay  in  heaps  all  round  this 
fearful  pond,  husbands  and  wives,  fathers  and  sons,  mothers 
and  daughters,  women  with  children  in  their  arms  and  babies 
at  their  breasts,  and  drank  until  they  died.  While  some 
stooped  with  their  lips  to  the  brink  and  never  raised  their 
heads  again,  others  sprung  up  from  their  fiery  draught,  and 
danced,  half  in  a  mad  triumph,  and  half  in  the  agony  of  suf- 
focation, until  they  fell,  and  steeped  their  corpses  in  the 
liquor  that  had  killed  them.  Nor  was  even  this  the  worst 
or  m.ost  appalling  kind  of  death  that  happened  on  this  fatal 
night.  From  the  burning  cellars,  where  they  drank  out  of 
hats,  pails,  buckets,  tubs,  and  shoes,  some  men  were  drawn, 
alive,  but  all  a-light  from  head  to  foot  ;  who  in  their  unen- 
durable anguish  and  suffering,  making  for  any  thing  that 
had  the  look  of  water,  rolled,  hissing,  in  this  hideous  lake, 
and  splashed  up  liquid  fire  which  lapped  in  all  it  met  with , 
as  it  ran  along  the  surface,  and  neither  spared  the  living  nor 
the  dead.  On  this  last  night  of  the  great  riots — for  the  last 
night  it  was — the  wretched  victims  of  a  senseless  outcry 
became  themselves  the  dust  and  ashes  of  the  flames  they  had 
kindled,  and  strewed  the  public  streets  of  London. 

With  all  he  saw  in  this  last  glance  fixed  indelibly  upon 
his  mind,  Barnaby  hurried  from  the  city  which  inclosed  such 
horrors  ;  and  holding  down  his  head  that  he  might  not  even 


512  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

see  the  glare  of  the  fires  upon  the  quiet  landscape,  was  soon 
in  the  still  country  roads. 

He  stopped  at  about  half  a  mile  from  the  shed  where  his 
father  lay,  and  with  some  difficulty  making  Hugh  sensible 
that  he  must  dismount,  sunk  the  horse's  furniture  in  a  pool 
of  stagnant  water,  and  turned  the  animal  loose.  That  done, 
he  supported  his  companion  as  well  as  he  could,  and  led  him 
slowly  forward. 


CHAPTER   LXIX. 

It  was  the  dead  of  night,  and  very  dark,  when  Barnaby, 
with  his  stumbling  comrade,  approached  the  place  where 
he  had  left  his  father  ;  but  he  could  see  him  stealing  away 
into  the  gloom,  distrustful  even  of  him,  and  rapidly  retreat- 
ing. After  calling  to  him  twice  or  thrice  that  there  was 
nothing  to  fear,  but  without  effect,  he  suffered  Hugh  to  sink 
upon  the  ground,  and  followed  to  bring  him  back. 

He  continued  to  creep  away  until  Barnaby  was  close  upon 
him  ;  then  turned,  and  said  in  a  terrible,  though  suppressed 
voice  : 

'*  Let  me  go.  Do  not  lay  hands  upon  me.  You  have  told 
her  ;  and  you  and  she  together  have  betrayed  me  !  " 

Barnaby  looked  at  him  in  silence. 

"  You  have  seen  your  mother  !  " 

"  No,"  cried  Barnaby,  eagerly.  "  Not  for  a  long  time — 
longer  than  I  can  tell.  A  whole  year,  I  think.  Is  she 
here?" 

His  father  looked  upon  him  steadfastly  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, and  then  said — drawing  nearer  to  him  as  he  spoke, 
for,  seeing  his  face,  and  hearing  his  words,  it  was  impossible 
to  doubt  his  truth  : 

"  What  man  is  that  ?  '* 

*'  Hugh — Hugh.  Only  Hugh.  You  know  him.  He  will 
not  harm  you.  Why,  you're  afraid  of  Hugh  !  Ha,  ha,  ha  ! 
Afraid  of  gruff,  old,  noisy  Hugh  !  " 

**  What  man  is  he,  I  ask  you  ?  "  he  rejoined  so  fiercely  that 
Barnaby  stopped  in  his  laugh,  and  shrinking  back,  surveyed 
him  with  a  look  of  terrified  amazement. 

"Why,  how  stern  you  are!  You  make  me  fear  you, 
though  you  are  my  father.     Why  do  you  speak  to  me  so  ?  " 

*'  I  want,"  he  ansv/ered,  putting  away  the  hand  which  his 
son,  with  a  timid  desire  to  propitiate  'lim,  laid  upon   his 


BARNABY  RUDGf^:.  5tj 

sleeve — "I  want  an  answer,  and  yoii  give  me  only  jeers  and 
questions.  Who  have  you  brought  with  you  to  this  hiding- 
place,  poor  fool  ;  and  where  is  the  blind  man  ?" 

*'  I  don't  know  where.  His  house  was  close  shut.  I  waited, 
but  no  person  came  ;  that  was  no  fault  of  mine.  This  is 
Hugh — brave  Hugh,  who  broke  into  that  ugly  jail,  and  set 
us  free.  Aha  !  You  like  him  now,  do  you  ?  You  like  him 
now  ! " 

"  Why  does  he  lie  upon  the  ground  ? " 

"  He  has  had  a  fall,  and  has  been  drinking.  The  fields 
and  trees  go  round,  and  round,  and  round  with  him,  and 
the  ground  heaves  under  his  feet.  You  know  him  ?  You 
remember  ?     See  !  " 

They  had  by  tlis  time  returned  to  where  he  lay,  and  both 
stooped  over  him  to  look  into  his  face. 

"  I  recollect  the  man,"  his  father  murmured.  "  Why  did 
you  bring  him  here  ?  " 

"  Because  he  would  have  been  killed  if  I  had  left  him  over 
yonder.  They  were  firing  guns  and  shedding  blood.  Does 
the  sight  of  blood  turn  you  sick,  father  ?  I  see  it  does,  by 
your  face.     That's  like  me — What  are  you  looking  at?" 

"At  nothing  !"  said  the  murderer  softly,  as  he  started 
back  a  pace  or  two,  and  gazed  with  sunken  jaw  and  staring 
eyes  above  his  son's  head.     ''  At  nothing  !  " 

He  remained  in  the  same  attitude  and  with  the  same  ex- 
pression on  his  face  for  a  minute  or  more  ;  then  glanced 
slowly  round  as  if  he  had  lost  something,  and  went  shivering 
back  toward  the  shed. 

"  Shall  I  bring  him  in,  father  ?  "  asked  Barnaby,  who  had 
looked  on,  wondering. 

He  only  answered  with  a  suppressed  groan,  and  lying 
down  upon  the  ground,  wrapped  his  cloak  about  his  head, 
and  shrunk  into  the  darkest  corner. 

Finding  that  nothing  would  rouse  Hugh  now,  or  make 
him  sensible  for  a  moment,  Barnaby  dragged  him  along  the 
grass,  and  laid  him  on  a  little  heap  of  refuse  hay  and  straw 
which  had  been  his  own  bed  ;  first  having  brought  some 
water  from  a  running  stream  hard  by,  and  washed  his  wound, 
and  laved  his  hands  and  face.  Then  he  lay  down  himself, 
between  the  two,  to  pass  the  night ;  and  looking  at  the  stars, 
fell  fast  asleep. 

Awakened  early  in  the  morning,  by  the  sunshine  and  the 
songs  of  birds  and  hum  of  insects,  he  left  them  sleeping 
in  the  hut,  and  walked  into  the  sweet  and  pleasant  air.    But 


St4  BARNABV  RUDGE. 

he  felt  that  on  his  jaded  senses,  oppressed  and  burdened 
with  the  dreadful  scenes  of  last  night,  and  many  nights 
before,  all  the  beauties  of  opening  day,  which  he  had  so 
often  tasted,  and  in  which  he  had  had  such  deep  delight, 
fell  heavily.  He  thought  of  the  blithe  mornings  when  he 
and  the  dogs  went  bounding  on  together  through  the  woods 
and  fields  ;  and  the  recollection  filled  his  eyes  with  tears. 
He  had  no  consciousness,  God  help  him,  of  having  done 
wrong,  nor  had  he  any  new  perception  of  the  merits  of  the 
cause  in  which  he  had  been  engaged,  or  those  of  the  men 
who  advocated  it  ;  but  he  was  full  of  cares  now,  and  regrets, 
and  dismal  recollections,  and  wishes  (quite  unknown  :o  him 
before)  that  this  or  that  event  had  never  happened,  and  that 
the  sorrow  and  suffering  of  so  many  people  had  been  spared. 
And  now  he  began  to  think  how  happy  they  would  be — his 
father,  mother,  he,  and  Hugh — if  they  rambled  away  to- 
gether, and  lived  in  some  lonely  place,  where  there  were 
none  of  these  troubles  ;  and  that  perhaps  the  blind  man,  who 
had  talked  so  wisely  about  gold,  and  told  him  of  the  great 
secrets  he  knew,  could  teach  them  how  to  live  without  being 
pinched  by  want.  As  this  occurred  to  him,  he  was  the  more 
sorry  that  he  had  not  seen  him  last  night ;  and  he  was  still 
brooding  over  this  regret,  when  his  father  came  and  touched 
him  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Barnaby,  starting  from  his  fit  of  thoughtful- 
ness.     *'  Is  it  only  you  ?  " 

"Who  should  it  be?" 

"  I  almost  thought,"  he  answered,  "  it  was  the  blind  man. 
I  must  have  some  talk  with  him,  father." 

"  And  so  must  I,  for  without  seeing  him  I  don't  know 
where  to  fly  or  what  to  do,  and  lingering  here  is  death.  You 
must  go  to  him  again  and  bring  him  here." 

"  Must  I  ?  "  cried  Barnaby,  delighted.  "  That's  brave, 
father.     That's  what  I  want  to  do." 

"But  you  must  bring  only  him,  and  none  other.  And 
though  you  wait  at  his  door  a  whole  day  and  night,  still  you 
must  wait,  and  not  come  back  without  him." 

"  Don't  you  fear  that,"  he  cried  gayly.  "  He  shall  come  ; 
he  shall  come." 

"  Trim  off  these  gewgaws,"  said  his  father,  plucking  the 
scraps  of  ribbon  and  the  feathers  from  his  hat,  "  and  over 
your  own  dress  wear  my  cloak.  Take  heed  how  you  go, 
and  they  will  be  too  busy  in  the  streets  to  notice  you.  Of 
your  coming  back  you  need  take  no  account,  for  he'll  man- 
age  that  safely  " 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  515 

'*  To  be  sure  !  "  said  Barnaby.  *'  To  be  sure  he  will  !  A 
wise  man,  father,  and  one  who  can  teach  us  to  be  rich.  Oh  ! 
1  know  him,  I   know  him." 

He  was  speedily  dressed,  and  as  well  disguised  as  he 
could  be.  With  a  lighter  heart  he  then  set  off  upon  his  sec- 
ond journey,  leaving  Hugh,  who  was  still  in  a  drunken  stupor, 
stretched  upon  the  ground  within  the  shed,  and  his  father 
walking  to  and  fro  before  it. 

The  murderer,  full  of  anxious  thoughts,  looked  after  him 
and  paced  up  and  down,  disquieted  by  every  breath  of  air 
tliat  whispered  among  the  bouglis,  and  by  every  light  shadow 
thrown  by  the  passing  clouds  upon  the  daisied  ground.  He 
was  anxious  for  his  safe  return,  and  yet,  though  his  own  life 
and  safety  hung  upon  it,  felt  a  relief  while  he  was  gone.  In 
the  intense  selfishness  which  the  constant  presence  before 
him  of  his  great  crimes,  and  their  consequences  here  and 
hereafter,  engendered,  every  thougjht  of  Barnaby  as  his  son 
was  swallowed  up  and  lost.  Still,  his  presence  was  a  torture 
and  reproach  ;  in  his  wild  eyes  there  were  terrible  images  of 
that  guilty  night ;  with  his  unearthly  aspect  and  his  half- 
formed  mind,  he  seemed  to  the  murderer  a  creature  who  had 
sprung  into  existence  from  his  victim's  blood.  He  could  not 
bear  his  look,  his  voice,  his  touch  ;  and  yet  he  was  forced 
by  his  own  desperate  condition  and  his  only  hope  of  cheat- 
ing the  gibbet,  to  have  him  by  his  side,  and  to  know  that  he 
was  inseparable  from  his  single  chance  of  escape. 

He  walked  to  and  fro,  with  little  rest,  all  day,  revolving 
these  things  in  his  mind];  and  still  Hugh  lay  unconscious  in 
the  shed.  At  length,  when  the  sun  was  setting,  Barnaby  re- 
turned, leading  the  blind  man,  and  talking  earnestly  to  him 
as  they  came  along  together. 

The  murderer  advanced  to  meet  them,  and  bidding  his 
son  go  on  and  speak  to  Hugh,  who  had  just  then  staggered 
to  his  feet,  took  his  place  at  the  blind  man's  elbow,  and 
slowly  followed  to\yard  the  shed. 

"  Why  did  you  send  hhn  ?  "  said  Stagg.  "  Don't  you 
know  it  was  the  way  to  have  him  lost,  as  soon  as  found  ?" 

"  Would  you  have  had  me  come  myself  ?  "  returned  the 
other. 

"  Humph  !  Perhaps  not.  I  was  before  the  jail  on  Tues- 
day night,  but  missed  you  in  the  crowd.  I  was  out  last 
night,  too.  There  was  good  work  last  night—gay  work — 
profitable  work  "—he  added,  rattling  the  money  in  his  pock- 
ets. 


5i6  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  Have  you- 


— "  Seen  your  lady  ?     Yes." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  more,  or  not  ? " 

"  I'll  tell  you  all,"  returned  the  blind  man,  with  a  laugh. 
"  Excuse  me,  but  I  love  to  see  you  so  impatient.  There's 
energy  in  it." 

*'  Does  she  consent  to  say  the  word  that  may  save 
me?" 

"  No,"  returned  the  blind  man  emphatically,  as  he  turned 
his  face  toward  him.  "  No.  Thus  it  is.  She  has  been  at 
death's  door  since  she  lost  her  darling — has  been  insensi- 
ble, and  I  know  not  what.  I  tracked  her  to  a  hospital  and 
presented  myself  (with  your  leave)  at  her  bedside.  Our  talk 
was  not  a  long  one,  for  she  was  weak,  and  there  being  people 
near,  I  was  not  quite  easy.  But  I  told  her  all  that  you  and 
I  agreed  upon,  and  pointed  out  the  young  gentleman's  posi- 
tion in  strong  terms.  She  tried  to  soften  me,  but  that,  of 
course  (as  I  told  her),  was  lost  time.  She  cried  and  moaned, 
you  may  be  sure  ;  all  women  do.  Then,  of  a  sudden,  she 
found  her  voice  and  strength,  and  said  that  heaven  would 
help  her  and  her  innocent  son — and  that  to  heaven  she  ap- 
pealed against  us — which  she  did  ;  in  really  very  pretty  lan- 
guage, I  assure  you.  I  advised  her  as  a  friend  not  to  count 
too  much  on  assistance  from  any  such  distant  quarter — rec- 
ommended her  to  think  of  it — told  her  where  I  lived — said 
I  knew  she  would  send  to  me  before  noon  the  next  day — 
and  left  her,  either  in  a  faint  or  shamming." 

When  he  had  concluded  this  narration,  during  which  he 
had  made  several  pauses,  for  the  convenience  of  cracking 
and  eating  nuts,  of  which  he  seemed  to  have  a  pocketful, 
the  blind  man  pulled  a  flask  from  his  pocket,  took  a  draught 
himself,  and  offered  it  to  his  companion. 

"  Y'ou  won't,  won't  you  ?  "  he  said,  feeling  that  he  pushed 
it  from  him.  *'  Well !  Then  the  gallant  gentleman  who's 
lodging  with  you  will.     Halloo,  bully  !  " 

**  Death  !  "  said  the  other,  holding  him  back.  ''Will  you 
tell  me  what  I  arn  to  do  ?  " 

*'  Do  !  Nothing  easier.  Make  a  moonlight  flitting  in  two 
hours'  time  with  the  young  gentleman  (he's  quite  ready  to 
go  ;  I  have  been  giving  him  good  advice  as  we  came  along), 
and  get  as  far  from  London  as  you  can.  Let  me  know 
where  you  are,  and  leave  the  rest  to  me.  She  must  come 
round  ;  she  can't  hold  out  long  ;  and  as  to  the  chances  of 
your  being  retaken  in  the  meanwhile,  why  it  wasn't  one  man 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  517 

who  got  out  of  Newgate,  but  three  hundred.  Think  of  that, 
for  your  comfort." 

'^  We  must  support  life.     How  ?  " 

"  How  !  "  repeated  the  blind  man.  "  By  eating  and  drink- 
ing. And  how  get  meat  and  drink,  but  by  paying  for  it  ! 
Money  !  "  he  cried,  slapping  his  pocket.  "  Is  money  the 
word  !  Why  the  streets  have  been  running  money.  Devil 
send  that  the  sport's  not  over  yet,  for  these  are  jolly  times  ; 
golden,  rare,  roaring,  scrambling  times.  Halloo,  bully  ! 
Halloo  !  Halloo  !  Drink,  bully,  drink.  Where  are  ye 
there  ?     Halloo  !  " 

With  such  vociferations,  and  with  a  boisterous  manner 
which  bespoke  his  perfect  abandonment  to  the  general 
license  and  disorder,  he  groped  his  way  toward  the  shed, 
where  Hugh  and  Barnaby  were  sitting  on  the  ground. 

"  But  it  about !  "  he  cried,  handing  his  flask  to  Hugh. 
"  The  kennels  run  with  wine  and  gold.  Guineas  and  strong 
water  flow  from  the  very  pumps.  About  with  it,  don't 
spare  it ! " 

Exhausted,  unwashed,  unshorn,  begrimed  with  smoke 
and  dust,  his  hair  clotted  with  blood,  his  voice  quite  gone, 
so  that  he  spoke  in  whispers  ;  his  skin  parched  up  by  fever, 
his  whole  body  bruised  and  cut,  and  beaten  about,  Hugh  still 
took  the  flask,  and  raised  it  to  his  lips.  He  was  in  the  act 
of  drinking,  when  the  front  of  the  shed  was  suddenly 
darkened,  and  Dennis  stood  before  them. 

"  No  offense,  no  offense,"  said  that  personage  in  a  con- 
ciliatory tone,  as  Hugh  stopped  in  his  draught,  and  eyed 
him,  with  no  pleasant  look,  from  head  to  foot.  "  No  offense, 
brother.  Barnaby  here  too,  eh  ?  How  are  you,  Barnaby  ? 
And  two  other  gentlemen  !  Your  humble  servant,  gentle- 
men.    No  offense  to ^^^/  either,  I  hope.     Eh,  brothers?" 

Notwithstanding  that  he  spoke  in  this  very  friendly  and 
confident  manner,  he  seemed  to  have  considerable  hesitation 
about  entering,  and  remained  outside  the  roof.  He  was 
rather  better  dressed  than  usual  ;  wearing  the  same  suit  of 
threadbare  black,  it  is  true,  but  having  round  his  neck  an 
unwholesome- looking  cravat  of  a  yellowish  white  ;  and,  on 
his  hands,  great  leather  gloves,  such  as  a  gardener  might 
wear  in  following  his  trade.  His  shoes  were  newly  greased, 
and  ornamented  with  a  pair  of  rusty  iron  buckles  ;  the  pack- 
thread of  his  knees  had  been  renewed  ;  and  where  he 
wanted  buttons,  he  wore  pins.  Altogether,  he  had  some- 
thing the  look  of  a  tipstaff,  or  a  bailiff's  follower,  desperately 


5i8  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

•■ 

faded,  but  who  had  a  notion  of  keeping  up  the  appearance 
of  a  professional  character,  and  making  the  best  of  the 
worst  means. 

"  You're  very  snug  here,"  said  Mr.  Dennis,  pulling  out  a 
moldy  pocket  handkerchief,  which  looked  like  a  decom- 
posed halter,  and  wiping  his  forehead  in  a  nervous  manner. 

"  Not  snug  enough  to  prevent  your  finding  us,  it  seems," 
Hugh  answered,  sulkily. 

**Why,  I'll  tell  you  what,  brother,"  said  Dennis,  with  a 
friendly  smile,  "  when  you  don't  want  me  to  know  which 
way  you're  riding,  you  must  wear  another  sort  of  bells  on 
your  horse.  Ah  !  I  know  the  sound  of  them  you  wore  last 
night,  and  have  got  quick  ears  for  'em  ;  that's  the  truth. 
Well,  but  how  are  you,  brother?  " 

He  had  by  this  time  approached,  and  now  ventured  to  sit 
down  by  him. 

^'  How  am  I  ?"  answered  Hugh.  "Where  were  you  yes- 
terday ?  Where  did  you  go  when  you  left  me  in  the  jail  ? 
Why  did  you  leave  me  ?  And  what  did  you  mean  by  rolling 
your  eyes  and  shaking  your  fist  at  me,  eh  ? " 

"  I  shake  my  fist  ! — at  you,  brother  ?  "  said  Dennis, 
gently  checking  Hugh's  uplifted  hand  which  looked  threat- 
ening. 

''Your  stick,  then  ;   it's  all  one." 

"Lord  love  you,  brother,  I  meant  nothing.  You  don't 
understand  me  by  half.  I  shouldn't  wonder  now,"  he  added, 
in  the  tone  of  a  desponding  and  an  injured  man,  ''  but  you 
thought,  because  I  wanted  them  chaps  left  in  the  prison, 
that  I  was  a-going  to  desert  the  banners  ?  " 

Hugh  told  him,  with   an  oath,  that  he  had  thought  so. 

"  Well  !  "  said  Mr.  Dennis,  mournfully,  "  if  you  an't  enough 
to  make  a  man  mistrust  his  feller-creeturs,  I  don't  know 
what  is.  Desert  the  banners  !  Me  !  Ned  Dennis,  as  was 
so  christened  by  his  own  father  !  —  Is  this  ax  your'n, 
brother  V 

"  Yes,  it's  mine,"  said  Hugh,  in  the  same  sullen  manner 
as  before  ;  "  it  might  have  hurt  you,  if  you  had  come  in  its 
way  once  or  twice  last  night.     Put  it  down." 

"  Might  have  hurt  me  !  "  said  Mr.  Dennis,  still  keeping  it 
in  his  hand,  and  feeling  the  edge  with  an  air  of  abstrac- 
tion. "  Might  have  hurt  me  !  and  me  exerting  myself  all 
the  time  to  the  wery  best  advantage.  Here's  a  world  ! 
And  you're  not  a-going  to  ask  me  to  take  a  sup  out  of  that 
'ere  bottle,  eh  ?  " 


BARNABV    RUDCE.  519 

Hugh  passed  it  toward  him.  As  lie  raised  it  to  his  lips, 
Barnaby  jumped  up,  and  motioning  them  to  be  silent, 
looked  eagerly  out. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Barnaby  ?  "  said  Dennis,  glancing 
at  Hugh  and  dropping  the  flask,  but  still  holding  the  ax  in 
his  hand. 

"  Hush  !  "  he  answered  softly.  "  What  do  I  see  glittering 
behind  the  hedge  ?  " 

'*  What  !  "  cried  the  hangman,  raising  his  voice  to  its 
highest  pitch,  and  laying  hold  of  him  and  Hugh.  "  Not 
soldiers,  surely  !  " 

That  moment,  the  shed  was  filled  with  armed  men  ;  and 
a  body  of  horse,  galloping  into  the  field,  drew  up  before  it. 

"  There  !  "  said  Dennis,  who  remained  untouched  among 
them  when  they  had  seized  their  prisoners  ;  "  it's  them  two 
young  ones,  gentlemen,  that  the  proclamation  puts  a  price 
on.  This  other's  an  escaped  felon. — I'm  sorry  for  it, 
brother,"  he  added,  in  a  tone  of  resignation,  addressing 
himself  to  Hugh  ;  "but  you've  brought  it  on  yourself;  you 
forced  me  to  do  it  ;  you  wouldn't  respect  the  soundest  con- 
stitootional  principles,  you  know  ;  you  went  and  wiolated  the 
wery  framework  of  society.  I  had  sooner  have  given  away 
a  trifle  in  charity  than  done  this,  I  would  upon  my  soul. — 
If  you'll  keep  fast  hold  on  'em,  gentlemen,  I  think  I  can 
make  a  shift  to  tie  'em  better  than  you  can." 

But  this  question  was  postponed  for  a  few  moments  by  a 
new  occurrence.  The  blind  m.an,  whose  ears  were  quicker 
than  most  people's  sight,  had  been  alarmed,  before  Barnaby, 
by  a  rustling  in  the  bushes,  under  cover  of  which  the  soldiers 
had  advanced.  He  retreated  instantly — had  hidden  some- 
where for  a  minute — and  probably  in  his  confusion  mistak- 
ing the  point  at  which  he  had  emerged,  was  now  seen  run- 
ning across  the  open  meadow. 

An  officer  cried  directly  that  he  had  helped  to  plunder 
a  house  last  night.  He  was  loudly  called  on  to  surrender. 
He  ran  the  harder,  and  in  a  few  seconds  would  have  been 
out  of  gunshot.     The  word  was  given,  and.  the  men  fired. 

There  was  a  breathless  pause  and  a  profound  silence,  dur- 
ing which  all  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him.  He  had  been  seen 
to  start  at  the  discharge,  as  if  the  report  had  frightened  him. 
But  he  neither  stopped  nor  slackened  his  pace  in  the  least, 
and  ran  on  full  forty  yards  further.  Then,  without  one  reel 
or  stagger,  or  sign  of  faintness,  or  quivering  of  any  limb,  he 
dropped. 


S20  BARNABV  RUDGE. 

Some  of  them  hurried  up  to  where  he  lay  ;  the  hangman 
with  them.  Every  thing  had  passed  so  quickly,  that  the 
smoke  had  not  yet  scattered,  but  curled  slowly  off  in  a  little 
cloud,  which  seemed  like  the  dead  man's  spirit  moving 
solemnly  away.  There  were  a  few  drops  of  blood  upon 
the  grass — more  when  they  turned  him  over — that  was  all. 

"  Look  here  !  Look  here  !  "  said  the  hangman,  stooping 
one  knee  beside  the  body,  and  gazing  up  with  a  disconsolate 
face  at  the  officer  and  men.     "  Here's  a  pretty  sight  !  " 

"  Stand  out  of  my  way,"  replied  the 'officer.  "  Sergeant ! 
see  what  he  had  about  him." 

The  man  turned  his  pockets  out  upon  the  grass,  and 
counted,  besides  some  foreign  coins  and  two  rings,  five-and- 
forty  guineas  in  gold.  These  were  bundled  up  in  a  hand- 
kerchief and  carried  away  ;  the  body  remained  there  for  the 
present,  but  six  men  and  the  sergeant  were  left  to  take  it  to 
the  nearest  public-house. 

*'  Now  then,  if  you're  going,"  said  the  sergeant,  clapping 
Dennis  on  the  back  and  pointing  after  the  officer  who  was 
walking  toward  the  shed. 

To  which  Mr.  Dennis  only  replied,  "  Don't  talk  to  me  !  " 
and  then  repeated  what  he  had  said  before,  namely,  "  Here's 
a  pretty  sight  !  " 

^'  It's  not  one  that  you  care  for  much,  I  should  think," 
observed  the  sergeant  coolly. 

"  Why,  who,"  said  Mr.  Dennis  rising,  "  should  care  for  it, 
if  I  don't  ?" 

"  Oh  !  I  didn't  know  you  was  so  tender-hearted,"  said  the 
sergeant.     "  That's  all  !  " 

"  Tender-hearted  !  "  echoed  Dennis.  "  Tender  hearted  ! 
Look  at  this  man.  Do  you  call  f/iis  constitootional  ?  Do 
you  see  him  shot  through  and  through,  instead  of  being 
worked  off  like  a  Briton  ?  Damme,  if  I  know  which  party 
to  side  with.  You're  as  bad  as  the  other.  What's  to  be- 
come of  the  country  if  the  military  power's  to  go  supersed- 
ing the  ciwilians  in  this  way  ?  Where's  this  poor  feller- 
creetur's  rights  as  a  citizen,  that  he  didn't  have  me  in  his 
last  moments  ?  I  was  here.  I  was  willing.  I  was  ready. 
These  are  nice  times,  brother,  to  have  the  dead  crying  out 
against  us  in  this  way,  and  sleep  comfortably  in  our  beds 
arterward  ;  wery  nice  !  " 

Whether  he  derived  any  material  consolation  from  bind- 
ing the  prisoners,  is  uncertain  ;  most  probably  he  did.  At 
all  events  his  being  summoned  to  that  work  diverted   him, 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  521 

for  the  time,  from  these  painful  reflections,  and  gave  his 
thoughts  a  more  congenial  occupation. 

They  were  not  all  three  carried  off  together,  but  in  two 
parties  ;  Barnaby  and  his  father  going  by  one  road  in  the 
center  of  a  body  of  foot  ;  and  Hugh,  fast  bound  upon  a 
horse,  and  strongly  guarded  by  a  troop  of  cavalry,  being 
taken  by  another. 

They  had  no  opportunity  for  the  least  communication,  in 
the  short  interval  which  preceded  their  departure  ;  being 
kept  strictly  apart.  Hugh  only  observed  that  Barnaby 
walked  with  a  drooping  head  among  his  guard,  and,  without 
raising  his  eyes,  that  he  tried  to  wave  his  fettered  hand  when 
he  passed.  For  himself,  he  buoyed  up  his  courage  as  he 
rode  along,  with  the  assurance  that  the  mob  would  force  his 
jail  wherever  it  might  be,  and  set  him  at  liberty.  But  when 
they  got  into  London,  and  more  especially  into  Fleet 
Market,  lately  the  stronghold  of  the  rioters,  where  the  mili- 
tary were  rooting  out  the  last  remnant  of  the  crowd,  he  saw 
that  this  hope  was  gone,  and  felt  that  he  was  riding  to  his 
death. 

CHAPTER    LXX. 

Mr.  Dennis  having  dispatched  this  piece  of  business  with- 
out any  personal  hurt  or  inconvenience,  and  having  now  re- 
tired into  the  tranquil  respectability  of  private  life,  resolved 
to  solace  himself  with  half  an  hour  or  so  of  female  society. 
With  this  amiable  purpose  in  his  mind,  be  bent  his  steps 
toward  the  house  where  Dolly  and  Miss  Haredale  were  still 
confined,  and  whither  Miss  Miggs  had  also  been  removed  by 
order  of  Mr.  Simon  Tappertit. 

As  he  walked  along  the  streets  with  his  leather  gloves 
clasped  behind  him,  and  his  face  indicative  of  cheerful 
thought  and  pleasant  calculation,  Mr.  Dennis  might  have 
been  likened  unto  a  farmer  ruminating  among  his  crops, 
and  enjoying  by  anticipation  the  bountiful  gifts  of  Provi- 
dence. Look  where  he  would,  some  heap  of  ruins  afforded 
him  rich  promises  of  a  working  off  ;  the  whole  town 
appeared  to  have  been  plowed  and  sown,  and  nurtured  by 
most  genial  weather  ;  and  a  goodly  harvest  was  at  hand. 

Having  taken  up  arms  and  resorted  to  deeds  of  violence, 
with  the  great  main  object  of  preserving  the  Old  Bailey  in  all 
fts  purity,  and  the  gallows  in  all  its  pristine  usefulness  and 
moral  grandeur,  it  would  perhaps  be  going  too  far  to  assert 


522  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

that  Mr  Dennis  had  ever  distinctly  contemplated  and  fore- 
seen this  happy  state  of  things.  He  rather  looked  upon  it 
as  one  of  those  beautiful  dispensations  which  are  inscrutably 
brought  about  for  the  behoof  and  advantage  of  good  men. 
He  felt,  as  it  were,  personally  referred  to,  in  this  prosperous 
ripening  for  the  gibbet ;  and  had  never  considered  himself 
so  much  the  pet  and  favorite  child  of  Destiny,  or  loved  that 
lady  so  well  or  with  such  a  calm  and  virtuous  reliance,  in  all 
his  life. 

As  to  being  taken  up,  himself,  for  a  rioter,  and  punished 
with  the  rest,  Mr.  Dennis  dismissed  that  possibility  from  his 
thoughts  as  an  idle  chimera  ;  arguing  that  the  line  of  con- 
duct he  had  adopted  at  Newgate,  and  the  service  he  had 
rendered  that  day,  would  be  more  than  a  set-off  against  any 
evidence  which  might  identify  him  as  a  member  of  the 
crowd.  That  any  charge  of  companionship  which  might 
be  made  against  him  by  those  v/ho  were  themselves  in 
danger,  would  certainly  go  for  naught.  And  that  if  any 
trivial  indiscretion  on  his  part  should  unluckily  come  out, 
the  uncommon  usefulness  of  his  office,  at  present,  and  the 
great  demand  for  the  exercise  of  its  functions,  would  cer- 
tainly cause  it  to  be  winked  at,  and  passed  over.  In  a 
word,  he  had  played  his  cards  throughout  with  great  care  ; 
had  changed  sides  at  the  very  nick  of  time  ;  had  delivered 
up  two  of  the  most  notorious  rioters,  and  a  distinguished 
felon  to  boot  ;  and  was  quite  at  his  ease. 

Saving — for  there  is  a  reservation  ;  and  even  Mr.  Dennis 
was  not  perfectly  happy — saving  for  one  circumstance  ;  to 
wit,  the  forcible  detention  of  Dolly  and  Miss  Haredale  in  a 
house  almost  adjoining  his  own.  This  was  a  stumbling- 
block  ;  for  if  they  were  discovered  and  released,  they  could, 
by  the  testimony  they  had  it  in  their  power  to  give,  place  him 
in  a  situation  of  great  jeopardy  ;  and  to  set  them  at  liberty, 
first  extorting  from  them  an  oath  of  secrecy  and  silence,  was 
a  thing  not  to  be  thought  of.  It  was  more,  perhaps,  with  an 
eye  to  the  danger  which  lurked  in  this  quarter,  than  from 
his  abstract  love  of  conversation  with  the  sex,  that  the  hang- 
man, quickening  his  steps,  now  hastened  into  their  society, 
cursing  the  amorous  natures  of  Hugh  and  Mr.  Tappertit 
with  great  earnestness  at  every  step  he  took. 

When  he  entered  the  miserable  room  in  which  they  were 
confined,  Dolly  and  Miss  Haredale  withdrew  in  silence  to 
the  remotest  corner.  But  Miss  Miggs,  who  was  particularly 
tender  of  her.reputation,  immediately  fell   upon   her  knees 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  523 

and  began  to  scream  very  loud,  crying,  "  What  will  become 
of  me  !  " — "  Where  is  my  Simmuns  !  "  "  Have  mercy,  good 
gentleman,  on  my  sex's  weaknesses  !  " — with  other  doleful 
lamentations  of  that  nature,  which  she  delivered  with  great 
propriety  and  decorum. 

"  Miss,  miss,"  whispered  Dennis,  beckoning  to  lier  with 
his  forefinger,  "come  here — I  won't  hurt  you.  Come  here, 
my  lamb,  will  you  ?  " 

On  hearing  this  tender  epithet,  Miss  Miggs,  who  had  left 
off  screaming  when  he  opened  his  lips,  and  had  listened  to 
him  attentively,  began  again  ;  crying,  "  Oh,  I'm  his  lamb  ! 
He  says  I'm  his  lamb  !  Oh  gracious,  why  wasn't  I  born  old 
and  ugly  !  Why  was  I  ever  made  to  be  the  youngest  of  six, 
and  all  of  'em  dead  and  in  their  blessed  graves,  excepting 
one  married  sister,  which  is  settled  in  Golden  Lion  Court, 
number  twenty-sivin,  second  bell-handle  on  ih: !  " 

"  Don't  I  say  I  an't  a-going  to  hurt  you  ? "  said  Dennis, 
pointing  to  a  chair.     "  Why,  miss,  what's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  mayn't  be  the  matter  I  "  cried  Miss 
Miggs,  clasping  her  hands  distractedly.  "  Any  thing  may 
be  the  matter." 

"  But  nothing  is,  I  tell  you,"  said  the  hangman.  "  First 
stop  that  noise  and  come  and  sit  down  here,  will  you, 
chuckey  ? '' 

The  coaxing  tone  in  which  he  said  these  latter  words 
might  have  failed  in  its  object,  if  he  had  not  accompanied 
them  with  sundry  sharp  jerks  of  his  thumb  over  one  shoul- 
der, and  with  divers  winks  and  thrustings  of  his  tongue  into 
his  cheek,  from  which  signals  the  damsel  gathered  that  he 
sought  to  speak  to  her  apart,  concerning  Miss  Haredale  and 
Dolly.  Her  curiosity  being  very  powerful,  and  her  jealousy 
by  no  means  inactive,  she  arose,  and  with  a  great  deal  of 
shivering  and  starting  back,  and  much  muscular  action 
among  all  the  small  bones  in  her  throat,  gradually  approached 
him, 

"  Sit  down,"  said  the  hangman. 

Suiting  the  action  to  the  word,  he  thrust  her  rather  sud- 
denly and  prematufrely  into  a  chair,  and  designing  to  reas- 
sure her  by  a  little  harmless  jocularity,  such  as  is  adapted 
to  please  and  fascinate  the  sex,  converted  his  right  fore- 
finger into  an  ideal  brad-awl  or  gimlet,  and  made  as  though 
he  would  screw  the  same  into  her  side — whereat  Miss  Miggs 
shrieked  again,  and  evinced  symptoms  of  faintness. 

"  Lovey,  my  dear,"  whispered  Dennis,  drawing  his  chair 


524  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

close   to  hers.     "  When   was   your   young   man   here   last, 
eh?" 

''''My  young  man,  good  gentleman  !  "  answered  Miggs,  in  a 
tone  of  exquisite  distress. 

"  Ah  !  Simmuns,  you  know — him  ?  "  said  Dennis. 

"  Mine,  indeed,"  cried  Miggs  with  a  burst  of  bitterness — 
and  as  she  said  it,  she  glanced  toward  Dolly.  ''Mine^  good 
gentleman  !  " 

This  was  just  what  Mr.  Dennis  wanted  and  expected. 

"Ah  !  "  he  said,  looking  so  soothingly,  not  to  say  amor- 
ously, on  Miggs,  that  she  sat,  as  she  afterward  remarked,  on 
pins  and  needles  of  the  sharpest  Whitechapel  kind,  not 
knowing  what  intentions  might  be  suggesting  that  expression 
to  his  features  :  "  I  was  afraid  of  that.  /  saw  as  much 
myself.     It's  her  fault.     She  ivill  entice  'em." 

"  I  wouldn't,"  cried  Miggs,  folding  her  hands  and  looking 
upward  with  a  kind  of  devout  blankness,  "  I  wouldn't  lay 
myself  out  as  she  does  ;  I  wouldn't  be  as  bold  as  her  ;  I 
wouldn't  seem  to  say  to  all  male  creeturs  *  Come  and  kiss 
me  '  " — and  here  a  shudder  quite  convulsed  her  frame — ''  for 
any  earthly  crowns  as  might  be  offered.  Worlds,"  Miggs 
added  solemnly,  "  should  not  reduce  me.  No.  Not  if  I  was 
Wenis." 

"  Well,  but  you  are  Wenus,  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Dennis, 
confidentially. 

*'  No,  I  am  not,  good  gentleman,"  answered  Miggs,  shak- 
ing her  head  with  an  air  of  self-denial  which  seemed  to  im- 
ply that  she  might  be  if  she  chose,  but  she  hoped  she  knew 
better.  ""  No,  I  am  not,  good  gentleman.  Don't  charge  me 
with  it." 

Up  to  this  time  she  had  turned  round,  every  now  and 
then,  to  where  Dolly  and  Miss  Haredale  had  retired,  and 
uttered  a  scream,  or  groan,  or  laid  her  hand  upon  her  heart, 
and  trembled  excessively,  with  a  view  of  keeping  up  appear- 
ances, and  giving  them  to  understand  that  she  conversed 
with  the  visitor,  under  protest  and  on  compulsion,  and  at  a 
great  personal  sacrifice,  for  their  common  good.  But  at  this 
point,  Mr.  Dennis  looked  so  very  full  of  meaning,  and  gave 
such  a  singularly  expressive  twitch  to  his  face  as  a  request 
to  her  to  come  still  nearer  to  him,  that  she  abandoned  these 
little  arts,  and  gave  him  her  whole  and  undivided  atten- 
tion. 

*'  When  was  Simmuns  here,  I  say  ? "  quoth  Dennis,  in  her 
ear. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  525 

"Not  since  yesterday  morning  ;  and  then  only  for  a  few 
minutes.     Not  all  day,  the  day  before." 

"  You  know  he  meant  all  along  to  carry  off  that  one  !  " 
said  Dennis,  indicating  Dolly  by  the  lightest  possible  jerk  of 
his  head  : — ''  And  to  hand  you  over  to  somebody  else." 

Miss  Miggs,  who  had  fallen  into  a  terrible  state  of  grief 
when  the  first  part  of  this  sentence  was  spoken,  recovered  a 
little  at  the  second,  and  seemed  by  the  sudden  check  she  put 
upon  her  tears,  to  intimate  that  possibly  this  arrangement 
might  meet  her  views  ;  and  that  it  might,  perhaps,  remain  an 
open  question. 

"  — But  unfortunately,"  pursued  Dennis,  who  observed 
this  ;  "  somebody  else  was  fond  of  her  too,  you  see  ;  and 
even  if  he  wasn't,  somebody  else  is  took  for  a  rioter,  audit's 
all  over  with  him." 

Miss  Miggs  relapsed. 

"  Now  I  want,"  said  Dennis,  **  to  clear  this  house,  and  to 
see  you  righted.  What  if  I  was  to  get  her  off,  out  of  the 
way,  eh  ? " 

Miss  Miggs,  brightening  again,  rejoined,  with  many  breaks 
and  pauses  from  excess  of  feeling,  that  temptations  had  been 
Simm-un's  bane.  That  it  was  not  his  faults,  but  hers  (mean- 
ing Dolly's).  That  men  did  not  see  through  these  dreadful 
arts  as  women  did,  and  therefore  w^as  caged  and  trapped,  as 
Simmun  had  been.  That  she  had  no  personal  motives  to 
serve — far  from  it — on  the  contrary,  her  intentions  was  good 
toward  all  parties.  But  forasmuch  as  she  knowed  that  Sim- 
mun, if  united  to  any  designing  and  artful  minxes  (she 
would  name  no  names,  for  that  was  not  her  dispositions) — 
to  any  designing  and  artful  minxes — must  be  made  miserable 
and  unhappy  for  life,  she  di^  incline  toward  prewentions. 
Such,  she  added,  was  her  free  confessions.  But  as  this  was 
private  feelings,  and  might  perhaps  be  looked  upon  as  wen- 
geance,  she  begged  the  gentleman  would  say  no  more. 
Whatever  he  said,  wishing  to  do  her  duty  by  all  mankind, 
even  by  them  as  had  ever  been  her  bitterest  enemies,  she 
would  not  listen  to  him.  With  that  she  stopped  her  ears, 
and  shook  her  head  from  side  to  side,  to  intimate  to  Mr. 
Dennis  that  though  he  talked  until  he  had  no  breath  left, 
she  was  as  deaf  as  any  adder. 

*'  Look'ee  here,  my  sugar-stick,"  said  Mr.  Dennis,  '  if  your 
view's  the  same  as  mine,  and  you'll  only  be  quiet  and  slip 
away  at  the  right  time,  I  can  have  the  house  clear  to-morrow, 
and  be  out  of  this  trouble.— Stop  though  !  there's  the  other." 


526  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  Which  other,  sir  ?  "  asked  Miggs — still  with  her  fingers 
in  her  ears  and  her  head  shaking  obstinately. 

*'  Why,  the  tallest  one,  yonder,"  said  Dennis,  as  he  stroked 
his  chin,  and  added,  in  an  under  tone  to  himself,  something 
about  not  crossing  Muster  Gashford. 

Miss  Miggs  replied  (still  being  profoundly  deaf)  that  if 
Miss  Haredale  stood  in  the  way  at  all,  he  might  make  him- 
self quite  easy  on  that  score  ;  as  she  had  gathered,  from 
what  passed  between  Hugh  and  Mr.  Tappertit  when  they 
were  last  there,  that  she  was  to  be  removed  alone  (not  by 
them,  but  by  somebody  else),  to-morrow  night. 

Mr,  Dennis  opened  his  eyes  very  wide  at  this  piece  of  in- 
formation,whistled  once,  considered  once,  and  finally  slapped 
his  head  once  and  nodded  once,  as  if  he  had  got  the  clew  to 
this  mysterious  removal,  and  so  dismissed  it.  Then  he  im- 
parted his  design  concerning  Dolly  to  Miss  Miggs,  who  was 
taken  more  deaf  than  before,  when  he  began  ;  and  so  re- 
mained, all  through. 

The  notable  scheme  was  this.  Mr.  Dennis  was  immedi- 
ately to  seek  out  from  among  the  rioters,  some  daring  young 
fellow  (and  he  had  one  in  his  eye,  he  said),  who,  terrified  by 
the  threats  he  could  hold  out  to  him,  and  alarmed  by  the 
capture  of  so  many  who  were  no  better  and  no  wor-je  than  he, 
would  gladly  avail  himself  of  any  help  to  get  abroad,  and  out 
of  harm's  way,  with  his  plunder,  even  though  his  journey 
were  incumbered  by  an  unwilling  companion  ;  indeed, 
the  unwilling  companion  being  a  beautiful  girl,  w^ould  prob- 
ably be  an  additional  inducement  and  temptation.  Such  a 
person  found,  he  proposed  to  bring  him  there  on  the 
ensuing  night,  when  the  tall  one  was  taken  off,  and  Miss 
Miggs  had  purposely  retired  ;  and  then  that  Dolly  should 
be  gagged,  muffled  in  a  cloak,  and  carried  in  any  handy 
conveyance  down  to  the  river's  side  ;  where  there  were 
abundant  means  of  getting  her  smuggled  snugly  off  in  any 
small  craft  of  doubtful  character,  and  no  questions  asked. 
With  regard  to  the  expense  of  this  removal,  he  would  say,  at 
a  rough  calculation,  that  two  or  three  silver  tea  or  coffee- 
pots, with  something  additional  for  drink  (such  as  a  muffin- 
eer, or  toast-rack),  would  more  than  cover  it.  Articles  of 
plate  of  every  kind  having  been  buried  by  the  rioters  in  sev- 
eral lonely  parts  of  London,  and  particularly,  as  he  knew,  in 
St.  James's  Square,  which,  though  easy  of  access,  was  little 
frequented  after  dark,  and  had  a  convenient  piece  of  water 
ID  the  midst,  the  needful  funds  were  close   at  hand,  and 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  527 

could  be  had  upon  the  shortest  notice.  With  regard  to 
Dolly,  the  gentleman  would  exercise  his  own  discretion.  He 
would  be  bound  to  do  nothing  but  to  take  her  away,  and 
keep  her  away.  All  other  arrangements  and  dispositions 
would  rest  entirely  with  himself. 

If  Miss  Miggs  had  had  her  hearing,  no  doubt  she  would 
have  been  greatly  shocked  by  the  indelicacy  of  a  young 
female's  going  away  with  a  stranger  by  night  (for  her  moral 
feelings,  as  we  have  said,  were  of  the  tenderest  kind)  ;  but 
directly  Mr.  Dennis  ceased  to  speak,  she  reminded  him  that 
he  had  only  wasted  breath.  She  then  went  on  to  say  (still 
with  her  fingers  in  her  ears)  that  nothing  less  than  a  severe 
practical  lesson  would  save  the  locksmith's  daughter  from 
utter  ruin  ;  and  that  she  felt  it,  as  it  were,  a  moral  obliga- 
tion and  a  sacred  duty  to  the  family,  to  wish  that  some  one 
would  devise  one  for  her  reformation.  Miss  Miggs  remarked, 
and  very  justly,  as  an  abstract  sentiment  which  happened  to 
occur  to  her  at  the  moment,  that  she  dared  to  say  the 
locksmith  and  his  wife  would  murmur  and  repine,  if  they 
were  ever,  by  forcible  abduction,  or  otherwise,  to  lose  their 
child  ;  but  that  we  seldom  knew,  in  this  world,  what  was 
best  for  us  :  such  being  our  sinful  and  imperfect  natures, 
that  very  few  arrived  at  that  clear  understanding. 

Having  brought  their  conversation  to  this  satisfactory 
end,  they  parted  :  Dennis,  to  pursue  his  design,  and  take 
another  walk  about  his  farm  ;  Miss  Miggs,  to  launch,  when 
he  left  her,  into  such  a  burst  of  mental  anguish  (^vhich  she 
gave  them  to  understand  was  occasioned  by  certain  tender 
things  he  had  had  the  presumption  and  audacity  to  say), 
that  little  Dolly's  heart  was  quite  melted.  Indeed,  she  said 
and  did  so  much  to  soothe  the  outraged  feelings  of  Miss 
Miggs,  and  looked  so  beautiful  while  doing  so,  that  if  that 
voung  maid  had  not  had  ample  vent  for  her  surpassing 
spite,  in  a  knowledge  of  the  mischief  that  was  brewing,  she 
must  have  scratched  her  features,  on  the  spot. 


CHAPTER   LXXI. 

All  next  day,  Emma  Haredale,  Dolly,  and  Miggs, 
remained  cooped  up  together  in  what  had  now  been  their 
prison  for  so  many  days,  without  seeing  any  person,  or 
hearing  any  sound  but  the  murmured  conversation,  in  an 
outer  room,  of  the  men  who  kept  watch  over  them.     There 


528  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

appeared  to  be  more  of  these  fellows  than  there  had  been 
hitherto  ;  and  they  could  no  longer  hear  the  voices  of 
women,  which  they  had  before  plainly  distinguished.  Some 
new  excitement,  too,  seemed  to  prevail  among  them  ;  for 
there  was  much  stealthy  going  in  and  out,  and  a  con- 
stant questioning  of  those  who  were  newly  arrived.  They 
had  previously  been  quite  reckless  in  their  behavior  ;  often 
making  a  great  uproar  ;  quarreling  among  themselves,  fight- 
ing, dancing,  and  singing.  They  were  now  very  subdued 
and  silent,  conversing  almost  in  whispers,  and  stealing  in 
and  out  with  a  soft  and  stealthy  tread,  very  different  from 
the  boisterous  trampling  in  which  their  arrivals  and  depart- 
ures had  hitherto  been  announced  to  the  trembling  cap- 
tives. 

Whether  this  change  was  occasioned  by  the  presence  among 
them  of  some  person  of  authority  in  their  ranks,  or  by  any 
other  cause,  they  were  unable  to  decide.  Sometimes  they 
thought  it  was  in  part  attributable  to  there  being  a  sick  man 
in  the  chamber,  for  last  night  there  had  been  a  shuffling  of 
feet,  as  though  a  burden  were  brought  in,  and  afterward  a 
moaning  noise.  But  they  had  no  means  of  ascertaining  the 
truth  :  for  any  question  or  entreaty  on  their  parts  only  pro- 
voked a  storm  of  execrations,  or  something  worse  ;  and  they 
were  too  happy  to  be  left  alone,  unassailed  by  threats  or 
admiration,  to  risk  even  that  comfort,  by  any  voluntary  com- 
munication with  those  who  held  them  in  durance. 

It  was  sufficiently  evident,  both  to  Emma  and  to  the  lock- 
smith's poor  little  daughter  herself,  that  she,  Dolly,  was  the 
great  object  of  attraction  ;  and  that  so  soon  as  they  should 
have  leisure  to  indulge  in  the  softer  passion,  Hugh  and  Mr. 
Tappertit  would  certainly  fall  to  blows  for  her  sake  ;  in 
which  latter  case,  it  was  not  very  difficult  to  see  whose  prize 
she  would  become.  With  all  her  old  horror  of  that  man  re- 
vived, and  deepened  into  a  degree  of  aversion  and  abhor- 
rence which  no  language  can  describe  ;  with  a  thousand  old 
recollections  and  regrets,  and  causes  of  distress,  anxiety,  and 
fear,  besetting  her  on  all  sides  ;  poor  Dolly  Varden — sweet, 
blooming,  buxom  Dolly — began  to  hang  her  head,  and  fade, 
and  droop,  like  a  beautiful  flower.  The  color  fled  from  her 
cheeks,  her  courage  forsook  her,  her  gentle  heart  failed. 
Unmindful  of  all  her  provoking  caprices,  forgetful  of  all  her 
conquests  and  inconstancy,  with  all  her  winning  little  van- 
ities quite  gone,  she  nestled  all  the  livelong  day  in  Emma 
Haredale's  bosom  ;  and,  sometimes  calling  on  her  dear  old 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  529 

gray-haired  father,  sometimes  on  her  mother,  and  some- 
times even  on  her  old  home,  pined  slowly  away,  like  a  poor 
bird  in  its  cage. 

Light  hearts,  light  hearts,  that  float  so  gayly  on  a  smooth 
stream,  that  are  so  sparkling  and  buoyant  in  the  sunshine — 
down  upon  fruit,  bloom  upon  flowers,  blush  in  summer  air, 
life  of  the  winged  insect,  whose  whole  existence  is  a  day — 
how  soon  ye  sink  in  troubled  water  !  Poor  Dolly's  heart — 
a  little,  gentle,  idle,  fickle  thing  ;  giddy,  restless,  fluttering  ; 
constant  to  nothing  but  bright  looks  and  smiles  and  laugh- 
ter— Dolly's  heart  was  breaking. 

Emma  had  known  grief,  and  could  bear  it  better.  She 
had  little  comfort  to  impart,  but  she  could  soothe  and  tend 
her,  and  she  did  so  ;  and  Dolly  clung  to  her  like  a  child  to 
its  nurse.  In  endeavoring  to  inspire  her  with  some  fortitude, 
she  increased  her  own  ;  and,  though  the  nights  were  long, 
and  the  days  dismal,  and  she  felt  the  wasting  influence  of 
watching  and  fatigue,  and  had  perhaps  a  more  defined  and 
clear  perception  of  their  destitute  condition  and  its  worst 
dangers,  she  uttered  no  complaint.  Before  the  ruffians,  in 
whose  power  they  were,  she  bore  herself  so  calmly,  and  with 
such  an  appearance,  in  the  midst  of  all  her  terror,  of  a 
secret  conviction  that  they  dared  not  harm  her,  that  there 
was  not  a  man  among  them  but  held  her  in  some  degree  of 
dread  ;  and  more  than  one  believed  she  had  a  weapon  hid- 
den in  her  dress,  and  was  prepared  to  use  it. 

Such  was  their  condition  when  they  were  joined  by  Miss 
Miggs,  who  gave  them  to  understand  that  she  too  had  been 
taken  prisoner  because  of  her  charms,  and  detailed  such 
feats  of  resistance  she  had  performed  (her  virtue  having 
given  her  supernatural  strength),  that  they  felt  it  quite  a  hap- 
piness to  have  her  for  a  champion.  Nor  was  this  the  only 
comfort  they  derived  at  first  from  Miggs's  presence  and  so- 
ciety ;  for  that  young  lady  displayed  such  resignation  and 
long-suffering,  and  so  much  meek  endurance,  under^  her 
trials,  and  breathed  in  all  her  chaste  discourse  a  spirit  of 
such  holy  confidence  and  resignation,  and  devout  belief  that 
all  would  happen  for  the  best,  that  Emma  felt  her  courage 
strengthened  by  the  bright  example  ;  never  doubtmg  but 
that  every  thing  she  said  was  true,  and  that  she,  like  them, 
was  torn  from  all  she  loved,  and  agonized  by  doubt  and  ap- 
prehension. As  to  poor  Dolly,  she  was  roused,  at  first,  by 
seeing  one  who  came  from  home  ;  but  when  she  heard 
under  what  circumstances  she  had  left  it,  and  into  whose 


530  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

hands  her  father  had  fallen,  she  wept  more  bitterly  than 
ever,  and  refused  all  comfort. 

Miss  Miggs  was  at  some  trouble  to  reprove  her  for  this 
state  of  mind,  and  to  entreat  her  to  take  example  by  herself, 
who,  she  said,  was  now  receiving  back,  with  interest,  ten-fold 
the  amount  of  her  subscriptions  to  the  red-brick  dwelling- 
house,  in  the  articles  of  peace  of  mind  and  a  quiet  con- 
science. And,  while  on  serious  topics,  Miss  Miggs  con- 
sidered it  her  duty  to  try  her  hand  at  the  conversion  of  Miss 
Haredale  ;  for  whose  improvement  she  launched  into  a 
polemical  address  of  some  length,  in  the  course  whereof  she 
likened  herself  unto  a  chosen  missionary,  and  that  young 
lady  to  a  cannibal  in  darkness.  Indeed,  she  returned  so 
often  to  these  subjects,  and  so  frequently  called  upon  them 
to  take  a  lesson  from  her — at  the  same  time  vaunting,  and, 
as  it  were,  rioting  in,  her  huge  unworthiness,  and  abundant 
excess  of  sin — that,  in  the  course  of  a  short  time,  she  be- 
came, in  that  small  chamber,  rather  a  nuisance  than  a  com- 
fort, and  rendered  them,  if  possible,  even  more  unhappy 
than  they  had  been  before. 

The  night  had  now  come  ;  and  for  the  first  time  (for  their 
jailers  had  been  regular  in  bringing  food  and  candles),  they 
were  left  in  darkness.  Any  change  in  their  condition  in  such 
place  inspired  new  fears  ;  and  when  some  hours  had  passed, 
and  the  gloom  was  still  unbroken,  Emma  could  no  longer 
repress  her  alarm. 

They  listened  attentively.  There  was  the  same  murmur- 
ing in  the  outer  room,  and  now  and  then  a  moan  which 
seemed  to  be  wrung  from  a  person  in  great  pain,  who  made 
an  effort  to  subdue  it,  but  could  not.  Even  these  men 
seemed  to  be  in  darkness  too  ;  for  no  light  shone  through 
the  chinks  in  the  door,  nor  were  they  moving,  as  their  cus- 
tom was,  but  quite  still  ;  the  silence  being  unbroken  by  so 
much  as  the  creaking  of  a  board. 

At  first,  Miss  Miggs  wondered  greatly  in  her  own  mind 
who  this  sick  person  might  be  ;  but  arriving,  on  second 
thoughts,  at  the  conclusion  that  he  was  a  part  of  the  schemes 
on  foot,  and  an  artful  device  soon  to  be  employed  with  great 
success,  she  opined,  for  Miss  Haredale's  comfort,  that  it  must 
be  some  misguided  Papist  who  had  been  wounded  ;  and  this 
happy  supposition  encouraged  her  to  say,  under  her  breath, 
"Ally  Looyer  !  "  several  times. 

*'  Is  it  possible,"  said  Emma,  with  some  indignation,  '*  that 
you  who  have  seen  these  men  committing  the  outrages  you 


BARNABY   RUDOK.  531 

have  told  us  of,  and  who  have  fallen  into   their  hands,  like 
us,  can  exult  in  their  cruelties  !  " 

"  Personal  consideration,  miss,"  rejoined  Miggs,  "  sinks 
into  nothing,  afore  a  noble  cause.  Ally  Looyer  !  Ally 
Looyer  !     Ally  Looyer,  good  gentlemen  !  " 

It  seemed  from  the  shrill  pertinacity  with  which  Miss 
Miggs  repeated  this  form  of  acclamation  that  she  was  call- 
ing the  same  through  the  key-hole  of  the  door  ;  but  in  the 
profound  darkness  she  could  not  be  seen. 

''  If  the  time  has  come — heaven  knows  it  may  come  at  any 
moment — when  they  are  bent  on  prosecuting  the  designs, 
whatever  they  may  be,  with  which  they  have  brought  us 
here,  can  you  still  encourage,  and  take  part  with  them  ?  " 
demanded  Emma. 

"  I  thank  my  goodness-gracious-blessed-stars  I  can,  miss," 
returned  Miggs,  with  an  increased  energy.  "  Ally  I.ooyer, 
good  gentlemen  !  " 

Even  Dolly,  cast  down  and  disappointed  as  she  was,  re- 
vived at  this,  and  bade  Miggs  hold  her  rongue  directly. 

"  Which  was  you  pleased  to  observe,  Miss  Varden  ? " 
said  Miggs,  with  a  strong  emphasis  on  the  irrelative  pro- 
noun. 

Dolly  repeated  her  request. 

"  Ho,  gracious  me  !  "  cried  Miggs,  with  hysterical  derision. 
"  Ho,  gracious  me  !  Yes,  to  be  sure  I  will.  Ho,  yes  !  I 
am  a  abject  slave,  and  a  toiling,  moiling,  constant-working, 
always-being-found-fault-with,  never  -  giving  -  satisfactions, 
nor-having-no-time-to-clean-oneself,  potter's  wessel — an't  I, 
miss  ?  Ho,  yes  !  My  situations  is  lowly,  and  my  capacities 
is  limited,  and  my  duties  is  to  humble  myself  afore  the  base 
degenerating  daughters  of  their  blessed  mothers  as  is  fit  to 
keep  companies  with  holy  saints  but  is  born  to  persecutions 
from  wicked  relations — and  to  demean  myself  before  them 
as  is  no  better  than  infidels — an't  it,  miss  ?  Ho,  yes  !  My 
only  becoming  occupations  is  to  help  young  flaunting  pagins 
to  brush  and  comb  and  titiwate  theirselves  into  whitening  and 
suppulchers,  and  leave  the  young  men  to  think  that  there  an't 
a  bit  of  padding  in  it  nor  no  pinching  ins  nor  fillings  out 
nor  pomatums  nor  deceits  nor  earthly  wanities — an't  it,  miss? 
Yes,  to  be  sure  it  is — ho,  yes  !  " 

Having  delivered  these  ironical  passages  with  the  most 
wonderful  volubility,  and  with  a  shrillness  perfectly  deaf- 
ening (especially  when  she  jerked  out  the  interjections), 
Miss  Miggs,  from  mere  habit,  and   not    because    weeping 


532 


BARNABY  RUDGE.    .- 


was  at  all  oppropriate  to  the  occasion,  which  was  one  of 
triumph,  concluded  by  bursting  into  a  flood  of  tears,  and 
calling  in  an  impassioned  manner  on  the  name  of   Simm.uns. 

What  Emma  Haredale  and  Dolly  would  have  done,  or 
how  long  Miss  Miggs,  now  that  she  had  hoisted  her  true 
colors,  would  have  gone  on  waving  them  before  their 
astonished  senses,  it  is  impossible  to  tell.  Nor  is  it  neces- 
sary to  speculate  on  these  matters,  for  a  startling  interrup- 
tion occurred  at  that  moment,  which  took  their  whole  atten- 
tion by  storm. 

This  was  a  violent  knocking  at  the  door  of  the  house,  and 
then  its  sudden  bursting  open  ;  which  was  immediately  suc- 
ceeded by  a  scuffle  in  the  room  without,  and  the  clash  of 
weapons.  Transported  with  the  hope  that  rescue  had  at 
length  arrived,  Emma  and  Dolly  shrieked  aloud  for  help  ; 
nor  were  their  shrieks  unanswered  ;  for  after  a  hurried 
interval,  a  man,  bearing  in  one  hand  a  drawn  sword,  and  in 
the  other  a  taper,  rushed  into  the  chamber  where  they  were 
confined. 

It  was  some  check  upon  their  transport  to  find  in  this  per- 
son an  entire  stranger,  but  they  appealed  to  him  neverthe- 
less, and  besought  him,  in  impassioned  language,  to  restore 
them  to  their  friends. 

"  For  what  other  purpose  am  I  here  ?  "  he  answered,  clos- 
ing the  door,  and  standing  with  his  back  against  it.  ''  With 
what  object  have  I  made  my  way  to  this  place,  through  dif- 
ficulty and  danger,  but  to  preserve  you  ^  " 

With  a  joy  for  which  it  was  impossible  to  find  adequate 
expression,  they  embraced  each  other,  and  thanked  heaven 
for  the  most  timely  aid.  Their  deliverer  stepped  forward  for 
a  moment  to  put  the  light  upon  the  table,  and  immediately 
returning  to  his  former  position  against  the  door,  bared  his 
head,  and  looked  on  smilingly. 

''  You  have  news  of  my  uncle,  sir  ?  "  said  Emma,  turning 
hastily  toward  him, 

*'  And  of  my  father  and  mother?"  added  Dolly. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.     "  Good  news." 

**  They  are  alive  and  unhurt,"  they  both  cried  at  once. 

"Yes,  and  unhurt,"  he  rejoined. 

"And  close  at  hand  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  say  close  at  hand,"  he  answered  smoothly  ; 
"  they  are  at  no  great  distance.  Your  friends,  sweet  one," 
he  added,  addressing  Dolly,  "  are  w^ithin  a  few  hours'  jour- 
ney.    You  will  be  restored  to  them,  I  hope,  to-night." 


BARNABV  RUDGE.  533 

"  My  uncle,  sir — "  faltered  Emma. 

"Your  uncle,  dear  Miss  Haredale,  happily — I  say  happily, 
because  he  has  succeeded  where  many  of  our  creed  have 
failed,  and  is  safe — has  crossed  the  sea,  and  is  out  of 
Britain." 

"  I  thank  God  for  it,"  said  Emma,  faintly. 

"  You  say  well.  You  have  reason  to  be  thankful  ;  greater 
reason  than  it  is  possible  for  you,  who  have  seen  but  one 
night  of  these  cruel  outrages,  to  imagine." 

"  Does  he  desire,"  said  Emma,  "  that  I  should  follow 
him  ? " 

"  Do  you  ask  if  he  desires  it  ?  "  cried  the  stranger  in  sur- 
prise. "//  he  desires  it  !  But  you  do  not  know  the  danger 
of  remaining  in  England,  the  difficulty  of  escape,  or  the 
price  hundreds  would  pay  to  secure  the  means,  when  you 
make  that  inquiry.  Pardon  me.  I  had  forgotten  that  you 
could  not,  being  a  prisoner  here." 

"  1  gather,  sir,"  said  Emma,  after  a  moment's  pause,  "from 
what  you  hint  at,  but  fear  to  tell  me,  that  I  have  witnessed 
but  the  beginning,  and  the  least,  of  the  violence  to  which 
we  are  exposed,  and  that  it  has  not  yet  slackened  in  its 
fury  ?  " 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  shook  his  head,  lifted  up  his 
hands  ;  and  with  the  same  smooth  smile,  which  was  not  a 
pleasant  one  to  see,  cast  his  eyes  upon  the  ground,  and  re- 
mained silent. 

"  You  may  venture,  sir,  to  speak  plain,"  said  Emma,  "and 
to  tell  me  the  worst.  We  have  undergone  some  preparation 
for  it." 

But  here  Dolly  interposed,  and  entreated  her  not  to  hear 
the  worst,  but  the  best  ;  and  besought  the  gentleman  to  tell 
them  the  best,  and  to  keep  the  remainder  of  his  news  until 
they  were  safe  among  their  friends  again. 

"  It  is  told  in  three  words,"  he  said,  glancing  at  the  lock- 
smith's daughter  with  a  look  of  some  displeasure.  "  The 
people  have  risen,  to  a  man,  against  us  ;  the  streets  are 
filled  with  soldiers,  who  support  them  and  do  their  bid- 
ding. We  have  no  protection  but  from  above,  and  no 
safety  but  in  flight ;  and  that  is  a  poor  resource  ;  for  we 
are  watched  on  every  hand,  and  detained  here  both  by  force 
and  fraud.  Miss  Haredale,  I  can  not  bear— believe  me, 
that  I  can  not  bear— by  speaking  of  myself,  or  what  I 
have  done,  or  am  prepared  to  do,  to  seem  to  vaunt  my 
services  before  you.     But,  having  powerful  Protestant  con- 


534 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


nections,  and  having  my  whole  wealth  embarked  with  theirs 
in  shipping  and  commerce,  I  happily  possessed  the  means 
of  saving  your  uncle.  I  have  the  means  of  saving  you  ; 
and  in  redemption  of  my  sacred  promise  made  to  him,  I  am 
here  ;  pledged  not  to  leave  you  until  I  have  placed  you 
in  his  arms.  The  treachery  or  penitence  of  one  of  the  men 
about  you,  led  to  the  discovery  of  your  place  of  confine 
ment ;  and  that  I  have  forced  my  way  here,  sword  in 
hand,  you  see." 

"  You  bring,"  said  Emma,  faltering,  "  some  note  or  to- 
ken from  my  uncle  ?  " 

"  No,  he  doesn't,"  cried  Dolly,  pointing  at  him  earn- 
estly ;  "  now  I  am  sure  he  doesn't.  Don't  go  with  him  for 
the  world  !  " 

**  Hush,  pretty  fool — be  silent,"  he  replied,  frowning 
angrily  upon  her.  "  No,  Miss  Plaredale,  I  have  no  letter, 
nor  any  token  of  any  kind  ;  for  while  1  sympathize  with 
you,  and  such  as  you,  on  whom  misfortune  so  heavy  and 
so  undeserved  has  fallen,  I  value  my  life.  I  carry,  there- 
fore, no  writing  which,  found  upon  me,  would  lead  to  its 
certain  loss.  I  never  thought  of  bringing  any  other  token, 
nor  did  Mr.  Haredale  think  of  intrusting  me  with  one — 
possibly  because  hp  had  good  experience  of  my  faith  and 
honesty,  and  owed  his  life    to  me." 

There  was  a  reproof  conveyed  in  these  words,  which  to 
a  nature  like  Emma  Haredale's,  was  well  addressed.  But 
Dolly,  who  was  differently  constituted,  was  by  no  means 
touched  by  it,  and  still  conjured  her,  in  all  the  terms  of 
affection  and  attachment  she  could  think  of,  not  to  be  lured 
away, 

"  Time  presses,"  said  their  visitor,  who,  although  he 
sought  to  express  the  deepest  interest,  had  something  cold 
and  even  in  his  speech,  that  grated  on  the  ear;  "and  dan- 
ger surrounds  us.  If  I  have  exposed  myself  to  it  in  vain, 
let  it  be  so  ;  but  if  you  and  he  should  ever  meet  again,  do 
me  justice.  If  you  decide  to  remain  (as  I  think  you  do), 
remember,  Miss  Haredale,  that  I  left  you  with  a  solemn 
caution,  and  acquitting  myself  of  all  the  consequences  to 
which  you  expose  yourself," 

*'  Stay,  sir  !  "  cried  Emma.  '*  One  moment  I  beg  you. 
Can  not  we  " — and  she  drew  Dolly  closer  to  her — ■*'  can  not 
we  go  together  ?  " 

"  The  task  of  conveying  one  female  in  safety  through  such 
scenes  as  we  must  encounter,  to  say  nothing  of  attracting  the 


BARNABV  RUDGE.  535 

attention  of  those  who  crowd  the  streets,"  he  answered,  "  is 
enough.  I  have  said  that  she  will  be  restored  to  her  friends 
to-night.  If  you  accept  the  service  I  tender.  Miss  Haredale, 
she  shall  be  instantly  placed  in  safe  conduct,  and  that  prom- 
ise redeemed.  Do  you  decide  to  remain  ?  People  of  all 
ranks  and  creeds  are  flying  from  the  town,  which  is  sacked 
from  end  to  end.  Let  me  be  of  use  in  some  quarter.  Do 
you  stay,  or  go  ?  " 

"  Dolly,"  said  Emma,  in  a  hurried  manner,  "  my  dear  girl, 
this  is  our  last  hope.  If  we  part  now,  it  is  only  that  we  may 
meet  again  in  happiness  and  honor.  I  will  trust  to  this 
gentleman." 

"  No — no — no  !  "  cried  Dolly,  clinging  to  her.  "  Pray, 
pray,  do  not  !  " 

"  You  hear,"  said  Emma,  "  that  to-night — only  to-night — 
within  a  few  hours — think  of  that  ! — you  will  be  among  those 
who  would  die  of  grief  to  lose  you,  and  who  are  now  plunged 
in  the  deepest  misery  for  your  sake.  Pray  for  me,  dear 
girl,  as  I  will  for  you  ;  and  never  forget  the  many  quiet 
hours  we  have  passed  together.  Say  one  '  God  bless  you  !  ' 
Say  that  at  parting  !  " 

But  Dolly  could  say  nothing  ;  no,  not  when  Emma  kissed 
her  cheek  a  hundred  times,  and  covered  it  with  tears,  could 
she  do  more  than  hang  upon  her  neck,  and  sob,  and  clasp, 
and  hold  her  tight. 

"  We  have  time  for  no  more  of  this,"  cried  the  man, 
unclenching  her  hands,  and  pushing  her  roughly  off,  as  he 
drew  Emma  Haredale  toward  the  door  :  "  Now  !  Quick, 
outside  there  !  are  you  ready  ?  " 

"  Ay !  "  cried  a  loud  voice,  which  made  him  start. 
"  Quite  ready  !     Stand  back  here,  for  your  lives  !  " 

And  in  an  instant  he  was  felled  like  an  ox  in  the  butcher's 
shambles — struck  down  as  though  a  block  of  marble  had 
fallen  from  the  roof  and  crushed  him — and  cheerful  light, 
and  beaming  faces  came  pouring  in — and  Emma  was  clasped 
in  her  uncle's  embrace,  and  Dolly,  Avith  a  shriek  that  pierced 
the  air,  fell  into  the  arms  of  her  father  and  mother. 

What  fainting  there  was,  what  laughing,  what  crying,  what 
sobbing,  what  smiling,  how  much  questioning,  no  answering, 
all  talking  together  ;  all  beside  themselves  with  joy  ;  what 
kissing,  congratulating,  embracing,  shaking  of  hands,  and 
falling  into  all  these  raptures,  over  and  over  and  over  again  ; 
no  language  can  describe. 

At  length,  and  after  a  long  time,  the  old  locksmith  went 


536  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

up  and  fairly  hugged  two  strangers,  who  had  stood  apart 
and  left  them  to  themselves  ;  and  then  they  saw — whom  ? 
Yes,  Edward  Chester  and  Joseph  Willet. 

^'  See  here  !  "  cried  the  locksmith.  "  See  here  !  where 
would  any  of  us  have  been  without  these  two  ?  Oh,  Mr, 
Edward,  Mr.  Edward — oh,  Joe,  Joe,  how  light,  and  yet  how 
full,  you  have  made  my  old  heart  to-night  !  " 

"  It  vv'as  Mr.  Edward  that  knocked  him  down,  sir,"  said 
Joe  ;  "  I  longed  to  do  it,  but  I  gave  it  up  to  him.  Come, 
you  brave  and  honest  gentleman  !  Get  your  senses  together, 
for  you  haven't  long  to  lie  here." 

He  had  his  foot  upon  the  breast  of  their  sham  deliverer,  in 
the  absence  of  a  spare  arm  ;  and  gave  him  a  gentle  roll  as 
he  spoke.  Gashford,  for  it  was  no  other,  crouching,  yet 
malignant,  raised  his  scowling  face,  like  sin  subdued,  and 
pleaded  to  be  gently  used. 

"  I  have  access  to  all  my  lord's  papers,  Mr.  Haredale,"  he 
said,  in  a  submissive  voice  (Mr.  Haredale  keeping  his  back 
toward  him,  and  not  once  looking  round);  "  there  are  very 
important  documents  among  them.  There  are  a  great  many 
in  secret  drawers,  and  distributed  in  various  places,  known 
only  to  my  lord  and  me.  I  can  give  some  very  valuable 
information,  and  render  important  assistance  to  any  inquiry. 
You  will  have  to  answer  it,  if  I  receive  ill  usage." 

''  Pah  !  "  cried  Joe,  in  deep  disgust.  "  Get  up,  man  ; 
you're  waited  for,  outside.     Get  up,  do  you  hear  ?  " 

Gashford  slowly  rose  ;  and  picking  up  his  hat,  and  look- 
ing with  a  baffled  malevolence,  yet  with  an  air  of  despicable 
humility,  all  round  the  room,  crawled  out. 

"  And  now,  gentlemen,"  said  Joe,  who  seemed  to  be  the 
spokesman  of  the  party,  for  all  the  rest  were  silent ;  "  the 
sooner  we  get  back  to  the  Black  Lion,  the  better,  per- 
haps." 

Mr.  Haredale  nodded  assent,  and  drawing  his  niece's  arm 
through  his,  and  taking  one  of  her  hands  between  his  own, 
passed  out  straightway  ;  followed  by  the  locksmith,  Mrs. 
Varden,  and  Dolly — who  would  scarcely  have  presented  a 
sufficient  surface  for  all  the  hugs  and  caresses  they  bestowed 
upon  her  though  she  had  been  a  dozen  Dollys.  Edward 
Chester  and  Joe  followed. 

And  did  Dolly  never  once  look  behind — not  once  ?  Was 
there  not  one  little  fleeting  glimpse  of  the  dark  eye-lash, 
almost  resting  on  her  flushed  cheek,  and  of  the  downcast 
sparkling  eye  it  shaded  ?     Joe  thought  there  was — and  he  is 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  537 

not  likely  to  have  been  mistaken  ;  for  there  were  not  many 
eyes  like  Dolly's,  that's  the  truth. 

The  outer  room  through  which  they  had  to  pass,  was  full 
of  men  ;  among  them,  Mr.  Dennis  in  safe  keeping  ;  and 
there,  had  been  since  yesterday,  lying  in  hiding  behind  a 
wooden  screen  which  was  now  thrown  down,  Simon  Tap- 
pertit,  the  recreant  'prentice,  burned  and  bruised,  and  with  a 
gun-shot  wound  in  his  body  ;  and  his  legs — his  perfect  legs, 
the  pride  and  glory  of  his  life,  the  comfort  of  his  existence 
— crushed  into  shapeless  ugliness.  Wondering  no  longer  at 
the  moans  they  had  heard,  Dolly  kept  closer  to  her  father, 
and  shuddered  at  the  sight ;  but  neither  bruises,  burns,  nor 
gun-shot  wounds,  nor  all  the  torture  of  his  shattered  limbs, 
sent  half  so  keen  a  pang  to  Simon's  breast,  as  Dolly  passing 
out,  with  Joe  for  her  preserver. 

A  coach  was  ready  at  the  door,  and  Dolly  found  herself 
safe  and  wholly  inside,  between  her  father  and  mother,  with 
Emma  Haredale  and  her  uncle,  quite  real,  sitting  opposite. 
But  there  was  no  Joe,  no  Edward  ;  and  they  had  said 
nothing.  They  had  only  bowed  once,  and  keep  at  a  dis- 
tance. Dear  heart  !  what  a  long  way  it  was  to  the  Black 
Lion. 


CHAPTER    LXXII. 

The  Black  Lion  was  so  far  off,  and  occupied  such  a  length 
of  time  in  the  getting  at,  that  notwithstanding  the  strong 
presumptive  evidence  she  had  about  her  of  the  late  events 
being  real  and  of  actual  occurrence,  Dolly  could  not  divest 
herself  of  the  belief  that  she  must  be  in  a  dream  which  was 
lasting  all  night.  Nor  was  she  quite  certain  that  she  saw 
and  heard,  with  her  own  proper  senses,  even  when  the  coach, 
in  the  fullness  of  time,  stopped  at  the  Black  Lion,  and  the 
host  of  that  tavern  approached  in  a  gush  of  cheerful  light  to 
help  them  to  dismount,  and  give  them  hearty  welcome. 

There  too,  at  the  coach  door,  one  on  one  side,  and  one 
upon  the  other,  were  already  Edward  Chester  and  Joe 
Willet,  who  must  have  followed  in  another  coach  :  and  this 
was  such  a  strange  and  unaccountable  proceeding,  that  Dolly 
was  the  more  inclined  to  favor  the  idea  of  her  being  fast 
asleep.  But  when  Mr.  Willet  appeared— old  John  himself 
— so  heavy  headed  and  obstinate,  and  with  such  a  double 
chin  as  the  liveliest  imagination  could  never  in  its  boldest 


538  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

flights  have  conjured  up  in  all  its  vast  proportions — then  she 
stood  corrected,  and  unwillingly  admitted  to  herself  that  she 
was  broad  awake. 

And  Joe  had  lost  an  arm — he — that  well  made,  handsome, 
gallant  fellow  !  As  Dolly  glanced  toward  him,  and  thought 
of  the  pain  he  must  have  suffered,  and  the  far-off  places  in 
which  he  had  been  wandering,  and  wondered  who  had  been 
his  nurse,  and  hoped  that  whoever  it  was,  she  had  been  as 
kind  and  gentle  and  considerate  as  she  would  have  been,  the 
tears  came  rising  to  her  bright  eyes,  one  by  one,  little  by  little, 
until  she  could  keep  them  back  no  longer,  and  so  before 
them  all  wept  bitterly. 

"  We  are  all  safe  now,  Dolly,"  said  her  father,  kindly. 
"  We  shall  not  be  separated  any  more.  Cheer  up,  my  love, 
cheer  up  !  " 

The  lockmith's  wife  knew  better  perhaps,  than  he,  what 
ailed  her  daughter.  But  Mrs.  Varden  being  quite  an  altered 
woman — for  the  riots  had  done  that  good — added  her  word 
to  his,  and  comforted  her  with  similar  representations. 

"  Mayhap,"  said  Mr.  Willet,  Senior,  looking  round  upon 
the  company,  "she's  hungry.  That's  what  it  is,  depend 
upon  it — I  am,  myself." 

The  Black  Lion,  who,  like  old  John,  had  been  waiting 
supper  past  all  reasonable  and  conscionable  hours,  hailed 
this  as  a  philosophical  discovery  of  the  profoundest  and 
most  penetrating  kind  ;  and  the  table  being  already  spread, 
they  sat  down  to  supper  straightway. 

The  conversation  was  not  of  the  liveliest  nature,  nor  were 
the  appetites  of  some  among  them  very  keen.  But,  in  both 
these  respects,  old  John  more  than  atoned  for  any  deficiency 
on  the  part  of  the  rest,  and  very  much  distinguished  himself. 

It  w^as  not  in  point  of  actual  conversation  that  Mr.  Willet 
shone  so  brilliantly,  for  he  had  none  of  his  old  cronies  to 
"tackle,"  and  was  rather  timorous  of  venturing  on  Joe; 
having  certain  vague  misgivings  within  him,  that  he  was  ready 
on  the  shortest  notice,  and  on  receipt  of  the  slightest  offense, 
to  fell  the  Black  Lion  to  the  floor  of  his  own  parlor,  and  imme- 
diately to  withdraw  to  China  or  some  other  remote  and 
unknown  region,  there  to  dwell  for  evermore,  or  at  least  until 
he  had  got  rid  of  his  remaining  arm  and  both  legs,  and  per- 
haps an  eye  or  so,  into  the  bargain.  It  was  with  a  particular 
kind  of  pantomime  that  Mr.  Willet  filled  up  every  pause  ;  and 
in  this  he  was  considered  by  tlie  Black  Lion,  who  had  been 
his  familiar  for  some  years,  quite  to  surpass  and  go  beyond 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  539 

himself,  and  outrun  the  expectations  of  his  most  admiring 
friends. 

The  subject  that  worked  in  Mr.  Willet's  mind,  and  occa- 
sioned these  demonstrations,  was  no  other  than  his  son's 
bodily  disfigurement,  which  he  had  never  yet  got  himself 
thoroughly  to  believe,  or  comprehend.  Shortly  after  their 
first  meeting,  he  had  been  observed  to  wander,  in  a  state  of 
great  perplexity,  to  the  kitchen,  and  direct  his  gaze  toward 
the  fire,  as  if  in  search  of  his  usual  adviser  in  all  matters  of 
doubt  and  difficulty.  But  there  being  no  boiler  at  the  Black 
Lion,  and  the  rioters  having  so  beaten  and  battered  his  own 
that  it  was  quite  unfit  for  further  service,  he  wandered  out 
again,  in  a  perfect  bog  of  uncertainty  and  mental  confusion, 
and  in  that  state  took  the  strangest  means  of  resolving  his 
doubts  :  such  as  feeling  the  sleeve  of  his  son's  great- coat,  as 
deeming  it  possible  that  his  arm  might  be  there  ;  looking  at 
his  own  arms  and  those  of  every  body  else,  as  if  to  assure 
himself  that  two  and  not  one  was  the  usual  allowance  ;  sit- 
ting by  the  hour  together  in  a  brown  study,  as  if  he  were  en- 
deavoring to  recall  Joe's  image  in  his  younger  days,  and  to 
remember  whether  he  really  had  in  those  times  one  arm  or  a 
pair  ;  and  employing  himself  in  many  other  speculations  of 
the  same  kind. 

Finding  himself  at  his  supper,  surrounded  by  faces  with 
which  he  had  been  so  well  acquainted  in  old  times,  Mr, 
Willet  recurred  to  this  subject  with  uncommon  vigor  ;  ap- 
parently resolved  to  understand  it  now  or  never.  Sometimes 
after  every  two  or  three  mouthfuls,  he  laid  down  his  knife 
and  fork,  and  stared  at  his  son  with  all  his  might — particu- 
larly at  his  maimed  side  ;  then,  he  looked  slowly  round  the 
table  until  he  caught  some  persons  eye,  when  he  shook  his 
head  with  great  solemnity,  patted  his  shoulder,  winked,  or 
as  one  may  say — for  winking  was  a  very  slow  process  with 
him— went  to  sleep  with  one  eye  for  a  minute  or  two  ;  and 
so  with  another  solemn  shaking  of  his  head,  took  up  his  knife 
and  fork  again,  and  went  on  eating.  Sometimes,  he  put  his 
food  into  his  mouth  abstractedly,  and,  with  all  his  faculties 
concentrated  on  Joe,  gazed  at  him  in  a  fit  of  stupefaction  as 
he  cut  his  meat  with  one  hand,  until  he  was  recalled  to  him- 
self by  symptoms  of  choking  on  his  own  part,  and  was  by 
that  means  restored  to  consciousness.  At  other  times  he 
resorted  to  such  small  devices  as  asking  him  for  the  salt,  the 
pepper,  the  vinegar,  the  mustard— any  thing  that  was  on  his 
maimed  side— and  watching  him  as  he  handed  it.     By  dint 


540 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


of  these  experiments,  he  did  at  last  so  satisfy  and  convince 
himself,  that,  after  a  longer  silence  than  he  had  yet  main- 
tained, he  laid  down  his  knife  and  fork  on  either  side  of  his 
plate,  drank  a  long  draught  from  a  tankard  beside  him  (still 
keeping  his  eyes  on  Joe),  and  leaning  backward  in  his  chair 
and  fetching  a  long  breath,  said,  as  he  looked  all  around  the 
board  : 

''It's  been  took  off!  " 

"  By  George  !  "  said  the  Black  Lion,  striking  the  table 
with  his  hand,  "  he's  got  it  !  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Willet,  with  the  look  of  a  man  who 
felt  that  he  had  earned  a  compliment,  and  deserved  it. 
"  That's  where  it  is.     It's  been  took  off." 

*'  Tell  him  where  it  was  done,"  said  the  Black  Lion  to  Joe. 

"  At  the  defense  of  Savannah,  father." 

"  At  the  defense  of  the  Salwanners,"  repeated  Mr.  Willet, 
softly  ;  again  looking  round  the  table, 

"  Jn  America,  where  the  war  is,"  said  Joe. 

"  In  America,  where  the  war  is,"  replied  Mr.  Willet.  **  It 
was  taken  off  in  the  defense  of  the  Salwanners  in  America 
where  the  war  is."  Continuing  to  repeat  these  words  to 
himself  in  a  low  tone  of  voice  (the  same  information  had 
been  conveyed  to  him  in  the  same  terms,  at  least  fifty  times 
before),  Mr.  Willet  arose  from  the  table,  walked  round  to 
Joe,  felt  his  empty  sleeve  all  the  way  up,  from  the  cuff, 
to  where  the  stump  of  his  arm  remained  ;  shook  his  head  ; 
lighted  his  pipe  at  the  fire,  took  a  long  whiff,  walked  to  the 
door,  turned  round  once  when  he  had  reached  it,  wiped  his 
left  eye  with  the  back  of  his  forefinger,  and  said  in  a  falter- 
ing voice  :  *'  My  son's  arm — was  took  off — at  the  defense  of 
the — Salwanners — in  America — where  the  war  is  " — with 
which  words  he  withdrew,  and  returned  no  more  that 
night. 

Indeed,  on  various  pretenses,  they  all  withdrew  one  after 
another,  save  Dolly,  who  was  left  sitting  there  alone.  It  was 
a  great  relief  to  be  alone,  and  she  was  crying  to  her  heart's 
content,  when  she  heard  Joe's  voice  at  the  end  of  the  pas- 
sage, bidding  somebody  good-night. 

Good-night !  Then  he  was  going  elsewhere — to  some 
distance,  perhaps.  To  what  kind  of  home  could  he  be  going, 
now  that  it  was  so  late  ! 

She  heard  him  walk  along  the  passage,  and  pass  the  door. 
But  there  was  a  hesitation  in  his  footsteps.  He  turned  back 
— Dolly's  heart  beat  high — he  looked  in. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  541 

"  Good-night !  " — he  did  not  say  Dolly,  but  there  was 
comfort  in  his  not  saying  Miss  Varden. 

"  Good-night  !  "  sobbed  Dolly. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  take  on  so  much,  for  what  is  past  and 
gone,"  said  Joe,  kindly.  *'  Don't.  I  can't  bear  to  see 
you  do  it.  Think  of  it  no  longer.  You  are  safe  and  happy 
now." 

Dolly  cried  the  more. 

"  You  must  have  suffered  very  much  within  these  few  days 
— and  yet  you're  not  changed,  unless  it's  for  the  better. 
They  said  you  were,  but  I  don't  see  it.  You  were — you  were 
always  very  beautiful,"  said  Joe,  "  but  you  are  more  beauti- 
ful than  ever  now.  You  are  indeed.  There  can  be  no  harm 
in  my  saying  so,  for  you  must  know  it.  You  are  told  so  very 
often,  I  am  sure." 

As  a  general  principle,  Dolly  did  know  it,  and  mas  told  so 
very  often.  But  the  coach-maker  had  turned  out,  years  ago, 
to  be  a  special  donkey  ;  and  whether  she  had  been  afraid  of 
making  similar  discoveries  in  others,  or  had  grown  by  dint 
of  long  custom  to  be  careless  of  compliments  generally, 
certain  it  is  that  although  she  cried  so  much,  she  was  better 
pleased  to  be  told  so  now  than  ever  she  had  been  in  all  her 
life. 

"  I  shall  bless  your  name,"  sobbed  the  locksmith's  little 
daughter,  "  as  long  as  I  live.  I  shall  never  hear  it  spoken 
without  feeling  as  if  my  heart  would  burst.  I  shall  remem- 
ber it  in  my  prayers,  every  night  and  morning  till  I  die  !  " 

"  Will  you  ?"  said  Joe,  eagerly.  "Will  you  indeed?  It 
makes  me — well,  it  makes  me  very  glad  and  proud  to  hear 
you  say  so." 

Dolly  still  sobbed,  and  held  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes. 
Joe  still  stood,  looking  at  her. 

"Your  voice,"  said  Joe,  "brings  up  old  times  so  pleas- 
antly, that  for  the  moment  I  feel  as  if  that  night — there  can 
be  no  harm  in  talking  of  that  night  now — had  come  back, 
and  nothing  had  happened  in  the  meantime.  I  feel  as  if  I 
hadn't  suffered  any  hardships,  but  had  knocked  down  poor 
Tom  Cobb  only  yesterday,  and  had  come  to  see  you  with 
my  bundle  on  my  shoulder  before  running  away.  You  re- 
member ?  " 

Remember  !  But  she  said  nothing.  She  raised  her  eyes 
for  an  instant.  It  was  but  a  glance  ;  a  little,  tearful,  timid 
glance.     It  kept  Joe  silent,  though,  for  a  long  time. 

"  Well,"   he  said    stoutly,    "  it  was   to  be    otherwise,  and 


542  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

was.  I  have  been  abroad,  fighting  all  the  summer  and 
frozen  up  all  the  winter,  ever  since.  I  have  come  back  as 
poor  in  purse  as  I  went,  and  crippled  for  life  beside.  But, 
Dolly,  I  would  rather  have  lost  this  other  arm — ay,  I  would 
rather  have  lost  my  head — than  to  have  come  back  to  find 
you  dead,  or  any  thing  but  what  I  always  pictured  you  to 
myself,  and  what  I  always  hoped  and  wished  to  find  you. 
Thank  God  for  all  !  " 

Oh,  how  much,  and  how  keenly,  the  little  coquette  of  five 
years  ago,  felt  now  !  She  had  found  her  heart  at  last.  Never 
having  known  its  worth  till  now,  she  had  never  known  tlie 
worth  of  his.     How  priceless  it  appeared  ! 

"  I  did  hope  once,"  said  Joe,  in  his  homely  way,  "  that  I 
might  come  back  a  rich  man,  and  marry  you.  But  I  was  a 
boy  then,  and  have  long  known  better  than  that.  I  am  a 
poor,  maimed,  discharged  soldier,  and  must  be  content  to 
rub  through  life  as  I  can.  I  can't  say,  even  now,  that  I  shall 
be  glad  to  see  you  married,  Dolly  ;  but  I  am  glad — yes,  I 
am,  and  glad  to  think  I  can  say  so — to  know  that  you  are 
admired  and  courted,  and  can  pick  and  choose  for  a  happy 
life.  It's  a  comfort  to  me  to  know  that  you'll  talk  to  your 
husband  about  me ;  and  I  hope  the  time  will  come  when  I 
may  be  able  to  like  him,  and  to  shake  hands  with  him,  and 
to  come  and  see  you  as  a  poor  friend  who  knew  you  when 
you  were  a  girl.     God  bless  you  !  " 

His  hand  did  tremble  ;  but  for  all  that,  he  took  it  away 
again,  and  left  her. 


CHAPTER  Lxxnr. 

By  this  Friday  night — for  it  was  on  Friday  in  the  riot 
week,  that  Emma  and  Dolly  were  rescued  by  the  timely  aid 
of  Joe  and  Edward  Chester — the  disturbances  were  entirely 
quelled,  and  peace  and  order  were  restored  to  the  affrighted 
city.  True,  after  what  had  happened,  it  was  impossible  for 
any  man  to  say  how  long  this  better  state  of  things  might  last, 
or  how  suddenly  new  outrages,  exceeding  even  those  so  lately- 
witnessed,  might  burst  forth  and  fill  its  streets  with  ruin  and 
bloodshed  ;  for  this  reason,  those  who  had  fled  from  the 
recent  tumults  still  kept  at  a  distance,  and  many  families, 
hitherto  unable  to  procure  the  means  of  flight,  now  availed 
themselves  of  the  calm,  and  withdrew  into  the  country.  The 
shops,  too,  from   Tyburn  to  Whitechapel,  were  still   shut ; 


1    S:iALL    BLESS   YOUR   NAME,"  SOBBED  THE  LOCKSMITH  S  LITTLE  DAUGH- 
TER,   "as   long    AS   I   LIVE." 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  543 

and  very  little  business  was  transacted  in  any  of  the  places 
of  great  commercial  resort.  But,  notwithstanding,  and  in 
spite  of  the  melancholy  forebodings  of  that  class  of  society 
who  see  with  the  greatest  clearness  into  the  darkest  perspec- 
tives, the  town  remained  profoundly  quiet.  The  strong  mili- 
tary force  disposed  in  every  advantageous  quarter,  and  sta- 
tioned at  every  commanding  point,  held  the  scattered  frag- 
ments of  the  mob  in  check  ;  the  search  after  rioters  was 
prosecuted  with  unrelenting  vigor  ;  and  if  there  were  any 
among  them  so  desperate  and  reckless  as  to  be  inclined,  after 
the  terrible  scenes  they  had  beheld,  to  venture  forth  again, 
they  were  so  daunted  by  these  resolute  measures,  that  they 
quickly  shrunk  into  their  hiding-places,  and  had  no  thought 
but  for  their  safety. 

In  a  word,  the  crowd  was  utterly  routed.  Upward  of 
two  hundred  had  been  shot  in  the  streets.  Two  hundred 
and  fifty  more  were  lying,  badly  wounded,  in  the  hospitals  ; 
of  whom  seventy  or  eighty  died  within  a  short  time  afterward. 
A  hundred  were  already  in  custody,  and  more  were  taken 
every  hour.  How  many  perished  in  the  conflagrations,  or 
by  their  own  excesses,  is  unknown  ;  but  that  numbers  found 
a  terrible  grave  in  the  hot  ashes  of  the  flames  they  had 
kindled,  or  crept  into  vaults  and  cellars  to  drink  in  secret  or 
to  nurse  their  sores,  and  never  saw  the  light  again,  is  cer- 
tain. When  the  embers  of  the  fires  had  been  black  and  cold 
for  many  weeks,  the  laborers'  spades  proved  this,  without  a 
doubt. 

Seventy-two  private  houses  and  four  strong  jails  were  de- 
stroyed in  the  four  great  days  of  these  riots.  The  total  loss 
of  property,  as  estimated  by  the  sufferers,  was  one  hundred 
and  fifty-five  thousand  pounds  ;  at  the  lowest  and  least  par- 
tial estimate  of  disinterested  persons,  it  exceeded  one  hun- 
dred and  twenty-five  thousand  pounds.  For  this  immense 
loss,  compensation  was  soon  afterward  made  out  of  the  public 
purse,  in  pursuance  of  a  vote  of  the  House  of  Commons  ;  the 
sum  being  levied  on  the  various  wards  in  the  city,  on  the 
county,  and  the  borough  of  Southwark.  Both  Lord  Mans- 
field and  Lord  Saville,  however,  who  had  been  great  sufferers, 
refused  to  accept  of  any  compensation  whatever. 

The  House  of  Commons,  sitting  on  Tuesday  with  locked 
and  guarded  doors,  had  passed  a  resolution  to  the  effect 
that,  as  soon  as  the  tumults  subsided,  it  would  immediately 
proceed  to  consider  the  petitions  presented  from  many  of 
his  majesty's  Protestant  subjects,  and  would  take  the  same 


544  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

into  its  serious  consideration.  While  this  question  was  un- 
der debate,  Mr.  Herbert,  one  of  the  members  present,  in- 
dignantly rose  and  called  upon  the  House  to  observe  that 
Lord  George  Gordon  was  then  sitting  under  the  gallery  with 
the  blue  cockade,  the  signal  of  rebellion,  in  his  hat.  He 
was  not  only  obliged,  by  those  who  sat  near,  to  take  it  out  ; 
but  offering  to  go  out  into  the  street  to  pacify  the  mob  with 
the  somewhat  indefinite  assurance  that  the  House  was  pre- 
pared to  give  them  "the  satisfaction  they  sought,"  was 
actually  held  down  in  his  seat  by  the  combined  force  of  sev- 
eral members.  In  short,  the  disorder  and  violence  which 
reigned  triumphant  out  of  doors,  penetrated  into  the  senate, 
and  there,  as  elsewhere,  terror  and  alarm  prevailed,  and  or- 
dinary forms  were  for  the  time  forgotten. 

On  the  Thursday,  both  Houses  had  adjourned  until  the 
following  Monday  se'nnight,  declaring  it  impossible  to  pur- 
sue their  deliberations  with  the  necessary  gravity  and  free- 
dom while  they  were  surrounded  by  armed  troops.  And 
now  that  the  rioters  were  dispersed,  the  citizens  were  beset 
by  a  new  fear  ;  for,  finding  the  public  thoroughfares  and  all 
their  usual  places  of  resort  filled  with  soldiers  intrusted  with 
the  free  use  of  fire  and  sword,  they  began  to  lend  a  greedy 
ear  to  the  rumors  which  were  afloat  of  martial  law  being 
declared,  and  to  dismal  stories  of  prisoners  having  been  seen 
hanging  on  lamp-posts  in  Cheapside  and  Fleet  Street.  These 
terrors  being  promptly  dispelled  by  a  proclamation  declar- 
ing all  the  rioters  in  custody  would  be  tried  by  a  special 
commission  in  the  due  course  of  law,  a  fresh  alarm  was 
being  whispered  abroad  that  French  money  had  been  found 
on  some  of  the  rioters,  and  that  the  disturbances  had  been 
fomented  by  foreign  powers  who  sought  to  compass  the 
overthrow  and  ruin  of  England.  This  report,  which  was 
strengthened  by  the  diffusion  of  anonymous  hand-bills,  but 
which,  if  it  had  any  foundation  at  all,  probably  owed  its 
origin  to  the  circumstance  of  some  few  coins  which  were  not 
English  money  having  been  swept  into  the  pockets  of  the 
insurgents  with  other  miscellaneous  booty,  and  afterward 
discovered  on  the  prisoners  or  the  dead  bodies — caused  a  great 
sensation  ;  and  men's  minds  being  in  that  excited  state  when 
they  are  most  apt  to  catch  at  any  shadow  of  apprehension, 
was  bruited  about  with  much  industry. 

All  remaining  quiet,  however,  during  the  whole  of  this 
Friday,  and  on  this  Friday  night,  and  no  new  discoveries 
being  made,  confidence  began  to  be  restored,  and  the  most 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  545 

timid  and  desponding  breathed  again.  In  Southwark,  no 
fewer  than  three  thousand  of  the  inhabitants  formed  them- 
selves into  a  watch,  and  patrolled  the  streets  every  hour. 
Nor  were  the  citizens  slow  to  follow  so  good  an  example  : 
and  it  being  the  manner  of  peaceful  men  to  be  very  bold 
when  the  danger  is  over,  they  were  abundantly  fierce  and 
daring  ;  not  scrupling  to  question  the  stoutest  passenger 
with  great  severity,  and  carrying  it  with  a  very  high  hand 
over  all  errand-boys,  servant-girls,  and  'prentices. 

As  day  deepened  into  evening,  and  darkness  crept  mto 
the  nooks  and  corners  of  the  town,  and  as  if  it  were  mustermg  m 
secret  and  gathering  strength  to  venture  into  the  open  ways, 
Barnaby  sat  in  his  dungeon,  wondering  at  the  silence,  and 
listening  in  vain  for  the  noise  and  outcry  which  had  ushered 
in  the  night  of  late.  Beside  him,  with  his  hand  in  hers,  sat 
one  in  whose  companionship  he  felt  at  peace.  She  was  worn, 
and  altered,  full  of  grief,  and  heavy-hearted  ;  but  the  same 
to  him. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  after  a  long  silence  •,  '  now   long— how 
many  days  and  nights— shall  I  be  kept  here  ?  " 
"  Not  many,  dear.     I  hope  not  many." 
"You  hope  !     Ay,  but  your  hoping  will   not  undo   these 
chains.     I  hope,  but  they  don't  mind  that.     Grip  hopes,  but 
who  cares  for  Grip  ? "  i       t        -^ 

The  raven  gave  a  short,  dull,  melancholy  croak.  ^.  It  said 
"  Nobody,"  as  plainly  as  a  croak  could  speak. 

"  Who  cares  for  Grip,  except  you  and  me  ?  "  said  Barnaoy, 
smoothing  the  bird's  rumpled  feathers  with  his  hands. 
"  He  never  speaks  in  this  place  ;  he  never  says  a  word  in 
jail  •  he  sits  and  mopes  all  day  in  his  dark  corner,  dozing 
sometimes,  and  sometimes  looking  at  the  light  that  creeps  m 
through  the  bars,  and  shines  in  his  bright  eye  as  if  a  spark 
from  "those  great  hres  had  fallen  into  the  room  and  was 
burning  yet.  But  who  cares  for  Grip  ?  " 
The  raven  croaked  again — Nobody. 

''  And  by  the  way,"  said  Barnaby,  withdrawing  his  hand 
from  the  bird,  and  laying  it  upon  his  mother's  arm,  as  he 
looked  eagerly  in  her  face  :  ^' if  they  kill  me— they  may— I 
heard  it  said  they  would— what  will  become  of  Grip  when 

I  am  dead  ?  "  ^  ■,  •  .u       i,^ 

The  sound  of  the  word,  or  the  current  of  his  own  thoughts, 
suggested  to  Grip  his  old  phrase  "  Never  say  die  !  But  he 
stopped  short  in  the  middle  of  it,  drew  a  dismal  cork,  and 
subsided  into  a  faint  croak,  as  if  he  lacked  the  heart  to  get 
through  the  shortest  sentence. 


546  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"Will  they  take  his  life  as  well  as  mine  ?  "  said  Barnaby. 
"  I  wish  they  would.  If  you  and  I  and  he  could  die  together, 
there  would  be  none  to  feel  sorry,  or  to  grieve  for  us.  But 
do  what  they  will,  I  don't  fear  them,  mother  !  " 

"  They  will  not  harm  you,"  she  said,  her  tears  choking  her 
utterance.  *'  They  never  will  harm  you,  when  they  know  all. 
I  am  sure  they  never  will." 

*'  Oh  !  don't  be  too  sure  of  that,"  cried  Barnaby,  with  a 
strange  pleasure  in  the  belief  that  she  was  self-deceived,  and 
in  his  own  sagacity.  *'  They  have  marked  me  from  the  first. 
I  heard  them  say  so  to  each  other  when  they  brought  me  to 
this  place  last  night  ;  and  I  believe  them.  Don't  you  cry 
for  me.  They  said  that  I  was  bold,  and  so  I  am,  and  so  I 
will  be.  You  may  think  that  I  am  silly,  but  I  can  die  as 
well  as  another — I  have  done  no  harm,  have  I  ? "  he  added 
quickly. 

"  None  before  heaven,"  she  answered. 

"Why  then,"  said  Barnaby,  'Met  them  do  their  worst. 
You  told  me  once — you — when  I  asked  you  what  death 
meant,  that  it  was  nothing  to  be  feared,  if  we  did  no  harm 
— Aha  !  mother,  you  thought  I  had  forgotten  that  !  " 

His  merry  laugh  and  playful  manner  smote  her  to  the 
heart.  She  drew  him  closer  to  her,  and  besought  him  to 
talk  to  her  in  whispers  and  to  be  very  quiet,  for  it  was  get- 
ting dark,  and  their  time  was  short,  and  she  would  soon  have 
to  leave  him  for  the  night. 

"  You  will  come  to-morrow  ?  "  said  Barnaby. 

Yes.     And  every  day.     And  they  would  never  part  again. 

He  joyfully  replied  that  this  was  well,  and  what  he  wished, 
and  what  he  had  felt  quite  certain  she  would  tell  him  ;  and 
then  he  asked  her  where  she  had  been  so  long,  and  why  she 
had  not  come  to  see  him  when  he  had  been  a  great  soldier, 
and  ran  through  the  wild  schemes  he  had  had  for  their  being 
rich  and  living  prosperously,  and  with  some  faint  notion  in 
his  mind  that  she  was  sad  and  he  had  made  her  so,  tried  to 
console  and  comfort  her,  and  talked  of  their  former  life  and 
his  old  sports  and  freedom  :  little  dreaming  that  every  word 
he  uttered  only  increased  her  sorrow,  and  that  her  tears  fell 
faster  at  the  freshened  recollection  of  their  lost  tranquillity. 

"  Mother,"  said  Barnaby,  as  they  heard  the  man  ap- 
proaching to  close  the  cells  for  the  night,  "  when  I  spoke  to 
you  just  now  about  my  father  you  cried  '  Hush  ! '  and  turned 
away  your  head.  Why  did  you  do  so  ?  Tell  me  why,  in  a 
word.     You  thought  he  was  dead.     You  are  not  sorry  that 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  547 

he   is  alive  and    has    come    back  to  us.     Where    is   he  V 
Here?" 

'*  Do  not  ask  any  one  where  he  is,  or  speak  about  him," 
she  made  answer. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  said  Barnaby.  "  Because  he  is  a  stern  man 
and  talks  roughly  ?  Well  !  I  don't  like  him,  or  want  to  be 
with  him  by  myself  ;  but  why  not  speak  about  him  ?  " 

"  Because  I  am  sorry  that  he  is  alive  ;  sorry  that  he  has 
come  back  ;  and  sorry  that  he  and  you  have  ever  met.  Be- 
cause, dear  Barnaby,  the  endeavor  of  my  life  has  been  to 
keep  you  two  asunder." 

''  Father  and  son  asunder  !     Why  ? '" 

"  He  has,"  she  whispered  in  his  ear,  "  he  has  shed  blood. 
The  time  has  come  when  you  must  know  it.  He  has  shed 
the  blood  of  one  who  loved  him  well,  and  trusted  him,  and 
never  did  him  wrong  in  word  or  deed." 

Barnaby  recoiled  in  horror,  and  glancing  at  his  stained 
wrist  for  an  instant,  wrapped  it,  shuddering,  in  his  dress. 

"  But,"  she  added  hastily,  as  the  key  turned  in  the  lock, 
"  although  we  shun  him,  he  is  your  father,  dearest,  and  I  am 
his  wretched  wife.  They  seek  his  life,  and  he  will  lose  it. 
It  must  not  be  by  our  means  ;  nay,  if  we  could  win  him  back 
to  penitence,  we  should  be  bound  to  love  him  yet.  Do  not 
seem  to  know  him,  except  as  one  who  fled  with  you  from  the 
jail,  and  if  they  question  you  about  him,  do  not  answer  them. 
God  be  with  you  through  the  night,  dear  boy  !  God  be  with 
you  !  " 

She  tore  herself  away,  and  in  a  few  seconds  Barnaby  was 
alone.  He  stood  for  a  long  time  rooted  to  the  spot,  with  his 
face  hidden  in  his  hands  ;  then  flung  himself,  sobbing,  on  his 
miserable  bed. 

But  the  moon  came  slowly  up  in  all  her  gentle  glory,  and 
the  stars  looked  out,  and  through  the  small  compass  of  the 
grated  window,  as  through  the  narrow  crevice  of  one  good 
deed  in  a  murky  life  of  guilt,  the  face  of  heaven  shone  bright 
and  merciful.  He  raised  his  head  ;  gazed  upward  at  the 
quiet  sky,  which  seemed  to  smile  upon  the  earth  in  sadness, 
as  if  the  night,  more  thoughtful  than  the  day,  looked  down 
in  sorrow  on  the  sufferings  and  evil  deeds  of  men  ;  and  felt 
its  peace  sink  deep  into  his  heart.  He,  a  poor  idiot,  caged 
in  his  narrow  cell,  was  as  much  lifted  up  to  God,  while  gaz- 
ing on  the  mild  light,  as  the  freest  and  most  favored  man  in 
all  the  spacious  city  ;  and  in  his  ill-remembered  prayer,  and 
in  the  fragment  of  the  childish  hymn,  with  which  he  sung 


548  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

and  crooned  himself  asleep,  there  breathed  as  true  a  spirit 
as  ever  studied  homily  expressed,  or  old  cathedral  arches 
echoed. 

As  his  mother  crossed  the  yard  on  her  way  out,  she  saw, 
through  a  grated  door  which  separated  it  from  another  court, 
her  husband,  walking  round  and  round,  with  his  hands  folded 
on  his  breast,  and  his  head  hung  down.  She  asked  the  man 
who  conducted  her,  if  she  might  speak  a  word  with  the  pris- 
oner. Yes,  but  she  must  be  quick,  for  he  was  locking  up  for 
the  night,  and  there  was  but  a  minute  or  so  to  spare.  Saying 
this,  he  unlocked  the  door,  and  bade  her  go  in. 

It  grated  harshly  as  it  turned  upon  its  hinges,  but  he  was 
deaf  to  the  noise,  and  still  walked  round  and  round  the  little 
court,  without  raising  his  head  or  changing  his  attitude  in 
the  least.  She  spoke  to  him,  but  her  voice  was  weak,  and 
failed  her.  At  length  she  put  herself  in  his  track,  and  when 
he  came  near,  stretched  out  her  hand  and  touched  him. 

He  started  backward,  trembling  from  head  to  foot  ;  but 
seeing  who  it  was,  demanded  why  she  came  there.  Before 
she  could  reply  he  spoke  again, 

"  Am  I  to  live  or  die }     Do  you  murder  too,  or  spare  ?  " 

*'  My  son — our  son,"  she  answered,  *'is  in  this  prison," 

"  What  is  that  to  me  ? "  he  cried,  stamping  impatiently  on 
the  stone  pavement,  "  I  know  it.  He  can  no  more  aid  me 
than  I  can  aid  him.    If  you  are  come  to  talk  of  him,  begone  !  " 

As  he  spoke  he  resumed  his  walk,  and  hurried  round  the 
court  as  before.  When  he  came  again  to  where  she  stood,  he 
stopped,  and  said  : 

"  Am  I  to  live  or  die  ?     Do  you  repent  ?  " 

"  Oh  ! — do  you-  ?  "  she  answered.  *'  Will  you,  while  time 
remains  ?     Do  not  believe  that  I  could  save  you,  if  I  dared." 

''  Say  if  you  would,"  he  answered  with  an  oath,  as  he  tried 
to  disengage  himself  and  pass  on.     ''  Say  if  you  would." 

"  Listen  to  me  for  one  moment,"  she  returned  ;  *'  for  but  a 
moment.  I  am  but  newly  risen  from  a  sick  bed,  from  which 
I  never  hoped  to  rise  again.  The  best  among  us  think,  at 
such  a  time,  of  good  intentions  half  performed  and  duties 
left  undone.  If  I  have  ever,  since  that  fatal  night,  omitted 
to  pray  for  your  repentance  before  death — if  I  omitted, 
even  then,  any  thing  which  might  tend  to  urge  it  on  you  when 
the  horror  of  your  crime  was  fresh — if,  in  our  later  meeting 
I  yielded  to  the  dread  that  was  upon  me,  and  forgot  to  fall 
upon  my  knees  and  solemnly  adjure  you  in  the  name  of  him 
you  sent  to  his  account  with  heaven,  to  prepare  for   the 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  549 

retribution  which  must  come,  and  which  is  stealing  on  you 
now — I  humbly  before  you,  and  in  the  agony  of  supplication 
in  which  you  see  me,  beseech  that  you  will  let  me  make 
atonement." 

"What  is  the  meaning  of  your  canting  words  ?"  he  an- 
swered roughly.     *'  Speak  so  that  I  may  understand  you." 

"  I  will,"  she  answered,  "  I  desire  to.  Bear  with  me  for  a 
moment  more.  The  hand  of  Him  who  set  His  curse  on  mur- 
der, is  heavy  on  us  now.  You  can  not  doubt  it.  Our  son, 
our  innocent  boy,  on  whom  His  anger  fell  before  his  birth, 
is  in  this  place  in  peril  of  his  life — brought  here  by  your  guilt ; 
yes,  by  that  alone,  as  heaven  sees  and  knows,  for  he  has 
been  led  astray  in  the  darkness  of  his  intellect,  and  that  is  the 
terrible  consequence  of  your  crime." 

''  If  you  come,  woman-like,  to  load  me  with  reproaches — " 
he  muttered,  again  endeavoring  to  break  away. 

"  I  do  not.  I  have  a  different  purpose.  You  must  hear 
it.  If  not  to-night,  to-morrow  ;  if  not  to-morrow,  at  another 
time.  You  must  hear  it.  Husband,  escape  is  hopeless — 
impossible." 

"  You  tell  me  so,  do  you  ?  "  he  said,  raising  his  manacled 
hand,  and  shaking  it.     **  You  !  " 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  with  indescribable  earnestness.  "  But 
why  ? " 

"  To  make  me  easy  in  this  jail.  To  make  the  time  'twixt 
this  and  death  pass  pleasantly.  For  my  good — yes,  for  my 
good,  of  course,"  he  said,  grinding  his  teeth,  and  smiling  at 
her  with  a  livid  face. 

"  Not  to  load  you  with  reproaches,"  she  replied  ;  "  not  to 
aggravate  the  tortures  and  miseries  of  your  condition,  not 
to  give  you  one  hard  word,  but  to  restore  you  to  peace  and 
hope.  Husband,  dear  husband,  if  you  will  but  confess  this 
dreadful  crime  ;  if  you  will  but  implore  forgiveness  of  heaven 
and  of  those  whom  you  have  wronged  on  earth  ;  if  you  will 
dismiss  these  vain  uneasy  thoughts,  which  never  can  be  real- 
ized, and  will  rely  on  penitence  and  on  the  truth,  I  promise 
you,  in  the  great  name  of  the  Creator,  whose  image  you  have 
defaced,  that  He  will  comfort  and  console  you.  And  for 
myself,"  she  cried,  clasping  her  hands,  and  looking  upward, 
"  I  swear  before  Him,  as  He  knows  my  heart  and  reads  it 
now,  that  from  that  hour  I  will  love  and  cherish  you  as  I  did 
of  old,  and  watch  you  night  and  day  in  the  short  interval 
that  will  remain  to  us,  and  soothe  you  with  my  truest  love 
and  duty,  and  pray  with  you,  that  one  threatening  judgment 


550  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

may  be  arrested,  and  that  our  boy  may  be  spared  to  bless 
God,  in  his  poor  way,  in  the  free  air  and  light  !  " 

He  fell  back  and  gazed  at  her  while  she  poured  out  these 
words,  as  though  he  were  for  a  moment  awed  by  her  man- 
ner, and  knew  not  what  to  do.  But  anger  and  fear  soon  got 
the  mastery  of  him,  and  he  spurned  her  from  him. 

"  Begone  !  "  he  cried.  "  Leave  me  !  You  plot,  do  you  ! 
You  plot  to  get  speech  with  me,  and  let  them  know  I  am  the 
man  they  say  I  am.     A  curse  on  you  and  on  your  boy." 

"  On  him  the  curse  has  already  fallen,"  she  replied,  wring- 
ing her  hands. 

**  Let  it  fall  heavier.  Let  it  fall  on  one  and  all.  I  hate 
you  both.  The  worst  has  come  to  me.  The  only  comfort 
that  I  seek  or  I  can  have,  will  be  the  knowledge  that  it 
comes  to  you.     Now  go  !  " 

She  would  have  urged  him  gently,  even  then,  but  he  men- 
aced her  with  his  chain. 

"  I  say  go — I  say  it  for  the  last  time.  The  gallows  has  me 
in  its  grasp,  and  it  is  a  black  phantom  that  may  urge  me  on 
to  something  more.  Begone  !  I  curse  the  hour  that  I  was 
born,  the  man  I  slew,  and  all  the  living  world  !  " 

In  a  paroxysm  of  wrath,  and  terror,  and  the  fear  of  death, 
he  broke  from  her,  and  rushed  into  the  darkness  of  his 
cell,  where  he  cast  himself  jangling  down  upon  the  stone 
floor,  and  smote  it  with  his  iron  hands.  The  man  returned 
to  lock  the  dungeon  door,  and  having  done  so,  carried  her 
away. 

On  that  warm,  balmy  night  in  June,  there  were  glad  faces 
and  light  hearts  in  all  quarters  of  the  town,  and  sleep,  ban- 
ished by  the  late  horrors,  was  doubly  welcomed.  On  that 
night,  families  made  merry  in  their  houses,  and  greeted  each 
other  on  the  common  danger  they  had  escaped  ;  and  those 
who  had  been  denounced  ventured  into  the  streets  ;  and 
they  who  had  been  plundered  got  good  shelter.  Even  the 
timorous  lord  mayor,  who  was  summoned  that  night  before 
the  privy  council  to  answer  for  his  conduct,  came  back  con- 
tented ;  observing  to  all  his  friends  that  he  had  got  off  very 
well  with  a  reprimand,  and  repeating  with  huge  satisfaction 
his  memorable  defense  before  the  council,  "  That  such  was 
his  temerity,  he  thought  death  would  have  been  his  por- 
tion." 

On  that  night,  too,  more  of  the  scattered  remnants  of  the 
mob  were  traced  to  their  lurking-places,  and  taken  ;  and  in 
the  hospitals,  and  deep  among  the  ruins  they  had  made,  and 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  551 

in  the  ditches,  and  fields,  many  unshrouded  wretches  lay 
dead  :  envied  by  those  who  had  been  active  in  the  disturb- 
ances, and  who  pillowed  their  doomed  heads  in  the  tempo- 
rary jails. 

And  in  the  Tower,  in  a  dreary  room  whose  thick  stone  walls 
shut  out  the  hum  of  life,  and  made  a  stillness  which  the 
records  left  by  former  prisoners  with  those  silent  witnesses 
seemed  to  deepen  and  intensify  ;  remorseful  for  every  act 
that  had  been  done  by  every  man  among  the  cruel  crowd  ; 
feeling  for  the  time  their  guilt  his  own,  and  their  lives  put  in 
peril  by  himself  ;  and  finding,  amid  such  reflections,  little 
comfort  in  fanaticism,  or  in  his  fancied  call  ;  sat  the 
unhappy  author  of  all — Lord  George  Gordon. 

He  had  been  made  prisoner  that  evening.  "  If  you  are 
sure  it's  me  you  want,"  he  said  to  the  officers,  who  waited 
outside  with  the  warrant  for  his  arrest  on  a  charge  of  high 
treason,  "  I  am  ready  to  accompany  you — "  which  he  did 
without  resistance.  He  was  conducted  first  before  the  privy 
council,  and  afterward  to  the  Horse  Guards,  and  then  was 
taken  by  way  of  Westminster  Bridge,  and  back  over  London 
Bridge  (for  the  purpose  of  avoiding  the  main  streets),  to  the 
Tower,  under  the  strongest  guard  ever  known  to  enter  its 
gates  with  a  single  prisoner. 

Of  all  his  forty  thousand  men,  not  one  remained  to  bear 
him  company.  Friends,  dependents,  followers — none  were 
there.  His  fawning  secretary  had  played  the  traitor  ;  and 
he  whose  weakness  had  been  goaded  and  urged  on  b-  so 
many  for  their  own  purposes,  was  desolate  and  alone. 


CHAPTER    LXXIV. 

Mr.  Dennis,  having  been  made  prisonor  late  in  the  even- 
ing, was  removed  to  a  neighboring  round-house  for  that 
night,  and  carried  before  a  justice  for  examination  the  next 
day,  Saturday.  The  charges  against  him  being  numerous 
and  weighty,  and  it  being  in  particular  proved,  by  the  testi- 
mony of  Gabriel  Varden,  that  he  had  shown  a  special  de- 
sire to  take  his  life,  he  was  committed  for  trial.  Moreover, 
he  was  honored  with  the  distinction  of  being  considered  a 
chief  among  the  insurgents,  and  received  from  the  magis- 
trate's lips  the  complimentary  assurance  that  he  was  in  a 
position  of  danger,  and  would  do  well  to  prepare  himself  for 
the  worst. 


552  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

To  say  that  Mr.  Dennis's  modesty  was  not  somewhat  start- 
led by  these  honors,  or  that  he  was  altogether  prepared  for 
so  flattering  a  reception,  would  be  to  claim  for  him  a  greater 
amount  of  stoical  philosophy  than  even  he  possessed.  In- 
deed this  gentleman's  stoicism  was  of  that  not  uncommon 
kind,  which  enables  a  man  to  bear  with  exemplary  fortitude 
the  affliction  of  his  friends,  but  renders  him,  by  way  of  coun- 
terpoise, rather  selfish  and  sensitive  in  respect  of  any  that 
happen  to  befall  himself.  It  is  therefore  no  disparagement 
to  the  great  officer  in  question  to  state,  without  disguise  or 
concealment,  that  he  was  at  first  very  much  alarmed,  and 
that  he  betrayed  divers  emotions  of  fear,  until  his  reasoning 
powers  came  to  his  relief,  and  set  before  him  a  more  hope- 
ful prospect. 

In  proportion  as  Mr.  Dennis  exercised  these  intellectual 
qualities  with  which  he  was  gifted,  in  reviewing  his  best 
chances  of  coming  off  handsomely  and  with  small  personal 
inconvenience,  his  spirits  rose,  and  his  confidence  in- 
creased. When  he  remembered  the  great  estimation  in 
which  his  office  was  held,  and  the  constant  demand  for  his 
services  ;  when  he  bethought  himself,  how  the  statute  book 
regarded  him  as  a  kind  of  universal  medicine  applicable  to 
men,  women,  and  children,  of  every  age  and  variety  of  crim- 
inal constitution  ;  and  how  high  he  stood,  in  his  official 
capacity,  in  the  favor  of  the  crown,  and  both  houses  of 
parliament,  the  Mint,  the  Bank  of  England,  and  the  judges 
of  the  land  ;  when  he  recollected  that  whatever  ministry 
was  in  or  out,  he  remained  their  peculiar  pet  and  panacea, 
and  that  for  his  sake  England  stood  single  and  conspicuous 
among  the  civilized  nations  of  the  earth  :  when  he  called 
these  things  to  mind  and  dwelt  upon  them,  he  felt  certain 
that  the  national  gratitude  must  relieve  him  from  the  conse- 
quences of  his  late  proceedings,  and  would  certainly  restore 
him  to  his  old  place  in  the  happy  social  system. 

With  these  crumbs,  or  as  one  may  say,  with  these  whole 
loaves  of  comfort  to  regale  upon,  Mr.  Dennis  took  his  place 
among  the  escort  that  awaited  him,  and  repaired  to  jail 
with  a  manly  indifference.  Arriving  at  Newgate,  where 
some  of  the  ruined  cells  had  been  hastily  fitted  up  for  the 
safe  keeping  of  rioters,  he  was  warmly  received  by  the 
turnkeys,  as  an  unusual  and  interesting  case,  which  agreea- 
bly relieved  their  monotonous  duties.  In  this  spirit,  he  was 
fettered  with  great  care,  and  conveyed  to  the  interior  of  the 
prison. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  553 

"  Brother,"  cried  the  hangman,  as,  following  an  officer,  he 
traversed  under  these  novel  circumstances  the  remains  of 
passages  with  which  he  was  well  acquainted,  ''  am  I  going 
to  be  along  with  any  body  ?  " 

"  If  you'd  left  me  more  walls  standing,  you'd  have  been 
alone,"  was  the  reply.  ''  As  it  is,  we're  cramped  for  room, 
and  you'll  have  company." 

"  Well,"  returned  Dennis,  "  I  don't  object  to  company, 
brother.  I  rather  like  company.  I  was  formed  for  society, 
I. was." 

"That's  rather  a  pity,  an't  it  ?"  said  the  man. 

''  No,"  answered  Dennis,  "  I'm  not  aware  that  it  is.  Why 
should  it  be  a  pity,  brother  ?  " 

''  Oh  !  I  don't  know,"  said  the  man  carelessly.  "  I  thought 
that  was  what  you  meant.  Being  formed  for  society,  and 
being  cut  off  in  your  flower,  you  know — — " 

"  I  say,"  interposed  the  other  quickly,  "  what  are  you  talk- 
ing of  ?     Who's  a-going  to  be  cut  off  in  their  flowers  ?" 

"  Oh,  nobody  particular.  I  thought  you  was,  perhaps," 
said  the  man. 

Mr.  Dennis  wiped  his  face,  which  had  suddenly  grown 
very  hot,  and  remarking  in  a  tremulous  voice  to  his  con- 
ductor that  he  had  always  been  fond  of  his  joke,  followed 
him  in  silence  until  he  stopped  at  a  door. 

"  This  is  my  quarters,  is  it  ? "  he  asked  facetiously. 

"This  is  the  shop,  sir,"  replied  his  friend. 

He  was  walking  in,  but  not  with  the  best  possible  grace, 
when  he  suddenly  stopped,  and  started  back. 

"  Halloo  !  "  said  the  officer.     "  You're  nervous." 

"  Nervous  !  "  whispered  Dennis,  in  great  alarm.  "  Well  I 
may  be.     Shut  the  door." 

"  I  will,  when  you're  in,"  returned  the  man. 

"  But  I  can't  go  in  there,"  whispered  Dennis.  "  I  can't 
be  shut  up  with  that  man.  Do  you  want  me  to  be  throttled, 
brother  ? " 

The  officer  seemed  to  entertain  no  particular  desire  on 
the  subject  one  way  or  other,  but  briefly  remarking  that  he 
had  his  orders,  and  intended  to  obey  them,  pushed  him  in, 
turned  the  key,  and  retired. 

Dennis  stood  trembling  with  his  back  against  the  door, 
and  involuntarily  raising  his  arm  to  defend  himself,  stared 
at  a  man,  the  only  other  tenant  of  the  cell,  who  lay,  stretched 
at  his  full  length,  upon  a  stone  bench,  and  who  paused  in 
his   deep  breathing   as  if  he  were  about  to  wake.     But  he 


554  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

rolled  over  on  one  side,  let  his  arm  fall  negligently  down, 
drew  a  long  sigh,  and  murmuring  indistinctly,  fell  fast  asleep 
again. 

Relieved  in  some  degree  by  this,  the  hangman  took  his 
eyes  for  an  instant  from  the  slumbering  figure,  and  glanced 
round  the  cell  in  search  of  some  'vantage-ground  or  weapon 
of  defense.  There  was  nothing  movable  within  it,  but  a 
clumsy  table  which  could  not  be  displaced  without  noise, 
and  a  heavy  chair.  Stealing  on  tiptoe  toward  this  latter 
piece  of  furniture,  he  retired  with  it  into  the  remotest  corner, 
and  intrenching  himself  behind  it,  watched  the  enemy  with 
the  utmost  vigilance  and  caution. 

The  sleeping  man  was  Hugh  ;  and  perhaps  it  was  not 
unnatural  for  Dennis  to  feel  in  a  state  of  very  uncomforta- 
ble suspense,  and  to  wish  with  his  whole  soul  that  he  might 
never  wake  again.  Tired  of  standing,  he  crouched  down  in 
his  corner  after  some  time,  and  rested  on  the  cold  pave- 
ment ;  but  although  Hugh's  breathing  still  proclaimed  that 
he  was  sleeping  soundly,  he  could  not  trust  him  out  of  his 
sight  for  an  instant.  He  was  so  afraid  of  him,  and  of  some 
sudden  onslaught,  that  he  was  not  content  to  see  his  closed 
eyes  through  the  chair-back,  but  every  now  and  then  rose 
stealthily  to  his  feet,  and  peered  at  him  with  outstretched 
neck,  to  assure  himself  that  he  really  was  still  asleep, 
and  was  not  about  to  spring  upon  him  when  he  was  off 
his  guard. 

He  slept  so  long  and  so  soundly,  that  Mr.  Dennis  began 
to  think  he  might  sleep  on  until  the  turnkey  visited  them. 
He  was  congratulating  himself  upon  these  promising  appear- 
ances, and  blessing  his  stars  with  much  fervor,  when  one  or 
two  unpleasant  symptoms  manifested  themselves  ;  such  as 
another  motion  of  the  arm,  another  sigh,  a  restless  tossing 
of  the  head.  Then,  just  as  it  seemed  that  he  was  about  to 
fall  heavily  to  the  ground  from  his  narrow  bed,  Hugh's 
eyes  opened. 

It  happened  that  his  face  was  turned  directly  toward  his 
unexpected  visitor.  He  looked  lazily  at  him  for  some  half- 
dozen  seconds  without  any  aspect  of  surprise  or  recogni- 
tion ;  then  suddenly  jumped  up,  and  with  a  great  oath  pro- 
nounced his  name. 

"  Keep  off,  brother,  keep  off !  "  cried  Dennis,  dodging  be- 
hind the  chair.  "  Don't  do  me  a  mischief.  I'm  a  prisoner 
like  you.  I  haven't  the  free  use  of  my  limbs.  I'm  quite  an 
old  man.     Don't  hurt  me  !  " 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  555 

He  whined  out  the  last  three  words  in  such  piteous  ac- 
cents, that  Hugh,  who  had  dragged  away  the  chair,  and 
aimed  a  blow  at  him  with  it,  checked  himself,  and  bade  him 
get  up. 

"  I'll  get  up  certainly,  brother,"  cried  Dennis,  anxious  to 
propitiate  him  by  any  means  in  his  power.  ''  I'll  comply 
with  any  request  of  yours,  I'm  sure.  There — I'm  up  now. 
What  can  I  do  for  you  ?     Only  say  the  word,  and  I'll  do  it." 

"What  can  you  do  for  me  !  "  cried  Hugh,  clutching  him 
by  the  collar  with  both  hands,  and  shaking  him  as  though 
he  were  bent  on  stopping  his  breath  by  that  means.  "  What 
have  you  done  for  me  ? " 

''  The  best.  The  best  that  could  be  done,"  returned  the 
hangman. 

Hugh  made  him  no  answer,  but  shaking  him  in  his  strong 
gripe  until  his  teeth  chattered  in  his  head,  cast  him  down 
upon  the  floor,  and  flung  himself  on  the  bench  again. 

"  If  it  wasn't  for  the  comfort  it  is  to  me,  to  see  you 
here,"  he  muttered,  "  I'd  have  crushed  your  head  against 
it  ;  I  would." 

It  was  some  time  before  Dennis  had  breath  enough  to 
speak,  but  as  soon  as  he  could  resume  his  propitiatory  strain, 
he  did  so. 

"  I  did  the  best  that  could  be  done,  brother,"  he  whined  ; 
"  I  did  indeed.  I  was  forced  with  two  bayonets  and  I  don't 
know  how  many  bullets  on  each  side  of  me,  to  point  you  out. 
If  you  hadn't  been  taken,  you'd  have  been  shot ;  and  what  a 
sight  that  would  have  been — a  fine  young  man  like  you  ! " 

"  Will  it  be  a  better  sight  now  ?  "  asked  Hugh,  raising  his 
head,  with  such  a  fierce  expression,  that  the  other  durst  not 
answer  him  just  then. 

"  A  deal  better,"  said  Dennis  meekly,  after  a  pause. 
''  First,  there's  all  the  chances  of  the  law  and  they're  five 
hundred  strong.  We  may  get  off  scott-free.  Unlikelier 
things  than  that  have  come  to  pass.  Even  if  we  shouldn't, 
and  the  chances  fail,  we  can  but  be  worked  off  at  once  ;  and 
when  it's  well  done,  it's  so  neat,  so  skillful,  so  captiwating,  if 
that  don't  seem  too  strong  a  word,  that  you'd  hardly  believe 
it  could  be  brought  to  sich  perfection.  Kill  one's  fellow- 
creaturs  off  with  muskets  !— Pah  ! "  and  his  nature  so  re- 
volted at  the  bare  idea,  that  he  spat  upon  the  dungeon  pave- 
ment.  .       ,     .  , 

His  warming  on  this  topic,  which  to  one  unacquainted  with 
his  pursuits  and  tastes  appeared  like  courage  ;  together  with 


556  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

his  artful  suppression  of  his  own  secret  hopes,  and  mention 
of  himself  as  being  in  the  same  condition  with  Hugh  ;  did 
more  to  soothe  that  ruffian  than  the  most  elaborate  argu- 
ments could  have  done,  or  the  most  abject  submission.  He 
rested  his  arms  upon  his  knees,  and  stooping  forward,  looked 
from  beneath  his  shaggy  hair  at  Dennis,  with  something  of 
a  smile  upon  his  face. 

"  The  fact  is,  brother,"  said  the  hangman,  in  a  tone  of 
greater  confidence,  "  that  you  have  got  into  bad  company. 
The  man  that  was  with  you  was  looked  after  more  than  you. 
It  was  him  I  wanted.  As  to  me,  what  have  I  got  by  it? 
Here  we  are,  in  one  and  the  same  plight." 

"  Look'ee,  rascal,"  said  Hugh,  contracting  his  brow,  **  I'm 
not  altogether  such  a  shallow  blade  but  I  know  you  ex- 
pected to  get  something  by  it,  or  you  wouldn't  have  done  it. 
But  it's  done,  and  you're  here,  and  it  will  soon  be  all  over 
with  you  and  me  ;  and  I'd  as  soon  die  as  live,  or  live  as  die. 
Why  should  I  trouble  myself  to  have  revenge  on  you  ?  To 
eat,  and  drink,  and  go  to  sleep  as  long  as  I  stay  here,  is  all 
I  care  for.  If  there  was  but  a  little  more  sun  to  bask  in, 
than  can  find  its  way  into  this  cursed  place,  I'd  lie  in  it  all 
day,  and  not  trouble  myself  to  sit  or  stand  up  once.  That's 
all  the  care  I  have  for  myself.    Why  should  I  care  (or  jou .?" 

Finishing  this  speech  with  a  growl  like  the  yawn  of  a  wild 
beast,  he  stretched  himself  upon  the  bench  again,  and  closed 
his  eyes  once  more. 

After  looking  at  him  in  silence  for  some  moments,  Dennis, 
who  was  greatly  relieved  to  find  him  in  this  mood,  drew  the 
chair  toward  his  rough  couch  and  sat  down  near  him — 
taking  the  precaution,  however,  to  keep  out  of  the  range  of 
his  brawny  arm. 

**  Well  said,  brother  ;  nothing  could  be  better  said,"  he 
ventured  to  observe.  "  We'll  eat  and  drink  of  the  best,  and 
sleep  our  best,  and  make  the  best  of  it  every  way.  Any  thing 
can  be  got  for  money.     Let's  spend  it  merrily." 

"Ay,"  said  Hugh,  coiling  himself  into  a  new  position. 
*' Where  is  it?" 

''  Why,  they  took  mine  from  me  at  the  lodge,"  said  Mr. 
Dennis  ;  "  but  mine's  a  peculiar  case." 

"  Is  it  ?     They  took  mine,  too." 

"  Why  then,  I  tell  you  what,  brother,"  Dennis  beganc 
"You  must  look  up  your  friends — " 

"  My  friends  ?  "  cried  Hugh,  starting  up  and  resting  on 
his  hands.     "  Where  are  my  friends  ?  " 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  557 

'*  Your  relations  then,"  said  Dennis. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  "  laughed  Hugh,  waving  one  arm  above  his 
head.  "  He  talks  of  friends  to  me — talks  of  relations  to  a 
man  whose  mother  died  the  death  in  store  for  her  son,  and 
left  him  a  hungry  brat,  without  a  face  he  knew  in  all  the 
world  !     He  talks  of  this  to  me  !  " 

"  Brother,"  cried  the  hangman,  whose  features  underwent 
a  sudden  change,  "  you  don't  mean  to  say — " 

"  I  mean  to  say,"  Hugh  interposed,  ''  that  they  hung  her 
up  at  Tyburn.  What  was  good  enough  for  her,  is  good 
enough  for  me.  Let  them  do  the  like  by  me  as  soon  as 
they  please — the  sooner  the  better.  Say  no  more  to  me. 
I'm  going  to  sleep." 

''  But  I  want  to  speak  to  you  ;  I  want  to  hear  more  about 
that,"  said  Dennis,  changing  color. 

"  If  you're  a  wise  man,"  growled  Hugh,  raising  his  head 
to  look  at  him  with  a  frown,  "  you'll  hold  your  tongue.  I 
tell  you  I'm  going  to  sleep." 

Dennis  venturing  to  say  something  more  in  spite  of  this 
caution,  the  desperate  fellow  struck  at  him  with  all  his  force, 
and  missing  him,  lay  down  again  with  many  muttered  oaths 
and  imprecations,  and  turned  his  face  toward  the  wall.  After 
two  or  three  ineffectual  twitches  at  his  dress,  which  he  was 
hardy  enough  to  venture  upon,  notwithstanding  his  danger- 
ous humor,  Mr.  Dennis,  who  burned,  for  reasons  of  his  own, 
to  pursue  the  conversation,  had  no  alternative  but  to  sit  as 
patiently  as  he  could  ;  waiting  his  further  pleasure. 


CHAPTER  LXXV. 

A  month  has  elapsed — and  we  stand  in  the  bed-chamber 
of  Sir  John  Chester.  Through  the  half-opened  window,  the 
Temple  Garden  looks  green  and  pleasant  ;  the  placid  river, 
gay  with  boat  and  barge,  and  dimpled  with  the  plash  of 
many  an  oar,  sparkles  in  the  distance  ;  the  sky  is  blue  and 
clear  ;  and  the  summer  air  steals  gently  in,  filling  the  room 
with  perfume.  The  very  town,  the  smoky  town,  is  radiant. 
High  roofs  and  steeple-tops,  wont  to  look  black  and  sullen, 
smile  a  cheerful  gray  ;  every  old  gilded  vane,  and  ball,  and 
cross,  glitters  anew  in  the  bright  morning  sun  ;  and,  high 
among  them  all,  St.  Paul's  towers  up,  showing  its  lofty  crest 
in  burnished  gold. 

Sir  John  was  breakfasting  in  bed.     His  chocolate  and 


558  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

toast  stood  upon  a  little  table  at  his  elbow  ;  books  and  news- 
papers lay  ready  to  his  hand,  upon  the  coverlet  ;  and,  some- 
times pausing  to  glance  with  an  air  of  tranquil  satisfaction 
round  the  well-ordered  room,  and  sometimes  to  gaze  indo- 
lently at  the  summer  sky,  he  ate  and  drank,  and  read  the 
news  luxuriously. 

The  cheerful  influence  of  the  morning  seemed  to  have 
some  effect,  even  upon  his  equable  temper.  His  manner 
was  unusually  gay  ;  his  smile  more  placid  and  agreeable 
than  usual  ;  his  voice  more  clear  and  pleasant.  He  laid 
down  the  newspaper  he  had  been  reading  ;  leaned  back 
upon  his  pillow  with  the  air  of  one  who  resigned  himself  to  a 
train  of  charming  recollections  ;  and  after  a  pause,  solilo- 
quized as  follows  : 

"  And  my  friend  the  centaur  goes  the  way  of  his 
mamma  !  I  am  not  surprised.  And  his  mysterious  friend 
Mr.  Dennis,  likewise  !  I  am  not  surprised.  And  my  old 
postman,  the  exceedingly  free-and-easy  young  madman  of 
Chigwell !  I  am  quite  rejoiced.  It's  the  very  best  thing 
that  could  possibly  happen  to  him." 

After  delivering  himself  of  these  remarks,  he  fell  again  into 
his  smiling  train  of  reflection;  from  which  he  roused  him- 
self at  length  to  finish  its  chocolate,  which  was  getting  cold, 
and  ring  the  bell  for  more. 

The  new  supply  arriving,  he  took  the  cup  from  his  serv- 
ant's hand  ;  and  saying,  with  a  charming  affability,  *'  I  am 
obliged  to  you,  Peak,"  dismissed  him. 

"It  is  a  remarkable  circumstance,"  he  mused,  dallying 
lazily  with  the  tea-spoon,  ''  that  my  friend  the  madman 
should  have  been  within  an  ace  of  escaping,  on  his  trial ; 
and  it  was  a  good  stroke  of  chance  (or,  as  the  world  would 
say,  a  providential  occurrence)  that  the  brother  of  my  lord 
mayor  should  have  been  in  court,  with  other  country  jus- 
tices, into  whose  very  dense  heads  curiosity  had  penetrated. 
For  though  the  brother  of  my  lord  mayor  was  decidedly 
wrong  ;  and  established  his  near  relationship  to  that  amus- 
ing person  beyond  all  doubt,  in  stating  that  my  friend  was 
sane,  and  had,  to  his  knowledge,  wandered  about  the  coun- 
try with  a  vagabond  parent,  avowing  revolutionary  and  re- 
bellious sentiments  ;  I  am  not  the  less  obliged  to  him  for 
volunteering  that  evidence.  These  insane  creatures  make 
such  very  odd  and  embarrassing  remarks  that  they  really 
ought  to  be  hanged  for  the  comfort  of  society." 

The  country  justice  had  indeed  turned  the  wavering  scale 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  559 

against  poor  Bariiaby,  and  solved  the  doubt  that  trembled 
in  his  favor.  Grip  little  thought  how  much  he  had  to  an- 
swer for. 

*'  They  will  be  a  singular  party,"  said  Sir  John,  leaning 
his  head  upon  his  hand,  and  sipping  his  chocolate  ;  "  a  very 
curious  party.  The  hangman  himself  ;  the  centaur  ;  and 
the  madman.  The  centaur  would  make  a  very  handsome 
preparation  in  Surgeons'  Hall,  and  would  benefit  science  ex- 
tremely. I  hope  they  have  taken  care  to  bespeak  him. 
Peak,  I  am  not  at  home,  of  course,  to  any  body  but  the  hair- 
dresser." 

This  reminder  to  his  servant  was  called  forth  by  a  knock 
at  the  door  which  the  man  hastened  to  open.  After  ^fero- 
longcd  murmur  of  question  and  answer,  he  returned^ and 
as  he  cautiously  closed  the  room-door  behind  him,  a  man 
was  heard  to  cough  in  the  passage. 

"Now,  it  is  of  no  use.  Peak,"  said  Sir  John,  raising  his 
hand  in  deprecation  of  his  delivering  any  message  ;  "  I  am 
not  at  home.  I  can  not  possibly  hear  you.  I  told  you  1 
was  not  at  home,  and  my  word  is  sacred.  Will  you  never 
do  as  you  are  desired  ?  " 

Having  nothing  to  oppose  to  this  reproof,  the  man  was 
about  to  withdraw,  when  the  visitor  who  had  given  occasion 
to  it,  probably  rendered  impatient  by  delay,  knocked  with 
his  knuckles  at  the  chamber-door,  and  called  out  that 
he  had  urgent  business  with  Sir  John  Chester,  which  admit- 
ted of  no  delay. 

''  Let  him  in,"  said  Sir  John.  "  My  good  fellow,"  he 
added,  when  the  door  was  opened,  "  how  come  you  to  in- 
trude yourself  in  this  extraordinary  manner  upon  the  privacy 
of  a  gentleman  ?  How  can  you  be  so  wholly  destitute  of 
self-respect  as  to  be  guilty  of  such  remarkable  ill-breeding  ?  " 

"  My  business.  Sir  John,  is  not  of  a  common  kind,  1  do  as- 
sure you,"  returned  the  person  he  addressed.  "  If  I  have 
taken  any  uncommmon  course  to  get  admission  to  you,  I 
hope  I  shall  be  pardoned  on  that  account." 

"  Well  !  we  shall  see  ;  we  shall  see  ;  "  returned  Sir  John, 
whose  face  cleared  up  when  he  saw  who  it  was,  and  whose 
prepossessing  smile  was  now  restored.  "  I  am  sure  we  have 
met  before,"  he  added,  in  his  winning  tone,  "  but  really  I  for- 
get your  name  ? " 

**  My  name  is  Gabriel  Varden,  sir." 

"Varden,  of  course,  Varden,"  returned  Sir  John,  tapping 
his  forehead.     '"  Dear  me,  how  very  defective  my  memory 


56o  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

becomes  !     Varden  to  be  sure — Mr.  Varden  the  locksmith. 

You  have  a  charming  wife,  Mr.  Varden,  and  a  most  beauti- 
ful daughter.     They  are  well  ?  " 

Gabriel  thanked  him,  and  said  they  were. 

*'  I  rejoice  to  hear  it,"  said  Sir  John.  ''  Commend  me  to 
them  when  you  return,  and  say  that  I  wished  I  were  fortu- 
nate enough  to  convey,  myself,  the  salute  which  I  intrust 
you  to  deliver.  And  what,"  he  asked  very  sweetly,  after  a 
moment's  pause,  "can  I  do  for  you?  You  may  command 
me  freely." 

"  I  thank  you,  Sir  John,"  said  Gabriel,  with  some  pride  in 
his  manner,  "  but  I  have  come  to  ask  no  favor  of  you,  though 
I  come  on  business. — Private,"  he  added,  with  a  glance  at 
the  ttian  who  stood  looking  on,  "  and  very  pressing  busi- 
ness." 

"  I  can  not  say  you  are  the  more  welcome  for  being  inde- 
pendent, and  having  nothing  to  ask  of  me,"  returned  Sir 
John,  graciously,  '*  for  I  should  have  been  happy  to  render 
you  a  service  ;  still,  you  are  welcome  on  any  terms.  Oblige 
me  with  some  more  chocolate,  Peak,  and  don't  wait." 

The  man  retired,  and  left  them  alone. 

"  Sir  John,"  said  Gabriel,  *'  I  am  a  working-man,  and  have 
Ifeen  so,  all  my  life.  If  I  don't  prepare  enough  for  what  I 
have  to  tell ;  if  I  come  to  the  point  too  abruptly  ;  and  give 
you  a  shock,  which  a  gentleman  could  have  spared  you,  or 
at  all  events  lessened  very  much  ;  I  hope  you  will  give  me 
credit  for  meaning  well.  I  wish  to  be  careful  and  consid- 
erate, and  1  trust  that  in  a  straightforward  person  like  me, 
you'll  take  the  will  for  the  deed." 

''  Mr.  Varden,"  returned  the  other,  perfectly  composed 
under  this  exordium  ;  "  I  beg  you'll  take  a  chair.  Choco- 
late, perhaps,  you  don't  relish  ?  Well  !  it  ts  an  acquired 
taste,  no  doubt." 

"  Sir  John,"  said  Gabriel,  who  had  acknowledged  with  a 
bow  the  invitation  to  be  seated,  but  had  not  availed  himself 
of  it  ;  ''  Sir  John" — he  dropped  his  voice  and  drew  nearer 
to  the  bed — "  I  am  just  now  come  from  Newgate " 

"  Good  Gad  !  "  cried  Sir  John,  hastily  sitting  up  in  bed  ; 
**from  Newgate,  Mr.  Varden?  How  could  you  be  so  very 
imprudent  as  to  come  from  Newgate  !  Newgate,  where  there 
are  jail  fevers,  and  ragged  people,  and  barefooted  men  and 
women,  and  a  thousand  horrors  !  Peak,  bring  the  camphor 
quick  !  Heaven  and  earth,  Mr.  Varden,  my  dear,  good  soul, 
how  rc>f/l(i  you  come  from  Newgate  ?  " 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  561 

Gabriel  returned  no  answer,  but  looked  on  in  silence  while 
Peak  (who  had  entered  with  the  hot  chocolate)  ran  to  a 
drawer,  and  returning  with  a  bottle,  sprinkled  his  master's 
dressing-gown  and  the  bedding  ;  and  besides  moistening  the 
locksmith  himself,  plentifully,  described  a  circle  round  about 
him  on  the  carpet.  When  he  had  done  this,  he  again  retired  ; 
and  Sir  John  reclining  in  an  easy  attitude  upon  his  pillow, 
once  more  turned  a  smiling  face  toward  his  visitor. 

"  You  will  forgive  me,  Mr.  Varden,  I  am  sure,  for  being 
at  first  a  little  sensitive  both  on  your  account  and  my  own. 
I  confess  I  was  startled,  notwithstanding  your  delicate  exor- 
dium. Might  I  ask  you  to  do  me  the  favor  not  to  approach 
any  nearer  ?     You  have  really  come  from  Newgate  ?  " 

The  locksmith  inclined  his  head. 

"  In-deed  !  And  now,  Mr.  Varden,  all  exaggeration  and 
embellishment  apart,"  said  Sir  John  Chester,  confidentially, 
as  he  sipped  his  chocolate,  "  what  kind  of  place  is  New- 
gate ?" 

**  A  strange  place,  Sir  John,"  returned  the  locksmith,  ''  of  a 
sad  and  doleful  kind.  A  strange  place,  where  many  strange 
things  are  heard  and  seen  ;  but  few  more  strange  than  that  I 
come  to  tell  you  of.     The  case  is  urgent.     I  am  sent  here." 

"  Not — no,  no — not  from  the  jail  ?  " 

"Yes,  Sir  John  ;  from  the  jail." 

"  And  my  good,  credulous,  open-hearted  friend,"  said 
Sir  John,  setting  down  his  cup,  and  laughing  —  '*  by 
whom  ?  " 

*^  By  a  man  called  Dennis — for  many  years  the  hangman, 
and  to-morrow  morning  the  hanged,"  returned  the  lock- 
smith. 

Sir  John  had  expected — had  been  quite  certain  from  the 
first — that  he  would  say  he  had  come  from  Hugh,  and  was 
prepared  to"  meet  him  on  that  point.  But  this  answer  occa- 
sioned him  a  degree  of  astonishment,  which,  for  the  moment, 
he  could  not,  with  all  his  command  of  feature,  prevent  his 
face  from  expressing.  He  quickly  subdued  it,  however,  and 
said  in  the  same  light  tone  : 

"  And  what  does  the  gentleman  require  of  me  ?  My  mem- 
ory may  be  at  fault  again,  but  I  don't  recollect  that  I  ever 
had  the  pleasure  of  an  introduction  to  him  or  that  I  ever 
numbered  him  among  my  personal  friends,  I  do  assure  you, 
Mr.  Varden." 

'*  Sir  John,"  returned  the  locksmith,  gravely,  ''  I  will  tell 
you,  as  nearly  as  I  can,  in  the  words  he  used  to  me,  what  he 


562  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

desires  that  you  should  know,  and  what  yoa  ought  to  know 
without  a  moment's  loss  of  time." 

Sir  John  Chester  settled  himself  in  a  position  of  greater  re- 
pose, and  looked  at  his  visitor  with  an  expression  of  face 
which  seemed  to  say,  "  This  is  an  amusing  fellow  !  I'll  hear 
him  out." 

*'  You  may  have  seen  in  the  newspapers,  sir,"  said  Gabriel, 
pointing  to  the  one  which  lay  by  his  side,  "  that  I  was  a  wit- 
ness against  this  man  upon  his  trial  some  days  since  ;  and 
that  it  was  not  his  fault  I  was  alive,  and  able  to  speak  to  what 
I  knew." 

"  May  have  seen  !  "  cried  Sir  John.  *'  My  dear  Mr.  Var- 
den,  you  are  quite  a  public  character,  and  live  in  all  men's 
thoughts  most  deservedly.  Nothing  can  exceed  the  interest 
with  which  I  read  your  testimony,  and  remembered  that  I 
had  the  pleasure  of  slight  acquaintance  with  you.  I  hope 
we  shall  have  your  portrait  published  ? " 

"  This  morning,  sir,"  said  the  locksmith,  taking  no  notice 
of  these  compliments,  "early  this  morning,  a  message  was 
brought  to  me  from  Newgate,  at  this  man's  request,  desiring 
that  I  would  go  and  see  him,  for  he  had  something  particu- 
lar to  communicate.  1  needn't  tell  you  that  he  is  no  friend 
of  mine,  and  that  I  had  never  seen  him,  until  the  rioters 
beset  my  house." 

Sir  John  fanned  himself  gently  with  the  newspaper,  and 
nodded. 

"I  knew,  however,  from  the  general  report,"  resumed 
Gabriel,  "  that  the  order  for  his  execution  to-morrow  went 
down  to  the  prison  last  night  ;  and  looking  upon  him  as  a 
dying  man,  I  complied  with  his  request." 

"  You  are  quite  a  Christian,  Mr.  Varden,"  said  Sir  John  ; 
"  and  in  that  amiable  capacity,  you  increase  my  desire  that 
you  should  take  a  chair." 

"  He  said,"  continued  Gabriel,  looking  steadily  at  the 
knight,  "  that  he  had  sent  to  me,  because  he  had  no  friend  or 
companion  in  the  whole  world  (being  the  common  hang- 
man), and  because  he  believed,  from  the  way  in  which  I  had 
given  my  evidence,  that  I  was  an  honest  man,  and  would  act 
truly  by  him.  He  said  that,  being  shunned  by  every  one 
who  knew  his  calling,  even  by  people  of  the  lowest  and  most 
wretched  grade,  and  finding,  when  he  joined  the  rioters,  that 
the  men  he  had  acted  with  had  no  suspicion  of  it  (which  I 
believe  is  true  enough,  for  a  poor  fool  of  an  old  'prentice  of 
mine  was  one  of  them),  he  had  kept  his  own  counsel,  up  to 
the  time  of  his  being  taken  and  put  in  jail." 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  563 

"Very  discreet  of  Mr.  Dennis,"  observed  Sir  John  with  a 
slight  yawn,  though  still  with  the  utmost  affability,  "  but — 
except  for  your  admirable  and  lucid  manner  of  telling  it, 
which  is  perfect — not  very  interesting  to  me." 

'*  When,"  pursued  the  locksmith,  quite  unabashed  and 
wholly  regardless  of  these  interruptions,  "  when  he  was  taken 
to  the  jail,  he  found  that  his  fellow-prisoner,  in  the  same 
room,  was  a  young  man,  Hugh  by  name,  a  leader  in  the  riots, 
who  had  been  betrayed  and  given  up  by  himself.  From 
something  which  fell  from  this  unhappy  creature  in  the 
course  of  the  angry  words  they  had  at  meeting,  he  discov- 
ered that  his  mother  had  suffered  the  death  to  which  they 
both  are  now  condemned.  The  time  is  very  short.  Sir 
John." 

The  knight  laid  down  his  paper  fan,  replaced  his  cup  upon 
the  table  at  his  side,  and,  saving  for  the  smile  that  lurked 
about  his  mouth,  looked  at  the  locksmith  with  as  much  stead- 
iness as  the  locksmith  looked  at  him. 

"  They  have  been  in  prison  now,  a  month.  One  conversa- 
tion led  to  many  more  ;  and  the  hangman  soon  found,  from 
a  comparison  of  time,  and  place,  and  date,  that  he  had  exe- 
cuted the  sentence  of  the  law  upon  this  woman,  himself. 
She  had  been  tempted  by  want — as  so  many  people  are — 
into  the  easy  crime  of  passing  forged  notes.  She  was  young 
and  handsome  ;  and  the  traders  who  employ  men,  women, 
and  children  in  this  traffic,  looked  upon  her  as  one  who  was 
well  adapted  for  their  business,  and  who  would  probably  go 
on  without  suspicion  for  a  long  time.  But  they  were  mis- 
taken ;  for  she  was  stopped  in  the  commission  of  her  very 
first  offense,  and  died  for  it.  She  was  of  gipsy  blood,  Sir 
John " 

It  might  have  been  the  effect  of  a  passing  cloud  which  ob- 
scured the  sun,  and  cast  the  shadow  on  his  face  ;  but  the 
knight  turned  deathly  pale.  Still  he  met  the  locksmith's  eye, 
as  before. 

"  She  was  of  gipsy  blood,  Sir  John,"  repeated  Gabriel,  "and 
had  a  high,  free  spirit.  This,  and  her  good  looks,  and  her 
lofty  manner,  interested  some  gentlemen  who  were  easily 
moved  by  dark  eyes  ;  and  efforts  were  made  to  save  her. 
They  might  have  been  successful,  if  she  would  have  given 
them  any  clew  to  her  history.  But  she  never  would,  or  did. 
There  was  reason  to  suspect  that  she  would  make  an  attempt 
upon  her  life.  A  watch  was  set  upon  her  night  and  day  ; 
and  from  that  time  she  never  spoke  again — " 


c64  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

Sir  John  stretched  out  his  hand  toward  his  cup.  The 
locksmith  going  on,  arrested  it  half-way. 

— "  Until  she  had  but  a  minute  to  live.  Then  she  broke 
silence,  and  said,  in  a  low  firm  voice  which  no  one  heard  but 
this  executioner,  for  all  other  living  creatures  had  retired 
and  left  her  to  her  fate,  '  If  I  had  a  dagger  within  these 
fingers  and  he  was  within  my  reach,  I  would  strike  him  dead 
before  me,  even  now  !  *  The  man  asked  '  "Who  ? '  She  said, 
*  The  father  of  her  boy.'  " 

Sir  John  drew  back  his  outstretched  hand,  and  seeing  that 
the  locksmith  paused,  signed  to  him  with  easy  politeness  and 
without  any  new  appearance  of  emotion,  to  proceed. 

''  It  was  the  first  word  she  had  ever  spoken,  from  which  it 
could  be  understood  that  she  had  any  relative  on  earth. 
'Was  the  child  alive  ?' he  asked.  *  Yes.'  He  asked  her 
where  it  was,  its  name,  and  whether  she  had  any  wish  re- 
specting it.  She  had  but  one,  she  said.  It  was  that  the  boy 
might  live  and  grow,  in  utter  ignorance  of  his  father,  so  that 
no  arts  might  teach  him  to  be  gentle  and  forgiving.  When 
he  became  a  man  she  trusted  to  the  God  of  their  tribe  to 
brmg  the  father  and  the  son  together,  and  revenge  her 
through  her  child.  He  asked  her  other  questions,  but  she 
spoke  no  more.  Indeed,  he  says,  she  scarcely  said  this 
much,  to  him,  but  stood  with  her  face  turned  upward  to  the 
sky,  and  never  looked  toward  him  once." 

Sir  John  took  a  pinch  of  snuff  ;  glanced  approvingly  at 
an  elegant  little  sketch,  entitled  ''  Nature,"  on  the  wall  ;  and 
raising  his  eyes  to  the  locksmith's  face  again,  said,  with  an 
air  of  courtesy  and  patronage,  "  You  were  observing,  Mr. 
Varden — " 

"  That  she  never,"  returned  the  locksmith,  who  was  not 
to  be  diverted  by  any  artifice  from  his  firm  manner,  and  his 
steady  gaze,  "  that  she  never  looked  toward  him  once.  Sir 
John  ;  and  so  she  died,  and  he  forgot  her.  But,  some  years 
afterward,  a  man  was  sentenced  to  die  the  same  death,  who 
was  a  gipsy  too  ;  a  sunburned,  swarthy  fellow,  almost  a  wild 
man  ;  and  while  he  lay  in  prison,  under  sentence,  he  who 
had  seen  the  hangman  more  than  once  while  he  was  free, 
cut  an  image  of  him  on  his  stick,  by  way  of  braving  death, 
and  showing  those  who  attended  on  him  how  little  he  cared 
or  thought  about  it.  He  gave  this  stick  into  his  hands  at  Ty- 
burn, and  told  him  then  that  the  woman  1  had  spoken  of  had 
left  her  own  people  to  join  a  fine  gentleman,  and  that,  being 
deserted   by  him,  and  cast   off  by  her  old  friends,  she  had 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  565 

sworn  within  her  own  proud  breast,  that  whatever  her  misery 
might  be,  she  would  ask  no  help  of  any  human  being.  He 
told  him  that  she  had  kept  her  word  to  the  last  ;  and  that, 
meeting  even  him  in  the  streets — he  had  been  fond  of  her 
once,  it  seems — she  had  slipped  from  him  by  a  trick,  and  he 
never  saw  her  again,  until  being  in  one  of  the  frequent 
crowds  at  Tyburn,  with  some  of  his  rough  companions,  he 
had  been  driven  almost  mad  by  seeing,  in  the  criminal,  under 
another  name,  whose  death  he  had  come  to  witness,  herself. 
Standing  in  the  same  place  in  which  she  had  stood,  he  told 
the  hangman  this,  and  told  him,  too,  her  real  name,  which 
only  her  own  people  and  the  gentleman  for  whose  sake  she 
had  left  them,  knew. — That  name  he  will  tell  again,  Sir  John, 
to  none  but  you." 

"To  none  but  me  ! "  exclaimed  the  knight,  pausing  in  the 
act  of  raising  his  cup  to  his  lips  with  a  perfectly  steady  hand, 
and  curling  up  his  little  finger  for  the  better  display  of  a  bril- 
liant ring  with  which  it  was  ornamented  :  "  but  me  ! — My 
dear  Mr.  Varden,  how  very  preposterous,  to  select  me  for 
his  confidence  !  With  you  at  his  elbow,  too,  who  are  so  per- 
fectly trustworthy  !  " 

*'Sir  John,  Sir  John,"  returned  the  locksnith,  "at  twelve 
to-morrow  these  men  die.  Hear  the  few  words  I  have  to 
add,  and  do  not  hope  to  deceive  me  ;  for  though  I  am  a  plain 
man  of  humble  station,  and  you  are  a  gentleman  of  rank  and 
learning,  the  truth  raises  me  to  your  level,  and  I  know  that 
you  anticipate  the  disclosure  with  which  I  am  about  to  end, 
and  that  you  believe  this  doomed  man,  Hugh,  to  be  your 
son." 

"  Nay,"  said  Sir  John,  bantering  him  with  a  gay  air  ;  "  the 
wild  gentleman,  who  died  so  suddenly,  scarcely  went  as  far 
as  that,  I  think  ?  " 

**  He  did  not,''  returned  the  locksmith,  "  for  she  haa 
bound  him  by  some  pledge,  known  only  to  these  people,  and 
which  the  worst  among  them  respect,  not  to  tell  your  name  ; 
but  in  a  fantastic  pattern  on  the  stick  he  carved  some  let- 
ters, and  when  the  hangman  asked  it,  he^  bade  him, 
especially  if  he  should  ever  meet  with  her  son  in  after  life, 
remember  that  place  well." 

"  What  place  ?  " 

"Chester." 

"  The  knight  finished  his  cup  of  chocolate  with  an  appear- 
ance of  infinite  relish,  and  carefully  wiped  his  lips  upon- his 
handkerchief. 


S66  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  Sir  John,"  said  the  locksmith,  "  this  is  all  that  has  beei 
told  me  ;  but  since  these  two  men  have  been  left  for  death, 
they  have  conferred  together  closely.  See  them,  and  hear 
what  they  can  add.  See  this  Dennis,  and  learn  from  him 
what  he  has  not  trusted  to  me.  If  you,  who  hold  the  clew 
to  all,  want  corroboration  (which  you  do  not),  the  means 
are  easy." 

''And  to  what,"  said  Sir  John  Chester,  rising  on  his 
elbow,  after  smoothing  the  pillow  for  its  reception  ;  "  my 
dear,  good-natured,  estimable  Mr.  Varden — with  whom  I 
can  not  be  angry  if  I  would — to  what  does  all  this  tend  ?  " 

''  I  take  you  for  a  man,  Sir  John,  and  I  suppose  it  tends 
to  some  pleading  of  natural  affection  in  your  breast," 
returned  the  locksmith.  *'  I  suppose  to  the  straining  of 
every  nerve,  and  the  exertion  of  all  the  influence  you  have, 
or  can  make,  in  behalf  of  your  miserable  son,  and  the  man 
who  has  disclosed  his  existence  to  you.  At  the  worst,  I  sup- 
pose to  your  seeing  your  son,  and  awakening  him  to  a  sense 
of  his  crime  and  danger.  He  has  no  such  sense  now. 
Think  what  his  life  must  have  been,  when  he  said  in  my 
hearing,  that  if  I  moved  you  to  any  thing,  it  would  be  to 
hasten  his  death,  and  insuring  his  silence,  if  you  had  it  in 
your  power  !  " 

"  And  have  you,  my  good  Mr.  Varden,"  said  Sir  John,  in 
a  tone  of  mild  reproof,  "  have  you  really  lived  in  your  pres- 
ent age,  and  remained  so  very  simple  and  credulous,  as  to 
approach  a  gentleman  of  established  character  with  such 
credentials  as  these,  from  desperate  men  in  their  last  extrem- 
ity, catching  at  any  straw  ?     Oh  dear  !     Oh  fie,  fie  !  " 

The  locksmith  was  going  to  interpose,  but  he  stopped 
him  : 

•'  On  any  other  subject,  Mr.  Varden,  I  shall  be  delighted 
—I  shall  be  charmed — to  converse  with  you,  but  I  owe  it 
to  my  own  character  not  to  pursue  this  topic  for  another 
moment." 

"  Think  better  of  it,  sir,  when  I  am  gone,"  returned  the 
locksmith  ;  "  think  better  of  it,  sir.  Although  you  have, 
thrice  within  as  many  weeks,  turned  your  lawful  son  Mr. 
Edward  from  your  door,  you  may  have  time,  you  may  have 
years  to  make  your  peace  with  /ii//i,  Sir  John  :  but  that 
twelve  o'clock  will  soon  be  here,  and  soon  be  past  forever." 

**  I  thank  you  very  much,"  returned  the  knight,  kissing  his 
delicate  hand  to  the  locksmith,  "  for  your  guileless  advice  ; 
and  I  only  wish,  my  good  soul,  although  your  simplicity  is 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  567 

quite  captivating,  that  you  had  a  little  more  worldly  wis- 
dom. I  never  so  much  regretted  the  arrival  of  my  hair- 
dresser as  I  do  at  this  moment.  God  bless  you  !  Good- 
morning  !  You'll  not  forget  my  message  to  the  ladies,  Mr. 
Varden  ?     Peak,  show  Mr.  Varden  the  door." 

Gabriel  said  no  more,  but  gave  the  knight  a  parting  look, 
and  left  him.  As  he  quitted  the  room.  Sir  John's  face 
changed  ;  and  the  smile  gave  place  to  a  haggard  and  anx- 
ious expression,  like  that  of  a  weary  actor  jaded  by  the 
performance  of  a  difficult  part.  He  rose  from  his  bed  with  a 
heavy  sigh,  and  wrapped  himself  in  his  morning-gown. 

"  So  she  kept  her  word,"  he  said,  "  and  was  constant  to 
her  threat  !  I  would  I  had  never  seen  that  dark  face  of 
hers — I  might  have  read  these  consequences  in  it,  from  the 
first.  This  affair  would  make  a  noise  abroad,  if  it  rested  on 
better  evidence  ,  but  as  it  is,  and  by  not  joining  the  scat- 
tered links  of  the  chain,  I  can  afford  to  slight  it. 
Extremely  distressing  to  be  parent  of  such  an  uncouth  creat- 
ure !  Still,  I  gave  him  very  good  advice'.  I  told  him  he 
would  certainly  be  hanged.  I  could  have  done  no  more  if 
I  known  of  our  relationship  ;  and  there  are  a  great  many 
fathers  who  have  never  done  as  much  for  their  natural  chil- 
dren.    The  hair-dresser  may  come  in.  Peak  !  " 

The  hair-dresser  came  in  ;  and  saw  in  Sir  John  Chester 
(whose  accommodating  conscience  was  soon  quieted  by  the 
numerous  precedents  that  occurred  to  him  in  support  of  his 
last  observation)  the  same  imperturbable,  fascinating,  ele- 
gant gentleman  he  had  seen  yesterday,  and  many  yesterdays 
before. 


CHAPTER   LXXVI. 

As  the  locksmith  walked  slowly  away  from  Sir  John 
Chester's  chambers,  he  lingered  under  the  trees  which 
shaded  the  path,  almost  hoping  that  he  might  be  summoned 
to  return.  He  had  turned  back  thrice,  and  still  loitered  at 
the  corner,  when  the  clock  struck  twelve. 

It  was  a  solemn  sound,  and  not  merely  for  its  reference  to 
to-morrow  ;  for  he  knew  that  in  that  chime  the  murderer's 
knell  was  rung.  He  had  seen  him  pass  along  the  crowded 
street,  amidst  the  execration  of  the  throng  ;  and  marked  his 
quivering  lip,  and  trembling  limbs  ;  the  ashy  hue  upon  his 
face,  his  clammy  brow,  the  wild  distraction  of  his  eye — the 


568  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

lear  of  decv.h  that  swallowed  up  all  other  thought,  and 
gnawed  without  cessation  at  his  heart  and  brain.  He  had 
marked  the  wandering  look,  seeking  for  hope,  and  finding, 
turn  where  it  would,  despair.  He  had  seen  the  remorseful, 
pitiful,  desolate  creature,  riding,  with  his  coffin  by  his  side, 
to  the  gibbet.  He  knew  that,  to  the  last,  he  had  been  an 
unyielding,  obdurate  man  ;  that  in  the  savage  terror  of  his 
condition  he  had  hardened,  rather  than  relented,  to  his  wife 
and  child  ;  and  that  the  last  words  which  had  passed  his 
white  lips  were  curses  on  them  as  his  enemies. 

Mr.  Haredale  had  determined  to  be  there,  and  see  it  done. 
Nothing  but  the  evidence  of  his  own  senses  could  satisfy 
that  gloomy  thirst  for  retribution  which  had  been  gathering 
upon  him  for  so  many  years.  The  locksmith  knew  this, 
and  when  the  chimes  had  ceased  to  vibrate,  hurried  away  to 
meet  him. 

"  For  these  two  men,"  he  said,  as  he  went,  "  I  can  do  no 
more.  Heaven  have  mercy  on  them  ! — Alas  !  I  say  I  can 
do  no  more  for  them,  but  whom  can  I  help  ?  Mary  Rudge 
will  have  a  home,  and  a  firm  friend  when  she  most  wants 
one  ;  but  Barnaby — poor  Barnaby — willing  Barnaby — what 
aid  can  I  render  him  ?  There  are  many,  many  men  of 
sense,  God  forgive  me,"  cried  the  honest  locksmith,  stopping 
in  a  narrow  court  to  pass  his  hand  across  his  eyes,  "  I  could 
better  afford  to  lose  than  Barnaby.  We  have  always  been 
good  friends,  but  I  never  knew,  till  now,  how  much  I  loved 
the  lad." 

There  were  not  man^-  <!!  the  great  city  who  thought 
of  Barnaby  that  day,  otherwise  than  as  an  actor  in  a  show 
which  was  to  take  place  to-morrow.  But  if  the  whole  popu- 
lation had  had  him  in  their  minds,  and  had  wished  his  life 
to  be  spared,  not  one  among  them  could  have  done  so  with 
a  purer  zeal  or  greater  singleness  of  heart  than  the  good 
locksmith. 

Barnaby  was  to  die.  There  was  no  hope.  It  is  not 
the  least  evil  attendant  upon  the  frequent  exhibition  of 
this  last  dread  punishment,  of  death,  that  it  hardens  the 
minds  of  those  who  deal  it  out,  and  makes  them,  though 
they  be  amiable  men  in  other  respects,  indifferent  to,  or 
unconscious  of,  their  great  responsibility.  The  w^ord  had 
gone  forth  that  Barnaby  was  to  die.  It  went  forth,  every 
month,  for  lighter  crimes.  It  was  a  thing  so  common, 
that  very  few  vrere  startled  by  the  awful  sentence,  or  cared 
to  question  its  propriety.     Just  then,  too,  when  the  law   had 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  569 

been  so  flagrg,ntly  outraged,  its  dignity  must  be  asserted. 
The  symbol  of  its  dignity — stamped  upon  every  page  of 
the  criminal  statute-book — was  the  gallows  ;  and  Barnaby 
was  to  die. 

They  had  tried  to  save  him.  The  locksmith  had  carried 
petitions  and  memorials  to  the  fountain-head,  with  his  own 
hands.  But  the  well  was  not  one  of  mercy,  and  Barnaby 
was  to  die. 

From  the  first  his  mother  had  never  left  him,  save  at 
night  ;  and  with  her  beside  him,  he  was  as  usual  contented. 
On  this  last  day,  he  was  more  elated  and  more  proud  than 
he  had  been  yet  ;  and  when  she  dropped  the  book  she  had 
been  reading  to  him  aloud,  and  fell  upon  his  neck,  he 
stopped  in  his  busy  task  of  folding  a  piece  of  crape  about 
us  hat,  and  wondered  at  her  anguish.  Grip  uttered  a  feeble 
croak,  half  in  encouragement,  it  seemed,  and  half  in  remon- 
strance, but  he  wanted  heart  to  sustain  it,  and  lapsed  abruptly 
into  silence. 

With  them  who  stood  upon  the  brink  of  the  great  gulf 
which  none  can  see  beyond,  Time,  so  soon  to  lose  itself  in 
vast  eternity,  rolled  on  like  a  mighty  river,  swollen  and 
rapid  as  it  nears  the  sea.  It  was  morning  but  now  ;  they 
had  sat  and  talked  together  in  a  dream  ;  and  here  was  even- 
ing. The  dreadful  hour  of  separation,  which  even  yesterday 
had  seemed  so  distant,  was  at  hand. 

They  walked  out  into  the  court-yard,  clinging  to  each 
other,  but  aot  speaking.  Barnaby  knew  that  the  jail  was 
a  dull,  sad,  miserable  place,  and  looked  forward  to  to-mor- 
row, as  to  a  passage  from  it  to  something  bright  and  beau- 
tiful. He  had  a  vague  impression  too,  that  he  was  expected 
to  be  brave — that  he  was  a  man  of  great  consequence,  and 
that  the  prison  people  would  be  glad  to  make  lilm  weep. 
He  trod  the  ground  more  firmly  as  he  thought  of  this,  and 
bade  her  take  heart  and  cry  no  more  and  feel  how  steady 
his  hand  was.  "  They  call  me  silly,  mother.  They  shall 
see  to-morrow  !  " 

Dennis  and  Hugh  were  in  the  court-yard.  Hugh  came 
forth  from  his  cell  as  they  did,  stretching  himself  as  though 
he  had  been  sleeping.  Dennis  sat  upon  a  bench  in  a  corner, 
with  his  knees  and  chin  huddled  together,  and  rocked  him- 
self to  and  fro  like  a  person  in  severe  pain. 

The  mother  and  son  remained  on  one  side  of  the  court, 
and  these  two  men  upon  the  other.  Hugh  strode  up 
and  down,  glancing  fiercely  every    now    and    then  at   the 


570  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

bright  summer  sky,  and  looking  round,  when  he  had  done 
so,  at  the  walls. 

"  No  reprieve,  no  reprieve !  Nobody  comes  near  us. 
There's  only  the  night  left  now  !  "  moaned  Dennis  faintly, 
as  he  wrung  his  hands.  **  Do  you  think  they'll  reprieve 
me  in  the  night,  brother?  I've  known  reprieves  come  in 
the  night,  afore  now.  I've  known  'em  come  as  late  as 
five,  six,  and  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Don't  you 
think  there's  a  good  chance  yet — don't  you  ?  Say  you  do. 
Say  jou  do,  young  man,"  whined  the  miserable  creature, 
with  an  imploring  gesture  toward  Barnaby,  "  or  I  shall 
go  mad  !  " 

*' Better  be  mad  than  sane,  here,"  said  Hugh.    *'Go  mad." 

"  But  tell  me  what  you  think.  Somebody  tell  me  what 
he  thinks ! "  cried  the  wretched  object,  so  mean,  and 
wretched,  and  despicable,  that  even  pity's  self  might  have 
turned  away,  at  sight  of  such  a  being  in  the  likeness  of  a 
man — "isn't  there  a  chance  for  me — isn't  there  a  good 
chance  for  me  ?  Isn't  it  likely  they  may  be  doing  this  to 
frighten  me  ?  Don't  you  think  it  is  ?  Oh  !  "  he  almost 
shrieked,  as  he  wrung  his  hands,  "  won't  any  body  give  me 
comfort  !  " 

"  You  ought  to  be  the  best,  instead  of  the  worst,"  said 
Hugh,  stopping  before  him.  "  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  See  the  hang- 
man, when  it  comes  home  to  him  !  " 

"You  don't  know  what  it  is,"  cried  Dennis,  actually  writh- 
ing as  he  spoke  :  "  I  do.  That  I  should  come  to  be  worked 
oft  !     I  !     I  !  •   That  /  should  come  !  " 

"  And  why  not  ? "  said  Hugh,  as  he  thrust  back  his  matted 
hair  to  get  a  better  view  of  his  late  associate.  "  How  often, 
before  I  knew  your  trade,  did  I  hear  you  talking  of  this  as 
if  it  was  a  treat  ?  " 

"I  an't  unconsistent,"  screamed  the  miserable  creature; 
"  I'd  talk  so  again,  if  I  was  hangman.  Some  other  man  has 
got  my  old  opinions  at  this  minute.  That  makes  it  worse. 
Somebody's  longing  to  work  me  off.  I  know  by  myself  that 
somebody  must  be  !  " 

"  He'll  soon  have  his  longing,"  said  Hugh,  resuming  his 
walk.     "Think  of  that,  and  be  quiet." 

Although  one  of  these  men  displayed,  in  his  speech  and 
bearing,  the  most  reckless  hardihood  ;  and  the  other,  in  his 
every  word  and  action,  testified  such  an  extreme  of  abject 
cowardice  that  it  was  humiliating  to  see  him  ;  it  would  be 
difficult  to  say  which  of  them  would  most  have  repelled  and 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  '  S71 

shocked  an  observer.  Hugh's  was  the  dogged  desperation 
of  a  savage  at  the  stake  ;  the  hangman  was  reduced  to  a 
condition  little  better,  if  any,  than  that  of  a  hound  with  the 
halter  round  his  neck.  Yet,  as  Mr.  Dennis  knew  and  could 
have  told  them,  these  were  the  two  commonest  states  of 
mind  in  persons  brought  to  their  pass.  Such  was  the  whole- 
sale growth  of  the  seed  sown  by  the  law,  that  this  kind  of 
harvest  was  usually  looked  for,  as  a  matter  of  course. 

In  one  respect  they  all  agreed.  The  wandering  and  un- 
controllable train  of  thought,  suggesting  sudden  recollections 
of  things  distant  and  long  forgotten  and  remote  from  each 
other — the  vague  restless  craving  for  something  undefined, 
which  nothing  could  satisfy — the  swift  flight  of  the  minutes, 
fusing  themselves  into  hours,  as  if  by  enchantment — the 
rapid  coming  of  the  solid  night — the  shadow  of  death  always 
upon  them,  and  yet  so  dim  and  faint,  that  objects  the  mean- 
est and  most  trivial  started  from  the  gloom  beyond,  and 
forced  themselves  upon  the  view — the  impossibility  of  hold- 
ing the  mind,  even  if  they  had  been  so  disposed,  to  penitence 
and  preparation,  or  of  keeping  it  to  any  point  while  one 
hideous  fascination  tempted  it  away  —  these  things  were 
common  to  them  all,  and  varied  only  in  their  outward 
tokens. 

"  Fetch  me  the  book  I  left  within — upon  your  bed,"  she 
said  to  Barnaby,  as  the  clock  struck.     "  Kiss  me  first." 

He  looked  in  her  face,  and  saw  there,  that  the  time  was 
come.  After  a  long  embrace,  he  tore  himself  away,  and  ran 
to  bring  it  to  her  ;  bidding  her  not  stir  till  he  came  back. 
He  soon  returned,  for  a  shriek  recalled  him — but  she  was 
gone. 

He  ran  to  the  yard-gate,  and  looked  through.  They  were 
carrying  her  away.  She  had  said  her  heart  would  break. 
It  was  better  so. 

'"  Don't  you  think,"  whimpered  Dennis,  creeping  up  to 
him,  as  he  stood  with  his  feet  rooted  to  the  ground,  gazing 
at  the  blank  walls — "  don't  you  think  there's  still  a  chance  ? 
It's  a  dreadful  end  ;  it's  a  terrible  end  for  a  man  like  me. 
Don't  you  think  there's  a  chance  ?  I  don't  mean  for  you,  ^I 
mean  for  me.  Don't  let  him  hear  us  "  (meaning  Hugh)  "  he's 
so  desperate." 

"  Now  then,"  said  the  officer,  who  had  been  lounging  in 
and  out  with  his  nands  in  his  pockets,  and  yawning  as  if  he 
were  in  the  last  extremity  for  some  subject  of  interest ;  "  it's 
time  to  turn  in,  boys," 


57^ 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


"  Not  yet,"  cried  Dennis,  "  not  yet.    Not  for  an  hour  yet." 

''  I  say — your  watch  goes  different  from  what  it  used  to," 
returned  the  man.  *'  Once  upon  a  time  it  was  always  too 
fast.     It's  got  the  other  fault  now." 

"  My  friend,"  cried  the  wretched  creature,  falling  on  his 
knees,  "  my  dear  friend — you  always  were  m,y  dear  friend — 
there's  some  mistake.  Some  letter  has  been  mislaid,  or 
some  messenger  has  been  stopped  upon  the  way.  He  may 
have  fallen  dead.  I  saw  a  man  once  fall  down  dead  in  the 
street,  myself,  and  he  had  papers  in  his  pocket.  Send  to 
inquire.  Let  somebody  go  to  inquire.  They  never  will 
hang  me.  They  never  can. — Yes,  they  will,"  he  cried,  start- 
ing to  his  feet,  with  a  terrible  scream.  "  They'll  hang  me  by 
a -trick,  and  keep  the  pardon  back.  It's  a  plot  against  me 
I  shall  lose  my  life  I  "  And  uttering  another  yell,  he  fell  in 
a  fit  upon  the  ground. 

"  See  the  hangman  when  it  comes  liome  to  him  !  "  cried 
Hugh  again,  as  they  bore  him  away — "  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  Cour- 
age, bold  Barnaby,  what  care  we  }  Your  hand  !  They  do 
well  to  put  us  out  of  the  world,  for  if  we  get  loose  a  second 
time,  we  wouldn't  let  them  off  so  easy,  eh  ?  Another  shake  ! 
A  man  can  die  but  once.  If  you  wake  in  the  night,  sing  that 
ouc  lustily,  and  fall  asleep  again.     Ha,  ha,  ha  ! " 

Barnaby  glanced  once  more  through  the  grate  into  the 
empty  yard  ;  and  then  watched  Hugh  as  he  strode  to  the 
steps  leading  to  his  sleeping-cell.  He  heard  him  shout,  and 
burst  into  a  roar  of  laughter,  and  saw  him  flourish  his  hat. 
Then  he  turned  away  himself,  like  one  who  walked  in  his 
sleep  ;  and,  without  any  sense  of  fear  or  sorrow,  lay  down 
on  his  pallet,  listening  for  the  clock  to  strike  again. 


CHAPTER  LXXVII. 

The  time  wore  on.  The  noises  in  the  streets  became  lesa 
frequent  by  degrees,  until  silence  was  scarcely  broken  save 
by  the  bells  in  church  towers,  marking  the  progress — softer 
and  more  stealthy  while  the  city  slumbered — of  that  great 
watcher  with  the  hoary  head,  who  never  sleeps  or  rests.  In 
the  brief  interval  of  darkness  and  repose  which  feverish 
towns  enjoy,  all  busy  sounds  were  hushed  ;  and  those  who 
awoke  from  dreams  lay  listening  in  their  beds,  and  longed 
for  dawn,  and  wished  the  dead  of  the  night  were  past. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  573 

Into  the  street  outside  the  jail's  main  wall,  workmen  came 
straggling  at  this  solemn  hour,  in  groups  of  two  or  three,  and 
meeting  in  the  center,  cast  their  tools  upon  the  ground  and 
spoke  in  whispers.  Others  soon  issued  from  the  jail  itself, 
bearing  on  their  shoulders  planks  and  beams  ;  these  mate- 
rials being  all  brought  forth,  the  rest  bestirred  themselves, 
and  the  dull  sound  of  hammers  began  to  echo  through  the 
stillness. 

Here  and  there  among  this  knot  of  laborers,  one  with  a 
lantern  or  a  smoky  link,  stood  by  to  light  his  fellows  at  tiieir 
work;  and  by  its  doubtful  aid,  some  might  be  dimly  seen 
taking  up  the  pavement  of  the  road,  while  others  held  great 
upright  posts,  or  fixed  them  in  the  holes  thus  made  for  their 
reception.  Some  dragged  slowly  on,  toward  the  rest,  an 
empty  cart,  which  they  brought  rumbling  from  the  prison- 
yard  ;  while  others  erected  strong  barriers  across  the  street. 
All  were  busily  engaged.  Their  dusky  figures  moving  to 
and  fro,  at  that  unusual  hour,  so  active  and  so  silent,  might 
have  been  taken  for  those  of  shadowy  creatures  toiling  at 
midnight  on  some  ghostly  unsubstantial  work,  which,  like 
themselves,  would  vanish  with  the  first  gleam  of  day,  and 
leave  but  morning  mist  and  vapor. 

While  it  was  yet  dark,  a  few  lookers-on  collected,  who  had 
plainly  come  there  for  the  purpose  and  intended  to  remain  : 
even  those  who  had  to  pass  the  spot  on  theii  v/ay  to  some 
other  place,  lingered,  and  lingered  yet,  as  though  the  at- 
traction of  that  were  irresistible.  Meanwhile  the  noise  of 
saw  and  mallet  went  on  briskly,  mingled  with  the  clattering 
of  boards  on  the  stone  pavement  of  the  road,  and  sometimes 
with  the  workmen's  voices  as  they  called  to  one  another. 
Whenever  the  chimes  of  the  neighboring  church  were  heard 
— and  that  was  every  quarter  of  an  hour — a  strange  sensa- 
tion, instantaneous  and  indescribable,  but  perfectly  obvious, 
seemed  to  pervade  them  all. 

Gradually,  a  faint  brightness  appeared  in  the  east,  and  the 
air,  which  had  been  very  warm  all  through  the  night,  felt 
cool  and  chilly.  Though  there  was  no  daylight  yet,  the 
darkness  was  diminished,  £ind  the  stars  looked  pale.  The 
prison,  which  had  been  a  mere  black  mass  with  little  shape 
or  form,  put  on  its  usual  aspect  ;  and  ever  and  anon  a  soli- 
tary watchman  could  be  seen  upon  its  roof,  stopping  to  look 
down  upon  the  preparations  in  the  street.  This  man,  from 
forming,  as  it  were,  a  part  of  the  jail,  and  knowing  or  being 
supposed  to  know  all  that  was  passing  within,  became  an 


574  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

object  of  as  much  interest,  and  was  as  eagerly  looked  for,  and 
as  awfully  pointed  out,  as  if  he  had  been  a  spirit. 

By  and  by,  the  feeble  light  grew  stronger,  and  the  houses 
with  their  sign-boards  and  inscriptions,  stood  plainly  out,  in 
the  dull  gray  morning.  Heavy  stage  wagons  crawled  from 
the  inn-yard  opposite  ;  and  travelers  peeped  out  ;  and  as 
they  rolled  sluggishly  away,  cast  many  a  backward  look 
toward  the  jail.  And  now,  the  sun's  first  beams  came  glanc 
ing  into  the  street  ;  and  the  night's  work,  which,  in  its  vari- 
ous stages  and  in  the  varied  fancies  of  the  lookers-on,  had 
taken  a  hundred  shapes,  wore  its  own  proper  form — a  scaf- 
fold, and  a  gibbet. 

As  the  warmth  of  the  cheerful  day  began  to  shed  itself 
on  the  scanty  crowd,  the  murmur  of  tongues  was  heard,  shut- 
ters were  thrown  open,  and  blinds  drawn  up,  and  those  who 
had  slept  in  rooms  over  against  the  prison,  where  places  to 
see  the  execution  were  let  at  high  prices,  rose  hastily  from 
their  beds.  In  some  of  the  houses  people  were  busy  taking 
out  the  window  sashes  for  the  better  accommodation  of 
spectators ;  in  others  the  spectators  were  already  seated, 
and  beguiling  the  time  with  cards,  or  drink,  or  jokes  among 
themselves.  Some  had  purchased  seats  upon  the  house- 
tops, and  were  already  crawling  to  their  stations  from  parapet 
and  garret-window.  Some  were  yet  bargaining  for  good 
places,  and  stood  in  them  in  a  state  of  indecision  ;  gazing  at 
the  slowly-swelling  crowd,  and  at  the  workmen  as  they  rested 
listlessly  against  the  scaffold — affecting  to  listen  with  in- 
difference to  the  proprietor's  eulogy  of  the  commanding  view 
his  house  afforded,  and  the  surpassing  cheapness  of  his 
terms. 

A  fairer  morning  never  shone.  From  the  roofs  and  upper 
stories  of  these  buildings,  the  spires  of  city  churches  and  the 
great  cathedral  dome  were  visible,  rising  up  beyond  the 
prison,  into  the  blue  sky,  and  clad  in  the  color  of  light 
summer  clouds,  and  showing  in  the  clear  atmosphere  their 
every  scrap  of  tracery  and  fret-work,  and  every  niche  and 
loophole.  All  was  brightness  and  promise,  excepting  in  the 
street  below,  into  which  (for  it  yet  lay  in  shadow)  the  eye 
looked  down  as  into  a  dark  trench,  where,  in  the  midst  of  so 
much  life,  and  hope,  and  renewal  of  existence,  stood  the 
terrible  instrument  of  death.  It  seemed  as  if  the  very  s^m 
forbore  to  look  up  on  it. 

But  it  was  better,  grim  and  somber  in  the  shade,  than 
when,  the  day  being  more  advanced,  it  stood  confessed  in 


BaRNABY  RUDGE.  575 

the  full  glare  and  glory  of  the  sun,  with  its  black  paint  blis- 
tering, and  its  nooses  dangling  in  the  light  like  loathsome 
garlands.  It  was  better  in  the  solitude  and  gloom  of  mid- 
night with  a  few  forms  clustering  about  it,  than  in  the  fresh- 
ness and  the  stir  of  morning  :  the  center  of  an  eager  crowd. 
It  was  better  haunting  the  street  like  a  specter,  when  men 
\vere  in  their  beds,  and  influencing  perchance  the  city's 
dreams,  than  braving  the  broad  day,  and  thrusting  its  ob- 
scene  presence  upon  their  waking  senses. 

Five  o'clock  had  struck — six — seven — and  eight.  Along 
the  two  main  streets  at  either  end  of  the  cross-way,  a  living 
stream  had  now  set  in,  rolling  toward  the  marts  of  gain  and 
business.  Carts,  coaches,  wagons,  trucks,  and  barrows, 
forced  a  passage  through  the  outskirts  of  the  throng,  and 
clattered  onward  in  the  same  direction.  Some  of  these 
which  were  public  conveyances  and  had  come  from  a  short 
distance  in  the  country,  stopped  ;  and  the  driver  pointed  to 
the  gibbet  with  his  whip,  though  he  might  have  spared  him- 
self the  pains,  for  the  heads  of  all  the  passengers  were  turned 
that  way  without  his  help,  and  the  coach-windows  were  stuck 
full  of  staring  eye%  In  some  of  the  cnrts  and  wagons, 
women  might  be  seen,  glancing  fearfully  at  the  same  un- 
sightly thing  ;  and  even  little  children  were  held  up  above 
the  people's  heads  to  see  what  kind  of  a  toy  a  gallows  was, 
and  learn  how  men  were  hanged. 

Two  rioters  were  to  die  before  the  prison,  who  had  been 
concerned  in  the  attack  upon  it  ;  and  one  directly  afterward 
in  Bloomsbury  Square.  At  nine  o'clock,  a  strong  body  of 
military  marched  into  the  street,  and  formed  and  lined  a 
narrow  passage  into  Ho'born,  which  had  been  indifferently 
kept  all  night  by  constables.  Through  this,  another  cart 
was  brought  (the  one  already  mentioned  had  been  employed 
in  the  construction  of  the  scaffold),  and  wheeled  up  to  the 
pri  on-gate.  These  preparations  made,  th'j  soldiers  stood 
at  ease  ;  the  officers  lounged  to  and  fro,  in  the  alley  they 
had  made,  or  talked  together  at  the  scaffold's  foot  ;  and  the 
concourse,  which  had  been  rapidly  augmenting  for  some 
hours,  and  still  received  additions  every  minute,  waited  with 
an  impatience  which  increased  with  every  chime  of  St." 
Sepulcher's  clock,  for  twelve  at  noon. 

Up  to  this  time  they  had  been  very  quiet,  comparatively 
silent,  save  when  the  arrival  of  some  new  party  at  a  window, 
hitherto  unoccupied,  gave  them  something  new  to  look  at  or 
to  talk  of.     But   as   the  hour  aooroached  a  buzz  and  hum 


576  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

arose,  which,  deepening  every  moment,  soon  swelled  into  a 
roar,  and  seemed  to  fill  the  air.  No  words  or  even  voices 
could  be  distinguished  in  this  clamor,  nor  did  they  speak 
much  to  each  other  ;  though  such  as  were  better  informed 
upon  the  topic  than  the  rest,  would  tell  their  neighbors, 
perhaps,  that  they  might  know  the  hangman  when  he  came 
out,  by  his  being  the  shorter  one  ;  and  that  the  man  who 
was  to  suffer  with  him  was  named  Hugh  ;  and  that  it  was 
Barnaby  Rudge  who  would  be  hanged  in  Bloomsbury 
Square. 

The  hum  grew,  as  the  time  drew  near,  so  loud,  that  those 
who  were  at  the  windows  could  not  hear  the  church-clock 
strike,  though  it  was  close  at  hand.  Nor  had  they  any  need 
to  hear  it,  either,  for  they  could  see  it  in  the  people's  faces. 
So  surely  as  another  quarter  chimed,  there  was  a  movement 
in  the  crowd — as  if  something  had  passed  over  it — as  if  the 
light  upon  them  had  been  changed — in  which  the  fact  was 
readable  as  on  a  brazen  dial,  figured  by  a  giant's  hand. 

Three  quarters  past  eleven  !  The  murmur  now  was  deaf- 
ening, yet  every  man  seemed  mute.  Look  where  you  would 
among  the  crowd,  you  saw  straine^  eyes  and  lips  com- 
pressed ;  it  would  have  been  difficult  for  the  most  vigilant 
observer  to  point  this  way  or  that,  and  say  that  yonder  man 
had  cried  out.  It  were  as  eaSy  to  detect  the  motion  of  lips 
in  a  sea-shell. 

Three  quarters  past  eleven  !  Many  spectators  who  had 
retired  from  the  windows,  came  back  refreshed,  as  though 
their  watch  had  just  begun.  Those  who  had  fallen  asleep, 
roused  themselves  ;  and  every  person  in  the  crowd  made  one 
last  effort  to  better  his  position — which  caused  a  press  against 
the  sturdy  barriers  that  made  them  bend  and  yield  like 
twigs.  The  officers,  who  until  now  had  kept  together,  fell 
into  their  several  positions,  and  gave  the  words  of  command. 
Swords  were  drawn,  muskets  shouldered,  and  the  bright 
steel  winding  its  way  among  the  crowd,  gleamed  and  glit- 
tered in  the  sun  like  a  river.  Along  this  shining  path,  two 
men  came  hurrying  on,  leading  a  horse,  which  was  speedily 
harnessed  to  the  cart  at  the  prison  door.  Then,  a  profound 
silence  replaced  the  tumult  that  had  so  long  been  gathering, 
and  a  breathless  pause  ensued.  Every  window  was  now 
choked  up  with  heads ;  the  house-tops  teemed  with  people 
— clinging  to  chimneys,  peering  over  gable-ends,  and  hold- 
ing on  where  the  sudden  loosening  of  any  brick  or  stone 
would  dash  them  down  into  the  street.     The  church  tovver. 


BARNABV  RUDGE.  577 

the  church  roof,  the  church-yard,  the  prison  leads,  the  very 
water-spouts  and  lamp-posts — every  inch  of  room — swarmed 
with  human  life. 

At  the  first  stroke  of  twelve  the  prison  bell  began  to  toll. 
Then  the  roar — mingled  now  with  cries  of  "  Hats  off !  "  and 
''  Poor  fellows  ! "  and,  from  some  specks  in  the  great 
concourse,  with  a  shriek  or  groan — burst  forth  again.  It 
was  terrible  to  see — if  any  one  in  that  distraction  of  excite- 
ment could  have  seen — the  world  of  eager  eyes,  all  strained 
upon  the  scaffold  and  the  beam. 

The  hollow  murmuring  was  heard  within  the  jail  as  plainly 
as  without.  The  three  were  brought  forth  into  the  yard, 
together,  as  it  resounded  through  the  air.  They  knew  its 
import  well. 

"  D'ye  hear  ? "  cried  Hugh,  undaunted  by  the  sound. 
"  They  expect  us  !  /  heard  them  gathering  when  I  woke  in 
the  night,  and  turned  over  on  t'other  side  and  fell  asleep 
again.  \Vc  shall  see  how  they  welcome  the  hangman,  now 
that  it  comes  home  to  him.     Ha,  ha,  ha  ! " 

The  ordinary,  coming  up  at  this  moment,  reproved  him  for 
his  indecent  mirth,  and  advised   him  to  alter  his  demeanor. 

"And  why,  master,"  said  Hugh.  "  Can  I  do  better  than 
bear  it  easily  ?  You  bear  it  easily  enough.  Oh  !  never  tell 
me,"  he  cried,  as  the  other  would  have  spoken,  "for  all  your 
sad  look  and  your  solemn  air,  you  think  little  enough  of  it ! 
They  say  you're  the  best  maker  of  lobster-salads  in  London. 
Ha,  ha  !  I've  heard  that,  you  see,  before  now.  Is  it  a  good 
one,  this  morning — is  your  hand  in  ?  How  does  the  break- 
fast look  ?  I  hope  there's  enough,  and  to  spare,  for  all  this 
hungry  company  that'll  sit  down  to  it,  when  the  sight's 
over." 

"  I  fear,"  observed  the  clergyman,  shaking  his  head,  "  that 
you  are  incorrigible." 

"  You're  right,  I  am,"  rejoined  Hugh,  sternly.  "  Be  no 
hypocrite,  master  !  You  make  a  merry-making  of  this,  every 
month  ;  let  me  be  merry,  too.  If  you  want  a  frightened 
fellow,  there's  one  that'll  suit  you.    Try  your  hand  upon  him." 

He  pointed,  as  he  spoke,  to  Dennis,  who,  with  his  legs 
trailing  on  the  ground,  was  held  between  two  men  ;  and 
who  trembled  so,  that  all  his  joints  and  limbs  seemed  racked 
by  spasms.  Turning  from  this  wretched  spectacle,  he  called 
to  Barnaby,  who  stood  apart. 

"What  cheer,  Barnaby  !  Don't  be  downcast,  lad.  Leave 
that  to  him.** 


578  BAkNABY  RUDGE. 

"Bless  you,"  cried  Barnaby,  stepping  lightly  toward  him, 
"I'm  not  frightened,  Hugh.  I'm  quite  happy.  I  wouldn't 
desire  to  live  now,  if  they'd  let  me.  Look  at  me  !  Am  I 
afraid  to  die  ?     V\' ill  they  see  vie  tremble  ?  " 

Hugh  gazed  for  a  moment  at  his  face,  on  which  there  was 
a  strange,  unearthly  smile  ;  and  at  his  eyes,  which  sparkled 
brightly  ;  and  interposing  between  him  and  the  ordinary, 
gruffly  whispered  to  the  latter  : 

"I  wouldn't  say  much  to  him,  master,  if  I  was  you.  He 
may  spoil  your  [appetite  for  breakfast,  though  you  are  used 
to  it." 

He  was  the  only  one  of  the  three  who  had  washed  or 
trimmed  himself  that  morning.  Neither  of  the  others  had 
done  so  since  their  doom  was  pronounced.  He  still  wore 
the  broken  peacock's  feathers  in  his  hat  ;  and  all  his  usual 
scraps  of  finery  were  carefully  disposed  about  his  person. 
His  kindling  eye,  his  firm  step,  his  proud  and  resolute  bear- 
ing, might  have  graced  some  lofty  act  of  heroism  ;  some 
voluntary  sacrifice,  born  of  a  noble  cause  and  pure  enthu- 
siasm ;  rather  than  that  felon's  death. 

But  all  these  things  increased  his  guilt.  They  were  mere 
assumptions.  The  law  had  declared  it  so,  and  so  it  must  be. 
The  good  minister  had  been  greatly  shocked,  not  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  before,  at  his  parting  with  Grip.  For  one  in  his 
condition  to  fondle  a  bird  ! 

The  yard  was  filled  with  people  ;  bluff  civic  functionaries, 
officers  of  justice,  soldiers,  the  curious  in  such  matters,  and 
guests  who  had  been  bidden  as  to  a  wedding.  Hugh  looked 
about  him,  nodded  gloomily  to  some  person  in  authority  who 
indicated  with  his  hand  in  what  direction  he  was  to  proceed  ; 
and  clapping  Barnaby  on  the  shoulder,  passed  out  with  the 
gait  of  a  lion. 

They  entered  a  large  room,  so  near  to  the  scaffold  that 
the  voices  of  those  who  stood  about  it  could  be  plainly 
heard,  some  beseeching  the  javelin-men  to  take  them  out 
of  the  crowd,  others  crying  to  those  behind  to  stand  back,  for 
they  were  pressed  to  death,  and  suffocating  for  v/ant  of  air. 

In  the  middle  of  this  chamber,  two  smiths,  v/ith  hamme.rs, 
stood  beside  an  anvil.  Hugh  walked  straight  up  to  them, 
and  set  his  foot  upon  it  with  a  sound  as  though  it  had  been 
struck  by  a  heavy  weapon.  Then,  with  folded  arms,  he  stood 
to  have  his  irons  knocked  off,  scowling  haughtily  round,  as 
those  who  were  present  eyed  him  narrowly  and  whispered  to 
each  other. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  579 

It  took  so  much  time  to  drag  Dennis  in  that  this  ceremony 
was  over  with  Hugh,  and  nearly  over  with  Barnaby,  before 
he  appeared.  He  no  sooner  came  into  the  place  he  knew 
so  well,  however,  and  among  faces  with  which  he  was  so 
familiar,  than  he  recovered  strength  and  sense  enough  to 
clasp  his  hands  and  make  a  last  appeal. 

"  Gentlemen,  good  gentlemen,"  cried  the  abject  creature, 
groveling  down  upon  his  knees,  and  actually  prostrating 
himself  upon  the  stone  floor  ;  ''  governor,  dear  governor — 
honorable  sheriffs — worthy  gentlemen — have  mercy  upon  a 
wretched  man  that  has  served  his  majesty  and  the  law,  and 
parliament,  for  so  many  years,  and  don't — don't  let  me  die 
— because  of  a  mistake." 

"  Dennis,"  said  the  governor  of  the  jail,  "  you  know  what 
the  course  is,  and  that  the  order  came  with  the  rest.  You 
know  that  we  could  do  nothing,  even  if  we  would." 

"  All  I  ask,  sir — all  I  want  and  beg,  is  time,  to  make  it 
sure,"  cried  the  trembling  wretch,  looking  wildly  round  for 
sympathy.  "  The  king  and  government  can't  know  it's  me  ; 
I'm  sure  they  can't  know  it's  me,  or  they  never  would  bring 
me  to  this  dreadful  slaughter-house.  They  know  my  name, 
but  they  don't  know  it's  the  same  man.  Stop  my  execution 
— for  charity's  sake  stop  my  execution,  gentlemen — till  they 
can  be  told  that  I've  been  hangman  here,  nigh  thirty  year. 
Will  no  one  go  and  tell  them  ? "  he  implored,  clinching  his 
hands,  and  glaring  round,  and  round,  and  round  again  ;  '*  will 
no  charitable  person  go  and  tell  them  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Akerman,"  said  a  gentleman  who  stood  by,  after  a 
moment's  pause,  "  since  it  may  possibly  produce  in  this  un- 
happy man  a  better  frame  of  mind,  even  at  this  last  minute, 
let  me  assure  him  that  he  was  well  known  to  have  been  the 
hangman,  when  his  sentence  was  considered." 

" But   perhaps   they  think   on   that  account  that  the 

punishment's  not  so  great,"  cried  the  criminal,  shuffling  to- 
ward this  speaker  on  his  knees,  and  holding  up  his  folded 
hands,  "whereas  it's  worse,  it's  worse  a  hundred  times,  to 
me  than  any  man.  Let  them  know  that,  sir.  Let  them  know 
that.  They've  made  it  worse  to  me  by  giving  me  so  much  to 
do.     Stop  my  execution  till  they  know  that  !  " 

The  governor  beckoned  with  his  hand,  and  the  two  men, 
who  had  supported  him  before,  approached.  He  uttered  a 
piercing  cry. 

"  Wait !  Wait.  Only  a  moment — only  one  moment 
more  ! "     Give  me  a  last  chance  of  rcDrieve.     One  of  us 


58o  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

three  is  to  go  to  Bloomsbury  Square.  Let  me  be  the  one. 
It  may  come  in  that  time  ;  it's  sure  to  come.  In  the  Lord's 
name  let  me  be  sent  to  Bloomsbury  Square.  Don't  hang  me 
here.     It's  murder." 

They  took  him  to  the  anvil  ;  but  even  then  he  could  be 
heard  above  the  clinking  of  the  smiths'  hammers,  and  the 
hoarse  raging  of  the  crowd,  crying  that  he  knew  of  Hugh's 
birth — that  his  father  was  living,  and  was  a  gentleman  of 
influence  and  rank — that  he  had  family  secrets  in  his  pos- 
session— that  he  could  tell  nothing  unless  they  gave  him 
time,  but  must  die  with  them  on  his  mind  ;  and  he  con- 
tinued to  rave  in  this  sort  until  his  voice  failed  him,  and 
he  sank  down  a  mere  heap  of  clothes  between  the  two 
attendants. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  clock  struck  the  first 
stroke  of  twelve,  and  the  bell  began  to  toll.  The  various 
officers,  with  the  two  sheriffs  at  their  head,  moved  toward 
the  door.  All  was  ready  when  the  last  chime  came  upon  the 
ear. 

They  told  Hugh  this,  and  asked  if  he  had  any  thing  to  say, 

*' To  say  !  "  he  cried.  *' Not  I.  I'm  ready.  Yes,"  he 
added,  as  his  eye  fell  upon  Barnaby,  *'  I  have  a  word  to  say 
too.     Come  hither,  lad." 

There  was,  for  the  moment,  something  kind,  and  even 
tender,  struggling  in  his  fierce  aspect,  as  he  wrung  his  poor 
companion  by  the  hand. 

"I'll  say  this,"  he  cried,  looking  firmly  round,  "that  if  I 
had  ten  lives  to  lose,  and  the  loss  of  each  would  give  me  ten 
times  the  agony  of  the  hardest  death,  I'd  lay  them  all  down 
— ay,  I  would,  though  you  gentlemen  may  not  believe  it — to 
save  this  one.  This  one,"  he  added,  wringing  his  hand 
again,  "  that  will  be  lost  through  me." 

"  Not  through  you,"  said  the  idiot,  mildly.  "Don't  say 
that.  You  were  not  to  blame.  You  have  always  been  very 
good  to  me.  Hugh,  we  shall  know  what  makes  the  stars 
shine  noiv  !  " 

"  I  took  him  from  her  in  a  reckless  mood,  and  didn't  think 
what  harm  would  come  of  it,"  said  Hugh,  laying  his  hand 
upon  his  head,  and  speaking  in  a  lower  voice.  "  I  ask  her 
pardon,  and  his — Look  here,"  he  added  roughly,  in  his 
former  tone.     "  You  see  this  lad  ?  " 

They  murmured  "  Yes,"  and  seemed  to  wonder  why  he 
asked. 

"  That  gentleman  yonder  " — pointing  to  the  gentleman— 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  581 

"has  often  in  the  last  few  days  spoken  to  me  of  faith,  and 
strong  belief.  You  see  what  I  am — more  brute  than  man,  as 
I  have  been  often  told — but  I  had  faith  enough  to  believe, 
and  did  believe  as  strongly  as  any  of  you  gentlemen  can  be- 
lieve any  thing,  that  this  one  life  would  be  spared.  See  what 
he  is  !     Look  at  him  !  " 

Barnaby  had  moved  toward  the  door,  and  stood  beckon- 
ing him  to  follow. 

"  If  this  was  not  faith,  and  strong  belief  !  "  cried  Hugh, 
raising  his  right  arm  aloft,  and  looking  upward  like  a  savage 
prophet  whom  the  near  approach  of  death  had  filled  with  in- 
spiration, ''where  are  they  !  What  else  should  teach  me — 
me,  born  as  I  was  born,  and  reared  as  I  have  been  reared — 
to  hope  for  any  mercy  in  this  hardened,  cruel,  unrelenting 
place  !  Upon  these  human  shambles,  I,  who  never  raised 
his  hand  in  prayer  till  now,  call  down  the  wrath  of  God  ! 
On  that  black  tree,  of  which  I  am  the  ripened  fruit,  I  do  in- 
voke the  curse  of  all  its  victims,  past,  and  present,  and  to 
come.  On  the  head  of  that  man,  who,  in  his  conscience, 
owns  me  for  his  son,  I  leave  the  wish  that  he  may  never 
sicken  on  his  bed  of  down,  but  die  a  violent  death  as  I  do 
now  and  have  the  night-wind  for  his  only  mourner.  To  this 
I  say,  amen,  amen  !  " 

His  arm  fell  downward  by  his  side  ;  he  turned  ;  and 
moved  toward  them  with  a  steady  step,  the  man  he  had  been 
before. 

"  There  is  nothing  more  ?  "  said  the  governor. 

Hugh  motioned  Barnaby  not  to  come  near  him  (though 
without  looking  in  the  direction  where  he  stood)  and  an- 
swered : 

"  There  is  nothing  more." 

"  Move  forward  !  " 

"  Unless,"  said  Hugh,  glancing  hurriedly  back — "  unless 
any  person  here  has  a  fancy  for  a  dog  ;  and  not  then,  unless 
he  means  to  use  him  well.  There's  one  belongs  to  me,  at 
the  house  I  came  from,  and  it  wouldn't  be  easy  to  find  a 
better.  He'll  whine  at  first,  but  he'll  soon  get  over  that. 
You  wonder  that  I  think  about  a  dog  just  now,"  he  added, 
with  a  kind  of  laugh.  "  If  any  man  deserved  it  of  me  half 
as  well,   I'd  think  of  him." 

He  spoke  no  more,  but  moved  onward  in  his  place,  with 
a  careless  air,  though  listening  at  the  same  time  to  the  serv- 
ice for  the  dead,  with  something  between  sullen  attention, 
and    quickened    curiosity.     As   soon  as  he  had    passed  the 


582  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

door,  his  miserable  associate  was  carried  out  ;  and  the  crovvd 
beheid  the  rest. 

Barnaby  would  have  mounted  the  steps  at  the  same  time 
— indeed  he  would  have  gone  before  them,  but  in  both  at- 
tempts he  was  restrained,  as  he  was  to  undergo  the  sentence 
elsewhere.  In  a  few  minutes  the  sheriffs  re-appeared,  the 
same  procession  was  again  formed,  and  they  passed  through 
various  rooms  and  passages  to  another  door — that  at  which 
the  cart  was  waiting.  He  held  down  his  head  to  avoid 
seeing  what  he  knew  his  eyes  must  otherwise  encounter,  and 
took  his  seat  sorrowfully,  and  yet  with  something  of  a  child- 
ish pride  and  pleasure — in  the  vehicle.  The  officers 
fell  into  their  places  at  the  sides,  in  front,  and  in  the 
rear  ;  the  sheriffs'  carriages  rolled  on  ;  a  guard  of  soldiers 
surrounded  the  whole  ;  and  they  moved  slowly  forward 
through  the  throng  and  pressure  toward  Lord  Mansfield's 
ruined  house. 

It  was  a  sad  sight — all  the  show,  and  strength,  and  glitter, 
assembled  round  one  helpless  creature — and  sadder  yet  to 
note,  as  he  rode  along,  how  his  wandering  thoughts  found 
strange  encouragement  in  the  crowded  windows  and  the 
concourse  in  the  streets  ;  and  how,  even  then,  he  felt  the 
influence  of  the  bright  sky,  and  looked  up,  smiling,  into 
its  deep  unfathomable  blue.  But  there  had  been  many 
such  sights  since  the  riots  were  over — some  so  moving 
in  their  nature,  and  so  repulsive  too,  that  they  were  far 
more  calculated  to  awaken  pity  for  the  sufferers,  than 
respect  for  that  law  whose  strong  arm  seemed  in  more 
than  one  case  to  be  as  wantonly  stretched  forth,  now 
that  all  was  safe,  as  it  had  been  basely  paralyzed  in  time 
of  danger. 

Two  cripples — both  mere  boys — one  with  a  leg  of  wood, 
one  who  dragged  his  twisted  limbs  along  by  the  help  of  a 
crutch,  were  hanged  in  this  same  Bloomsbury  Square.  As 
the  cart  was  about  to  glide  from  under  them,  it  was  observed 
that  they  stood  with  their  faces  from,  not  to,  the  house  they 
had  assisted  to  despoil ;  and  their  misery  was  protracted 
that  this  omission  might  be  remedied.  Another  boy  was 
hanged  in  Bow  Street  :  other  young  lads  to  various  quarters 
of  the  town.  Four  wretched  women,  too,  were  put  to  death. 
In  a  word,  those  who  suffered  as  rioters  were,  for  the  most 
part,  the  weakest,  meanest,  and  most  miserable  among  them. 
It  was  a  most  exquisite  satire  upon  the  false  religious  cry 
which  had  led  to  so  much  misery,  that  some  of  these  people 


BARNABY   RUDGE.  583 

owned  themselves  to  be  Catholics,  and  begged  to  be  attended 
by  their  own  priests. 

One  young  man  was  hanged  in  Bishopsgate  Street,  whose 
aged  gray-headed  father  waited  for  him  at  the  gallows, 
kissed  him  at  its  foot  when  he  arrived,  and  sat  there,  on 
the  ground,  till  tliey  took  him  down.  They  would  have 
given  him  the  body  of  his  child  ;  but  he  had  no  hearse,  nc 
coffin,  nothing  to  remove  it  in,  being  too  poor — and  walked 
meekly  away  beside  the  cart  that  took  it  back  to  prison, 
trying,  as  he  went,  to  touch  its  lifeless  hand. 

But  the  crowd  had  forgotten  these  matters,  or  cared  little 
about  them  if  they  lived  in  their  memory  ;  and  while  one 
great  multitude  fought  and  hustled  to  get  near  the  gibbet 
before  Newgate,  for  a  parting  look,  another  followed  in  the 
train  of  poor  lost  Barnaby,  to  swell  the  throng  that  waited 
for  him  on  the  spot. 


CHAPTER  LXXVIII. 

On  this  same  day,  and  about  this  very  hour,  Mr.  Willet 
the  elder  sat  smoking  his  pipe  in  a  chamber  at  the  Black 
Lion.  Although  it  was  hot  summer  weather,  Mr.  Willet  sat 
close  to  the  fire.  He  was  in  a  state  of  profound  cogitation, 
with  his  own  thoughts,  and  it  was  his  custom  at  such  times 
to  stew  himself  slowly,  under  the  impression  that  that  pro- 
cess of  cookery  was  favorable  to  the  melting  out  of  his  ideas, 
which,  when  he  began  to  simmer,  sometimes  oozed  forth  so 
copiously  as  to  astonish  even  himself. 

Mr.  Willet  had  been  several  thousand  times  comforted  by 
\v^  friends  and  acquaintance,  with  the  assurance  that  for  the 
loss  he  had  sustained  in  the  damage  done  to  the  Maypole, 
he  could  ''come  upon  the  county."  But  as  this  phrase 
happened  to  bear  an  unfortunate  resemblance  to  the  popular 
expression  of  ''  coming  on  the  parish,"  it  suggested  to  Mr. 
Willet's  mind  no  more  consolatory  visions  than  pauperism 
on  an  extensive  scale,  and  ruin  in  a  capacious  aspect.  Con- 
sequently, he  had  never  failed  to  receive  the  intelligence 
with  a  rueful  shake  of  the  head,  or  a  dreary  stare,  and  had 
been  always  observed  to  appear  much  more  melancholy  after 
a  visit  of  condolence  than  at  any  other  time  in  the  whole 
four-and-twenty  hours. 

It  chanced,  however,  that  sitting  over  the  fire  on  this  par- 
ticulj^'-  o«*:asion — perhaps  because  he  was,  as  it  were,  done 


584  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

to  a  turn  ;  perhaps  because  he  was  in  an  unusually  brigh* 
state  of  mind  ;  perhaps  because  he  had  considered  the  sub- 
ject so  long  ;  perhaps  because  of  all  these  favoring  circum- 
stances, taken  together — it  chanced  that,  sitting  over  the  fire 
on  this  particular  occasion,  Mr.  Willet  did,  afar  off  and  in 
the  remotest  depths  of  his  intellect,  perceive  a  kind  of  lurk- 
ing hint  or  faint  suggestion,  that  out  of  the  public  purse 
there  might  issue  funds  for  the  restoration  of  the  Maypole 
to  its  former  high  place  among  the  taverns  of  the  earth. 
And  this  dim  ray  of  light  did  so  diffuse  itself  within  him, 
and  did  so  kindle  up  and  shine,  that  at  last  he  b,ad  it  as 
plainly  and  visibly  before  him  as  the  blaze  by  which  he  sat  ; 
and,  fully  persuaded  that  he  was  the  first  to  make  the  dis- 
covery, and  that  he  had  started,  hunted  down,  fallen  upon, 
and  knocked  on  the  head,  a  perfectly  original  idea  which 
had  never  presented  itself  to  any  other  man,  alive  or  dead,  he 
laid  down  his  pipe,  rubbed  his  hands,  and  chuckled  audibly. 

**  Why,  father  ! "  cried  Joe,  entering  at  the  moment, 
*'  you're  in  spirits  to-day  !  " 

**  It's  nothing  partickler,"  said  Mr.  Willet,  chuckling 
again.  ''  It's  nothing  at  all  partickler,  Joseph.  Tell  me 
something  about  the  Salwanners."  Having  preferred  this 
request,  Mr.  Willet  chuckled  a  third  time,  and  after  these 
unusual  demonstrations  of  levity,  he  put  his  pipe  in  his 
mouth  again. 

''  What  shall  I  tell  you,  father  ? "  asked  Joe,  laying  his 
hand  upon  his  sire's  shoulder,  and  looking  down' into  his 
face.  "  That  I  have  come  back  poorer  than  a  church 
mouse  ?  You  know  that.  That  I  have  come  back  maimed 
and  crippled  ?     You  know  that." 

''  It  was  took  off,"  muttered  Mr.  Willet,  with  his  eyes  upon 
the  fire,  ''  at  the  defense  of  the  Salwanners,  in  America, 
where  the  war  is." 

"  Quite  right,"  returned  Joe,  smiling,  and  leaning  with 
his  remaining  elbow  on  the  back  of  his  father's  chair  ;  **  the 
very  subject  I  came  to  speak  to  you  about.  A  man  with 
one  arm,  father,  is  not  of  much  use  in  the  busy  world." 

This  was  one  of  those  vast  propositions  which  Mr.  Willet 
had  never  considered  for  an  instant,  and  required  time  to 
"tackle."     Wherefore  he  made  no  answer. 

"At  all  events,"  said  Joe,  "he  can't  pick  and  choose  his 
means  of  earning  a  livelihood,  as  another  man  may.  He 
can't  say  *  I  will  turn  my  hand  to  this,'  or  *  I  won't  turn  my 
hand  to  that,'  but  must  take  what  he  can  do,  and  be  thankful 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  585 

Mr.  Willet  had  been  softly  repeating  to  himself,  in  a  mus- 
ing tone,  the  words  "  defense  of  the  Salwanners  ;  "  but  he 
seemed  embarrassed  at  having  been  overheard,  and  an- 
swered "  Nothing." 

"Now  look  here,  father. — Mr.  Edward  has  come  to  En- 
gland from  the  West  Indies.  When  he  was  lost  sight  of  (I 
ran  away  on  the  same  day,  father),  he  made  a  voyage  to  one 
of  the  islands,  where  a  school-friend  of  his  had  settled  ; 
and,  finding  him,  wasn't  too  proud  to  be  employed  on  his 
estate,  and — and  in  short,  got  on  well,  and  is  prospering, 
and  has  come  over  here  on  business  of  his  own,  and  is  going 
back  again  speedily.  Our  returning  nearly  at  the  same  time, 
and  meeting  in  the  course  of  the  late  troubles,  has  been  a 
good  thing  every  way  ;  for  it  has  not  only  enabled  us  to  do 
old  friends  some  service,  but  has  opened  a  path  in  life  for 
me  which  I  may  tread  without  being  a  burden  upon  you. 
To  be  plain,  father,  he  can  employ  me  ;  I  have  satisfied 
myself  that  I  can  be  of  real  use  to  him  ;  and  I  am  going  to 
carry  my  one  arm  away  with  him,  and  to  make  the  most  of  it." 

In  the  mind's  eye  of  Mr.  Willet,  the  West  Indies,  and  in- 
deed all  foreign  countries,  were  inhabited  by  savage  nations, 
who  were  perpetually  burying  pipes  of  peace,  flourishing 
tomahawks,  and  puncturing  strange  patterns  in  their 
bodies.  He  no  sooner  heard  this  announcement,  therefore, 
than  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  took  his  pipe  from  his 
lips,  and  stared  at  his  son  with  as  much  dismay  as  if  he 
already  beheld  him  tied  to  a  stake,  and  tortured  for  the  en- 
tertainment of  a  lively  population.  In  what  form  of  expres- 
sion his  feelings  would  have  found  a  vent,  it  is  impossible  to 
say.  Nor  is  it  necessary  ;  for,  before  a  syllable  occurred  to 
him,  Dolly  Varden  came  running  into  the  room,  in  tears, 
threw  herself  on  Joe's  breast  without  a  word  of  explanation, 
and  clasped  her  white  arms  round  his  neck. 

"  Dolly  !  "  cried  Joe.     "  Dolly  !  " 

*'  Ay,  call  me  that  ;  call  me  that  always,"  exclaimed  the 
locksmith's  little  daughter  ;  "  never  speak  coldly  tome,  never 
be  distant,  never  again  reprove  me  for  the  follies  I  have 
long  repented,  or  I  shall  die,  Joe." 

"/reprove  you  !  "  said  Joe. 

"  Yes— for  every  kind  and  honest  word  you  uttered,  went 
to  my  heart.  For  you,  who  have  borne  so  much  from  me — 
for  you,  who  owe  your  sufferings  and  pain  to  my  caprice — 
for  you  to  be  so  kind — so  noble  to  me,  Joe " 

He  could  say  nothing  to  her.     Not  a  syllable.     There  was 


586  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

an  odd  sort  of  eloquence  in  his   one   arm,  which   had  crept 
round  her  waist  ;  but  his  lips  were  mute. 

*'  If  you  had  reminded  me  by  a  word — only  by  one  short 
word,"  sobbed  Dolly,  clinging  yet  closer  to  him,  *'  how  little 
I  deserved  that  you  should  treat  me  with  so  much  forbear- 
ance ;  if  you  had  exulted  only  for  one  moment  in  your  tri- 
umph, I  could  have  borne  it  better." 

"  Triumph  !  "  repeated  Joe,  with  a  smile  which  seemed  to 
say,  *'  1  am  a  pretty  figure  for  that." 

"  Yes,  triumph,"  she  cried,  with  her  whole  heart  and  soul 
in  her  earnest  voice,  and  gushing  voice  ;  "  for  it  is  one.  I 
am  glad  to  think  and  know  it  is.  I  wouldn't  be  less  humbled, 
dear — I  wouldn't  be  without  the  recollection  of  that  last 
time  we  spoke  together  in  this  place — no,  not  if  1  could  re-- 
call  the  past,  and  make  our  parting,  yesterday." 

Did  ever  lover  look,  as  Joe  looked  now  ! 

"  Dear  Joe,"  said  Dolly,  "  I  always  loved  you — in  my  own 
heart  I  always  did,  although  I  was  so  vain  and  giddy.  I 
hoped  you  would  come  back  that  night.  I  made  quite  sure 
you  would.  I  prayed  for  it  on  my  knees.  Through  all 
these  long,  long  years,  I  have  never  once  forgotten  you,  or 
left  off  hoping  that  this  happy  time  might  come." 

The  eloquence  of  Joe's  arm  surpassed  the  most  impas- 
sioned language  ;  and  so  did  that  of  his  lips — yet  he  said 
nothing,  either. 

''  And  now,  at  last,"  cried  Dolly,  trembling  with  the  fer- 
vor of  her  speech,  "  if  you  were  sick,  and  shattered  in  your 
every  limb  ;  if  you  were  ailing,  weak,  and  sorrowful  ;  if,  in- 
stead of  being  what  you  are,  you  were  in  every  body's  eyes 
but  mine  the  wreck  and  ruin  of  a  man  ;  I  would  be  your 
wife,  dear  love,  with  greater  pride  and  joy,  than  if  you  were 
the  stateliest  lord  in   England  !  " 

"  What  have  I  done,"  cried  Joe,  "  what  have  I  done  to 
meet  with  this  reward  ?  " 

"You  have  taught  me,"  said  Dolly,  raising  her  pretty  face 
to  his,  "  to  know  myself,  and  your  worth  ;  to  be  something 
better  than  I  was  ;  to  be  more  deserving  of  your  true  and 
manly  nature.  In  years  to  come,  dear  Joe,  you  shall  find 
that  you  have  done  so  ;  for  I  will  be,  not  only  now,  when 
we  are  young  and  full  of  hope,  but  w^en  we  have  grown  old 
and  weary,  your  patient,  gentle,  never-tiring  wife.  I  will 
never  know  a  wish  or  care  beyond  our  home  and  you,  and 
I  will  always  study  how  to  please  you  Avith  my  best  affection 
-and  my  most  devoted  love.     I  will :  inrl^-ed  I  will  !  " 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  587 

Joe  could  only  repeat  his  former  eloquence — but  it  was 
very  much  to  the  purpose. 

'''They  know  of  this,  at  home,"  said  Dolly.  "  For  your 
sake,  I  would  leave  even  them  ;  but  they  know  it,  and  are 
glad  of  it,  and  are  as  proud  of  you  as  I  am,  and  as  full  of 
gratitude.  You'll  not  come  and  see  me  as  a  poor  friend 
who  knew  me  when  I  was  a  girl,  will  you,  dear  Joe  ? " 

Well,  well  !  It  don't  matter  what  Joe  said  in  answer,  but 
he  said  a  great  deal ;  and  Dolly  said  a  great  deal  too  ;  and 
he  folded  Dolly  in  his  one  arm  pretty  tight,  considering  that 
it  was  but  one  ;  and  Dolly  made  no  resistance  ;  and  if  ever 
two  people  were  happy  in  this  world — which  is  not  an  utterly 
miserable  one,  with  all  its  faults— we  may,  with  some 
appearance  of  certainty,  conclude  that  they  were. 

To  say  that  during  these  proceedings  Mr.  Willet  the  elder 
underwent  the  greatest  emotions  of  astonishment  of  which 
our  common  nature  is  susceptible— to  say  that  he  was  in  a 
perfect  paralysis  of  surprise,  and  that  he  wandered  into  the 
most  stupendous  and  theretofore  unattainable  heights  of 
complicated  amazement— would  be  to  shadow  forth  his  state 
of  mind  in  the  feeblest  and  lamest  terms  If  a  roc,  an 
eagle,  a  griffin,  a  flying  elephant,  a  winged  sea-horse,  had 
suddenly  appeared,  and  taking  him  on  its  back,  carried  him 
bodily  into  the  heart  of  the  "  Salwanners,"  it  would  have 
been  to  him  as  an  every-day  occurrence,  in  comparison  with 
what  he  now  beheld.  To  be  sitting  quietly  by,  seeing  and 
hearing  these  things  ;  to  be  completely  overlooked,  un- 
noticed, and  disregarded,  while  his  son  and  a  young  lady 
were  talking  to  each  other  in  the  most  impassioned  manner, 
kissing  each  other,  and  making  themselves  in  all  respects 
perfectly  at  home  ;  was  a  position  so  tremendous,  so  inex- 
plicable, so  utterly  beyond  the  widest  range  of  his  capacity 
of  comprehension,  that  he  fell  into  a  lethargy  of  wonder, 
and  could  no  more  rouse  himself  than  an  enchanted  sleeper 
in  the  first  year  of  his  fairy  lease,  a  century  long. 

''  Father,"  said  Joe,  presenting  Dolly.  *'  You  know  who 
this  is?" 

Mr.  Willet  looked  first  at  her,  then  at  his  son,  then  back 
again  at  Dolly,  and  then  made  an  ineffectual  effort  to  extract 
a  whiff  from  his  pipe,  which  had  gone  out  long  ago. 

*'  Say  a  word,  father,  if  it's  only  *  how  d'ye  do,'  "  urged 
Joe. 

"Certainly,  Joseph,"   answered  Mr.   Willet.     "Oh    yes! 

Why  not  ?  " 


588  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Joe,     '*  Why  not  ? " 

''  Ah  !  "  replied  his  father.  '*  Why  not  ?  "  and  with  this 
remark,  which  he  uttered  in  a  low  voice  as  though  he  were 
discussing  some  grave  question  with  himself,  he  used  the 
little  finger — if  any  of  his  fingers  can  be  said  to  have  come 
under  that  denomination — of  his  right  hand  as  a  tobacco- 
stopper,  and  was  silent  again. 

And  so  he  sat  for  half  an  hour  at  least,  although  Dolly,  in 
the  most  endearing  of  manners,  hoped,  a  dozen  times,  that 
he  was  not  angry  with  her.  So  he  sat  for  half  an  hour,  quite 
motionless,  and  looking  all  the  while  like  nothing  so  much 
as  a  great  Dutch  Pin  or  Skittle.  At  the  expiration  of  that 
period,  he  suddenly,  and  without  the  least  notice,  burst  (to 
the  great  consternation  of  the  young  people)  into  a  very 
loud  and  very  short  laugh  ;  and  repeating  "  Certainly, 
Joseph.     Oh  yes  !     Why  not  ?  "  went  out  for  a  walk. 


CHAPTER  LXXIX. 

Old  John  did  not  walk  near  the  Golden  Key,  for  between 
the  Golden  Key  and  the  Black  Lion  there  lay  a  wilderness 
of  streets — as  every  body  knows  who  is  acquainted  with  the 
relative  bearings  of  Clerkenwell  and  W^hitechapel— and  he 
was  by  no  means  famous  for  pedestrian  exercises.  But  the 
Golden  Key  lies  in  our  way,  though  it  was  out  of  his  ;  so  to 
the  Golden  Key  this  chapter  goes. 

The  Golden  Key  itself,  fair  emblem  of  the  locksmith's  trade, 
had  been  pulled  down  by  the  rioters,  and  roughly  trampled 
under  foot.  But,  now,  it  was  hoisted  up  again  in  all  the 
glory  of  a  new  coat  of  paint,  and  showed  more  bravely  even 
than  in  days  of  yore.  Indeed  the  whole  house  front  was 
spruce  and  trim,  and  so  fresliened  up  throughout,  that  if 
there  yet  remained  at  large  any  of  the  rioters  who  had  been 
concerned  in  the  attack  upon  it,  the  sight  of  the  old,  goodly, 
prosperous  dwelling,  so  revived,  must  have  been  to  them  as 
gall  and  worm -wood. 

The  shutters  of  the  shop  were  closed,  however,  and  the 
window  blinds  above  were  all  pulled  down,  and  in  place  of 
its  usual  cheerful  appearance,  the  house  had  a  look  of  sad- 
ness and  an  air  of  mourning  ;  which  the  neighbors,  who  in 
old  days  had  often  seen  poor  Barnaby  go  in  and  out,  were 
at  no  loss  to  understand.     The  door  stood  partly  open  ;  but 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  589 

the  locksmith's  hammer  was  unheard  ;  the  cat  sat  moping 
on  the  ashy  forge  ;  all  was  deserted,  dark  and  silent. 

On  the  threshold  of  this  door,  Mr.  Haredale  and  Edward 
Chester  met.  The  younger  man  gave  place  ;  and  both  pass- 
ing in  with  a  familiar  air,  which  seemed  to  denote  that  they 
were  tarrying  there,  or  were  well-accustomed  to  go  to  and 
fro  unquestioned,  shut  it  behind  them. 

Entering  the  old  back  parlor,  and  ascending  the  flight  of 
stairs,  abrupt  and  steep  and  quaintly  fashioned  as  of  old,  they 
turned  into  the  best  room  ;  the  pride  of  Mrs.  Varden's  heart, 
and  erst  the  scene  of  Miggs's  houshold  labors. 

"  Varden  brought  the  mother  here  last  evening,  he  told 
me  ?  "  said  Mr.  Haredale. 

'*  She  is  above  stairs  now — in  the  room  over  here,"  Edward 
rejoined.  "  Her  grief,  they  say,  is  past  all  telling.  I  needn't 
add — for  that  you  know  beforehand,  sir — that  the  care, 
humanity,  and  sympathy  of  these  good  people  have  no 
bounds." 

"  I  am  sure  of  that.  Heaven  repay  them  for  it,  and  for 
much  more.     Varden  is  out  ?  " 

"  He  returned  with  your  messenger,  who  arrived  almost  at 
the  moment  of  his  coming  home  himself.  He  was  out  the 
whole  night — but  that  of  course  you  know.  He  was  with 
you  the  greater  part  of  it  ?  " 

"  He  was.  Without  him  I  should  have  lacked  my  right 
hand.  He  is  an  older  man  than  I  ;  but  nothing  can  conquer 
him." 

**  The  cheeriest,  stoutest-hearted  fellow  in  the  world." 

"  He  has  a  right  to  be.  He  has  a  right  to  be.  A  better 
creature  never  lived.  He  reaps  what  he  has  sown — no 
more." 

"  It  is  not  all  men,"  said  Edward,  after  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion, "  who  have  the  happiness  to  do  that." 

"  More  than  you  imagine,"  returned  Mr,  Haredale.  "  We 
note  the  harvest  more  than  the  seed  time  You  do  so  in 
me." 

In  truth  his  pale  and  haggard  face,  and  gloomy  bearing, 
had  so  far  influenced  the  remark,  that  Edward  was,  for  the 
moment,  at  a  loss  to  answer  him. 

"Tut,  tut,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  "'twas  not  very  difficult  to 
read  a  thought  so  natural.  But  you  are  mistaken  neverthe- 
less I  have  had  my  share  of  sorrows — more  than  the  com- 
mon lot,  perhaps,  but  I  have  borne  them  ill,  I  have  broken 
where  I  should  have  bent ;  and  have  mused   and  brooded, 


590 


BARNABY  RUDGE. 


when  my  spirit  should  have  mixed  with  all  God's  great  cre- 
ation. The  men  who  learn  endurance  are  they  who  call  the 
whole  world  brother.  I  have  turned  from  the  world,  and  I 
pay  the  penalty." 

Edward  would  have  interposed,  but  he  went  on  without 
giving  him  time. 

"It  is  too  late  to  evade  it  now.  I  sometimes  think, 
that  if  I  had  to  live  my  life  once  more,  I  might  amend  this 
fault — not  so  much,  I  discover  when  I  search  my  mind,  for 
the  love  of  what  is  right,  as  for  my  own  sake.  But  even  when 
I  make  these  better  resolutions,  I  instinctively  recoil  from  the 
idea  of  suffering  again  what  I  have  undergone  ;  and  in  this 
circumstance  I  find  the  unwelcome  assurance  that  I  should 
still  be  the  same  man,  though  I  could  cancel  the  past,  and 
begin  anew,  with  its  experience  to  guide  me." 
"  Nay,  you  make  too  sure  of  that,"  said  Edward. 
"  You  think  so,"  Mr.  Haredale  answered,  "  and  I  am  glad 
you  do.  I  know  myself  better,  and  therefore  distrust  myself 
more.  Let  us  leave  this  subject  for  another — not  so  far  re- 
moved from  it  as  it  might,  at  first  sight,  seem  to  me.  Sir, 
you  still  love  my  niece,  and  she  is  still  attached  to  you." 

"  I  have  that  assurance  from  her  own  lips,"  said  Edward, 
"  and  you  know — T  am.  sure  you  know — that  I  would  not  ex- 
change it  for  any  blessing  life  could  yield  me." 

"  You  are  frank,  honorable  and  disinterested,"  said  Mr. 
Haredale  ;  "  you  have  forced  the  conviction  that  you  are  so, 
even  on  my  once-jaundiced  mind,  and  I  believe  you.  Wait 
here  till  I  come  back." 

He  left  the  room  as  he  spoke  ;  but  soon  returned  with  his 
niece. 

"  On  that  first  and  only  time,"  he  said,  looking  from  the 
one  to  the  other,  "  when  we  three  stood  together  under 
her  father's  roof,  I  told  you  to  quit  it,  and  charged  you 
never  to  return." 

"  It  is  the  only  circumstance  arising  out  of  our  love,"  ob- 
served Edward,"  that  I  have  forgotten." 

"You  own  a  name,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  "I  had  deep 
reason  to  remember.  I  was  moved  and  goaded  by  recollec- 
tions of  personal  wrong  and  injury,  I  know,  but,  even  now, 
I  can  not  charge  myself  with  having,  then,  or  ever,  lost  sight 
of  a  heartfelt  desire  for  her  true  happiness  ;  or  with  having 
acted — however  much  I  was  mistaken — with  any  other 
impulse  than  the  one  pure,  single,  earnest  wish  to  be  to  her, 
as  far  as  in  my  inferior  nature  lay,  the  father  she  had  lost." 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  591 

"Dear  uncle,"  cried  Emma,  "  I  have  known  no  parent  but 
you.  I  have  loved  the  memory  of  others,  but  I  have  loved 
you  all  my  life.  Never  was  father  kinder  to  his  child  than 
you  have  been  to  me,  without  the  interval  of  one  harsh  hour, 
since  I  can  first  remember." 

*' You  speak  too  fondly,"  he  answered,  "and  yet  I  can 
not  wish  you  were  less  partial  ;  for  I  have  a  pleasure  in  hear- 
ing those  words,  and  shall  have  in  calling  them  to  mind 
when  we  are  far  asunder,  which  nothing  else  could  give  me. 
Bear  with  me  for  a  moment  longer,  Edward,  for  she  and  1 
have  been  together  many  years  ;  and  although  I  believe  that 
in  resigning  her  to  you  I  put  the  seal  upon  her  future  hap- 
piness, I  find  it  needs  an  effort." 

He  pressed  her  tenderly  to  his  bosom,  and  after  a  minute's 
pause,  resumed  : 

"  I  have  done  you  wrong,  sir,  and  I  ask  your  forgiveness 
—in  no  common  phrase,  or  show  of  sorrow  ;  but  with 
earnestness  and  sincerity.  In  the  some  spirit,  I  acknowl- 
edge to  you  both  that  the  time  has  been  when  I  connived  at 
treachery  and  falsehood — which  if  I  did  not  perpetrate  my- 
self, I  still  permitted — to  rend  you  two  asunder." 

"  You  judge  yourself  too  harshly,"  said  Edward.  *'  Let 
these  things  rest." 

**  They  rise  in  judgment  against  me  when  I  look  back, 
and  not  now  for  the  first  time,"  he  answered.  "  I  can  not 
part  from  you  without  your  full  forgiveness  ;  for  busy  life 
and  I  have  little  left  in  common  now,  and  I  have  regrets 
enough  to  carry  into  solitude,  without  addition  to  the  stock." 

"  You  bear  a  blessing  from  us  both,"  said  Emma.  "  Never 
mingle  thoughts  of  me — of  me  who  owe  you  so  much  love 
and  duty — with  any  thing  but  undying  affection  and  grati- 
tude for  the  past,  and  bright  hopes  for  the  future." 

**  The  future,"  returned  her  uncle,  with  a  melancholy 
smile,  "  is  a  bright  word  for  you,  and  its  image  should  be 
wreathed  with  cheerful  hopes.  Mine  is  of  another  kind, 
but  it  will  be  one  of  peace,  and  free,  I  trust,  from  care  or 
passion.  When  you  quit  England  I  shall  leave  it  too. 
There  are  cloisters  abroad  ;  and  now  that  the  two  great 
objects  of  my  life  are  set  at  rest,  I  know  no  better  home. 
You  droop  at  that,  forgetting  that  I  am  growing  old,  and  that 
my  course  is  nearly  run.  Well  ;  we  will  speak  of  it  ag^in 
— not  once  or  twice,  but  many  times  ;  and  you  shall  give  *^ie 
cheerful  counsel,  Emma." 

"  And  you  will  take  it  ? "  asked  his  niece. 


592  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

*'  I'll  listen  to  it,"  he  answered,  with  a  kiss,  ''and  it  will 
have  its  weight,  be  certain.  What  have  I  left  to  say  ?  You 
have,  of  late,  been  much  together.  It  is  better  and  more 
fitting  that  the  circumstances  attendant  on  the  past,  which 
wrought  your  separation,  and  sowed  between  you  suspicion 
and  distrust,  should  not  be  entered  on  by  me." 

"  Much,  much  better,"  whispered  Emma. 

"  I  avow  my  share  in  them,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  "  though 
I  held  it,  at  the  time,  in  detestation.  Let  no  man  turn  aside, 
ever  so  slightly,  from  the  broad  path  of  honor,  on  the  plausi- 
ble pretense  that  he  is  justified  by  the  goodness  of  his  end. 
All  good  ends  can  be  worked  out  by  good  means.  Those 
that  can  not,  are  bad  ;  and  may  be  counted  so  at  once,  and 
left  alone." 

He  looked  from  her  to  Edward,  and  said  in  a  gentler 
tone  : 

"  In  goods  and  fortune  you  are  now  nearly  equal.  I  have 
been  her  faithful  steward,  and  to  that  remnant  of  a  richer 
property  which  my  brother  left  her,  I  desire  to  add,  in  token 
of  my  love,  a  poor  pittance,  scarcely  worth  the  mention,  for 
wliicli  I  have  no  longer  any  need.  I  am  glad  you  go  abroad. 
Let  our  ill-fated  house  remain  the  ruin  it  is.  When  you 
return,  after  a  few  thriving  years,  you  will  command  a  better, 
and  a  more  fortunate  one.     We  are  friends  ?  " 

Edward  took  his  extended  hand,  and   grasped  it  heartily. 

"  You  are  neither  slow  nor  cold  in  your  response,"  said 
Mr.  Haredale,  doing  the  like  by  him,  "  and  when  I  look 
upon  you  now,  and  know  you,  I  feel  that  1  would  choose 
you  for  her  husband.  Her  father  had  a  generous  nature, 
and  you  would  have  pleased  him  well.  I  give  her  to  you  in 
his  name,  and  with  his  blessing.  If  the  world  and  I  part  in 
this  act,  we  part  on  happier  terms  than  we  have  lived  for 
many  a  day." 

He  placed  her  in  his  arms,  and  would  have  left  the  room, 
but  that  he  was  stopped  in  his  passage  to  the  door  by  a 
great  noise  at  a  distance,  which  made  them  start  and  pause. 

It  was  a  loud  shouting,  mingled  with  boisterous  acclama- 
tions, that  rent  the  very  air.  It  drew  nearer  and  nearer 
every  moment,  and  approached  so  rapidly,  that,  even  while 
they  listened,  it  burst  into  a  deafening  confusion  of  sounds 
at  that  street  corner. 

"  This  must  be  stopped — quieted,"  said  Mr.  Haredale, 
hastily.  *'  We  should  have  foreseen  this,  and  provided  against 
it.     I  will  go  out  to  them  at  once," 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  593 

But,  before  he  could  reach  the  door,  and  before  Edward 
could  catch  up  his  hat  and  follow  him,  they  were  again  ar- 
rested by  a  loud  shriek  from  above  stairs  :  and  the  locksmith's 
wife,  bursting  in,  and  fairly  running  in  Mr.  Haredale's  arms 
cried  out  : 

"  She  knows  it  all,  dear  sir  ! — she  knows  it  all  !  We  broke 
it  out  to  her  by  degrees,  and  she  is  quite  prepared."'  Having 
made  this  communication,  and  furthermore  thanked  heaven 
with  great  fervor  and  heartiness,  the  good  lady,  according  to 
the  custom  of  matrons  on  all  occasions  of  excitement,  fainted 
away  directly. 

They  ran  to  the  window,  drew  up  the  sash,  and  looked 
into  the  crowded  street.  Among  a  dense  mob  of  persons,  of 
whom  not  one  was  for  an  instant  still,  the  locksmith's  ruddy 
face  and  burly  form  could  be  descried,  beating  about  as 
though  he  was  struggling  with  a  rough  sea.  Now,  he  was 
carried  back  a  score  of  yards,  now  onward  nearly  to  the  door, 
now  back  again,  now  forced  against  the  opposite  houses,  now 
against  those  adjoining  his  own  ;  now  carried  up  a  flight  of 
steps,  and  greeted  by  the  outstretched  hands  of  half  a  hun- 
dred men,  while  the  whole  tumultuous  concourse  stretched 
their  throats,  and  cheered  with  all  their  might.  Though  he 
was  really  in  a  fair  way  to  be  torn  to  pieces  in  the  general 
enthusiasm,  the  locksmith,  nothing  discomposed,  echoed 
their  shouts  till  he  was  as  hoarse  as  they,  and  in  a  glow  of 
joy  and  right  good-humor,  waved  his  hat  until  the  daylight 
shone  between  its  brim  and  crown. 

But  in  all  the  bandyings  from  hand  to  hand,  and  strivings 
to  and  fro,  and  sweepings  here  and  there,  which — saving 
that  he  looked  more  jolly  and  more  radiant  after  every  strug- 
gle— troubled  his  peace  of  mind  no  more  than  if  he  had  been 
a  straw  upon  the  water's  surface,  he  never  once  released  his 
firm  grasp  of  an  arm,  drawn  tight  through  his.  He  some- 
times turned  to  clap  his  friend  upon  the  back,  or  whisper  in 
his  ear  a  word  of  stanch  encouragement,  or  cheer  him  with 
a  smile  ;  but  his  great  care  was  to  shield  him  from  the  pres- 
sure, and  force  a  passage  for  him  to  the  Golden  Key.  Passive 
and  timid,  scared,  pale,  and  wondering,  and  gazing  at  the 
throng  as  if  he  were  newly  risen  from  the  dead,  and  felt  himself 
a  ghost  among  the  living,  Barnaby,  not  Barnaby  in  the  spirit, 
but  in  flesh  and  blood,  with  pulses,  sinews,  nerves,  and  beat- 
ing heart,  and  strong  affections — clung  to  his  stout  old  friend, 
and  followed  where  he  led. 

And  thus,  in  course  of  time,  they  reached  the  door,  held 


594  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

ready  for  their  entrance  by  no  unwilling  hands.  Then  slip- 
ping in,  and  shutting  out  the  crowd  by  main  force,  Gabriel 
stood  between  Mr.  Haredale  and  Edward  Chester,  and  Bar- 
naby,  rushing  up  the  stairs,  fell  upon  his  knees  beside  his 
mother's  bed. 

"  Such  is  the  blessed  end,  sir,"  cried  the  panting  locksmith, 
to  Mr.  Haredale,  "  of  the  best  day's  work  we  ever  did.  The 
rogues  !  it's  been  hard  fighting  to  get  away  from  'em.  I  almost 
thought,  once  or  twice,  they'd  have  been  too  much  for  us  with 
their  kindness." 

They  had  striven,  all  the  previous  day,  to  rescue  Barnaby 
from  his  impending  fate.  Failing  in  their  attempts,  in  the 
first  quarter  to  which  they  addressed  themselves,  they  renewed 
them  in  another.  Failing  there,  likewise,  they  began  afresh  at 
midnight  ;  and  made  their  way,  not  only  to  the  judge  and 
jury  who  had  tried  him,  but  to  men  of  influence  at  court,  to 
the  young  Prince  of  Wales,  and  even  to  the  ante-chamber  of 
the  king  himself.  Successful,  at  last,  in  awakening  an  inter- 
est in  his  favor  and  an  inclination  to  inquire  more  dispas^ 
sionately  into  his  case,  they  had  had  an  interview  with  the 
minister,  in  his  bed,  so  late  as  eight  o'clock  that  morning. 
The  result  of  a  searching  inquiry  (in  which  they,  who  had 
knoAvn  the  poor  fellow  from  his  childhood,  did  other  good 
service,  besides  bringing  it  about)  was,  that  between  eleven 
and  twelve  o'clock,  a  free  pardon  to  Barnaby  Rudge  was 
made  out  and  signed,  and  intrusted  to  a  horse  soldier  for  in- 
stant conveyance  to  the  place  of  execution.  This  courier 
reached  the  spot  just  as  the  cart  appeared  in  sight  ;  and  Bar- 
naby being  carried  back  to  jail,  Mr.  Haredale,  assured  that 
all  was  safe,  had  gone  straight  from  Bloomsbury  Square  to 
the  Golden  Key,  leaving  to  Gabriel  the  grateful  task  of  bring- 
ing him  home  in  triumph. 

"  I  needn't  say,"  observed  the  locksmith,  when  he  had 
shaken  hands  with  all  the  males  in  the  house,  and  hugged  all 
the  females,  five-and-forty  times,  at  least,  "  that,  except 
among  ourselves,  /  didn't  want  to  make  a  triumph  of  it.  But 
directly  we  got  into  the  street  we  were  known,  and  this  hub- 
bub began.  Of  the  two,"  he  added,  as  he  wiped  his  crimson 
face,  "and  after  experience  of  botl),  I  think  Fd  rather  be  taken 
out  of  my  house  by  a  crowd  of  enemies,  than  escorted  home 
by  a  mob  of  friends  !  " 

It  was  plain  enough,  however,  that  this  was  mere  talk  on 
Gabriel's  part,  and  that  the  whole  proceeding  afforded  him 
the  keenest  delight  ;  for  the  people  continuing  to  make  a 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  595 

great  noise  without,  and  to  cheer  as  if  their  voices  were  in  the 
freshest  order,  and  good  for  a  fortnight,  he  sent  up-stairs  for 
Grip  (who  had  come  home  at  his  master's  back,  and  had 
acknowledged  the  favors  of  the  multitude  by  drawing  blood 
from  every  finger  that  came  within  his  reach),  and  with  the 
bird  upon  his  arm  presented  himself  at  the  first-floor  win- 
dow, and  waved  his  hat  again  until  it  dangled  by  a  shred 
between  his  finger  and  thumb.  This  demonstration  having 
been  received  with  appropriate  shouts,  and  silence  being  in 
some  degree  restored,  he  thanked  them  for  their  sympathy, 
and  taking  the  liberty  to  inform  them  that  there  was  a  sick 
person  in  the  house,  proposed  that  they  should  give  three 
cheers  for  King  George,  three  more  for  old  England,  and 
three  more  for  nothing  particular,  as  a  closing  ceremony. 
The  crowd  assenting,  substituted  Gabriel  Varden  for  the 
nothing  in  particular  ;  and  giving  him  one  over,  for  good 
measure,  dispersed  in  high  good  humor. 

What  congratulations  were  exchanged  among  the  inmates 
at  the  Golden  Key,  when  they  were  left  alone  ;  what  an 
overflowing  of  joy  and  happiness  there  was  among  them  ; 
how  incapable  it  was  of  expression  in  Barnaby's  own  per- 
son ;  and  how  he  went  wildly  from  one  to  another,  until  he 
became  so  far  tranquilized,  as  to  stretch  himself  on  the 
ground  beside  his  mother's  couch  and  fall  into  a  deep  sleep  ; 
are  matters  that  need  not  be  told.  And  it  is  well  they  hap- 
pened to  be  of  this  class,  for  they  would  be  very  hard  to  tell, 
were  their  narration  ever  so  indispensable. 

Before  leaving  this  bright  picture,  it  may  be  well  to  glance 
at  a  dark  and  very  different  one  which  was  presented  to  only 
a  few  eyes,  that  same  night. 

The  scene  was  a  church-yard  ;  the  time,  midnight  ;  the 
persons,  Edward  Chester,  a  clergyman,  a  grave-digger,  and 
the  four  bearers  of  a  lonely  coffin.  They  stood  about  a  grave 
which  had  been  newly  dug,  and  one  of  the  bearers  held  up 
a  dim  lantern — the  only  light  there — which  shed  its  feeble 
ray  upon  the  book  of  prayer.  He  placed  it  for  a  moment  on 
the  coffin,  when  he  and  his  companions  were  about  to  lower 
it  down.     There  was  no  inscription  on  the  lid. 

The  mold  fell  solemnly  upon  the  last  house  of  this  name- 
less man  ;  and  the  rattling  dust  left  a  dismal  echo  even  in 
the  accustomed  ears  of  those  who  had  borne  .it  to  its  resting 
place.  The  grave  was  filled  in  to  the  top,  and  trodden  down. 
They  all  left  the  spot  together. 

"  You  never  saw  him,  living  ? "  asked  the  clergyman,  of 
Edward 


596  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

"  Often,  years  ago  ;  not  knowing  him  for  my  brother." 

*'  Never  since  ?  " 

"  Never.  Yesterday,  he  steadily  refused  to  see  me.  It 
was  urged  upon  him,  many  times,  at  my  desire." 

*'  Still  he  refused  ?      That  was  hardened  and  unnatural." 

*'  Do  you  think  so  J  " 

"  I  infer  that  you  do  not  ? " 

"  You  are  right.  We  hear  the  world  wonder,  every  day,  at 
monsters  of  ingratitude.  Did  it  never  occur  to  you  that  it 
often  looks  for  monsters  of  affection  as  though  they  were 
things  of  course  ?  " 

They  had  reached  the  gate  by  this  time,  and  bidding  each 
other  good-night,  departed  on  their  separate  ways. 


CHAPTER  LXXX 

That  afternoon,  when  he  had  slept  off  his  fatigue  ;  had 
shaved  and  v/ashed  and  dressed,  and  freshened  himself  from 
top  to  toe  ;  when  he  had  dined,  comforted  himself  with  a 
pipe,  an  extra  toby,  a  nap  in  the  great  arm-chair,  and  a 
quiet  chat  with  Mrs.  Varden  on  every  thing  that  had  hap- 
pened, was  happening,  or  about  to  happen,  within  the  sphere 
of  their  domestic  concern  ;  the  locksmith  sat  himself  down 
at  the  tea-table  in  the  little  back-parlor  ;  the  rosiest,  coziest, 
merriest,  heartiest,  best-contented  old  buck  m  Great  Britain 
or  out  of  it. 

There  he  sat,  with  his  beaming  eye  on  Mrs.  V.,  and  his 
shining  face  suffused  with  gladness,  and  his  capacious  waist- 
coat smiling  in  every  wrinkle,  and  his  jovial  humor  peep- 
ing from  under  the  table  in  the  very  plumpness  of  his  legs  ; 
a  sight  to  turn  the  vinegar  of  misanthropy  into  purest  milk 
of  human  kindness.  There  he  sat,  watching  his  wife  as  she 
decorated  the  room  with  flowers  for  the  greater  honor  of 
Dolly  and  Joseph  Willet,  who  had  gone  out  walking,  and  for 
whom  the  tea-kettle  had  been  singing  gayly  on  the  hob  full 
twenty  minutes,  chirping  as  never  kettle  chirped  before  ;  for 
whom  the  best  service  of  real  undoubted  china,  patterned 
with  divers  round-faced  mandarins  holding  up  broad  um- 
brellas, was  now  displayed  in  all  its  glory  ;  to  tempt  whose 
appetites  a  clear,  transparent,  juicy  ham,  garnished  with  cool 
green  lettuce-leaves  and  fragrant  cucumber,  reposed  upon  a 
shady  table,  covered  with  a  snow-white  cloth  ;  for  whose  de- 
light, preserves  and  jams,  crisp  cake  and  other  pastry,  short 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  597 

to  eat,  with  cunning  twists,  and  cottage  loaves  and  rolls  of 
bread  both  white  and  brown,  were  all  set  forth  in  rich  pro- 
fusion ;  in  whose  youth  Mrs.  V,  herself  had  grown  quite 
young,  and  stood  there  in  a  gown  of  red  and  white  ;  sym- 
metrical in  figure,  buxom  in  bodice,  ruddy  in  cheek  and  lip, 
faultless  in  ankle,  laughing  in  face  and  mood,  in  all  respects 
delicious  to  behold — there  sat  the  locksmith  among  all  and 
every  these  delights,  the  sun  that  shone  upon  them  all  ;  the 
center  of  the  system  ;  the  source  of  light,  heat,  life,  and  frank 
enjoyment  in  the  bright  household  world. 

And  when  had  Dolly  ever  been  the  Dolly  of  that  afternoon? 
To  see  how  she  came  in,  arm-in-arm  with  Joe  ;  and  how 
she  made  an  effort  not  to  blush  or  seem  at  all  confused  ; 
and  how  she  made  believe  she  didn't  care  to  sit  on  his  side 
of  the  table  ;  and  how  she  coaxed  the  locksmith  in  a  whis- 
per not  to  joke  ;  and  how  her  color  came  and  went  in  a  little 
restless  flutter  of  happiness,  which  made  her  do  every  thing 
wrong,  and  yet  so  charmingly  wrong  that  it  was  better  than 
right  ! — why,  the  locksmith  could  have  looked  on  at  this  (as 
he  mentioned  to  Mrs.  Varden  when  they  retired  for  the 
night)  for  four-and-twenty  hours  at  a  stretch  and  never 
wished  it  done. 

The  recollections,  too,  with  which  they  made  merry  over 
that  long  protracted  tea  !  The  glee  with  which  the  lock- 
smith asked  Joe  if  he  remembered  that  stormy  night  at  the 
Maypole  when  he  first  asked  after  Dolly — the  laugh  they  all 
had,  about  that  night  when  she  was  going  out  to  the  party  in 
the  sedan  chair — the  unmerciful  manner  in  which  they  ral- 
lied Mrs.  Varden  about  putting  those  flowers  outside  that 
very  window — the  difficulty  Mrs.  Varden  found  in  joining 
the  laugh  against  herself,  at  first,  and  the  extraordinary  per- 
ception she  had  of  the  joke  when  she  overcame  it — the  con- 
fidential statements  of  Joe  concerning  the  precise  day  and 
hour  when  he  was  first  conscious  of  being  fond  of  Dolly, 
and  Dolly's  blushing  admission,  half  volunteered  and  half 
extorted,  as  to  the  time  from  which  she  dated  the  discovery 
that  she  "didn't  mind  "  Joe — here  was  an  exhaustless  fund 
of  mirth  and  conversation  I 

Then,  there  was  a  great  deal  to  be  said  regarding  Mrs. 
Varden's  doubts,  and  motherly  alarms,  and  shrewd  sus- 
picions ;  and  it  appeared  that  from  Mrs.  Varden's  penetra- 
tion and  extreme  sagacity  nothing  had  ever  been  hidden. 
She  had  known  it  all  along.  She  had  seen  it  from  the  first. 
She    had    always  predicted  it.     She  had  been   aware  of  it 


59S  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

before  the  principals.  She  had  said  within  herself  (for  she 
remembered  the  exact  words)  "  That  young  Willet  is  certainly 
looking  after  our  Dolly,  and  /must  look  after ///w."  Accord- 
ingly, she  had  looked  after  him,  and  had  observed  many 
little  circumstances  (all  of  which  she  named)  so  exceedingly 
minute  that  nobody  else  could  make  any  thing  out  of  them 
even  now  ;  and  had,  it  seemed  from  first  to  last,  displayed 
the  most  unbounded  tact  and  most  consummate  general- 
ship. 

Of  course  the  night  when  Joe  would  ride  homeward  by 
the  side  of  the  chaise,  and  when  Mrs.  Varden  would  insist 
upon  his  going  back  again,  was  not  forgotten — nor  the  night 
when  Dolly  fainted  on  his  name  being  mentioned — nor  the 
times  upon  times  when  Mrs.  Varden,  ever  watchful  and  pru- 
dent, had  found  her  pining  in  her  own  chamber.  In  short, 
nothing  was  forgotten  ;  and  every  thing  by  some  means  or 
other  brought  them  back  to  the  conclusion,  that  that  was 
the  happiest  hour  in  all  their  lives  ;  consequently,  that  every 
thing  must  have  occurred  for  the  best,  and  nothing  could  be 
suggested  which  would  have  made  it  better. 

While  they  were  in  the  full  glow  of  such  discourse  as  this, 
there  came  a  startling  knock  at  the  door  opening  from  the 
street  into  the  workshop,  which  had  been  kept  closed  all  da\-, 
that  the  house  might  be  more  quiet.  Joe,  as  in  duty  bound, 
would  hear  of  nobody  but  himself  going  to  open  it ;  and 
accordingly  left  the  room  for  that  purpose. 

It  would  have  been  odd  enough,  certainly,  if  Joe  had  for- 
gotten the  way  to  this  door  ;  and  even  if  he  had,  as  it  was  a 
pretty  large  one  and  stood  straight  before  him,  he  could  not 
easily  have  missed  it.  But  Dolly,  perhaps  because  she  was 
in  the  flutter  of  spirits  before  mentioned,  or  perhaps  because 
she  thought  he  would  not  be  able  to  open  it  with  his  one 
arm — she  could  have  no  other  reason — hurried  out  aftei 
him  ;  and  they  stopped  so  long  in  the  passage — no  doubt 
owing  to  Joe's  entreaties  that  she  would  not  expose  herself 
to  the  draught  of  July  air  which  must  infallibly  come  rush- 
ing in  on  this  same  door  being  opened — that  the  knock  was 
repeated,  in  a  yet  more  startling  manner  than  before. 

"  Is  any  body  going  to  open  that  door  ?  "  cried  the  lock- 
smith.    "  Or  shall  I  come  ?  " 

Upon  that,  Dolly  went  running  back  into  the  parlor,  all 
dimples  and  blushes  ;  and  Joe  opened  it  with  a  mighty  noise, 
and  other  superfluous  demonstrations  of  being  in  a  violent 
hurry. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  599 

*'  Well,"  said  the  locksmith,  when  he  reappeared  :  "  what 
IS  it  ?  eh  Joe  ?  what  are  you  laughing  at  ?  " 

''  Nothing,  sir.     It's  coming  in." 

''  Who's  coming  in  ?  what's  coming  in  ?  "  Mrs.  Varden, 
as  much  at  a  loss  as  her  husband,  could  only  shake  her  head 
in  answer  to  his  inquiring  look  :  so,  the  locksmith  wheeled 
his  chair  round  to  command  a  better  view  of  the  room  door, 
and  stared  at  it  with  his  eyes  wide  open,  and  a  mingled 
expression  of  curiosity  and  wonder  shining  in  his  jolly 
face. 

Instead  of  some  person  or  persons  straightway  appearing, 
divers  remarkable  sounds  were  heard,  first  in  the  workshop 
and  afterward  in  the  little  dark  passage  between  it  and  the 
parlor,  as  though  some  unwieldy  chest  or  heavy  piece 
of  furniture  were  being  brought  in,  by  an  amount  of  human 
strength  inadequate  to  the  task.  At  length  after  much 
struggling  and  bumping,  and  bruising  of  the  wall  on 
both  sides,  the  door  was  forced  open  as  by  a  battering-ram; 
and  the  locksmith,  steadily  regarding  what  appeared  beyond, 
smote  his  thigh,  elevated  his  eyebrows,  opened  his  mouth, 
and  cried  in  a  loud  voice  expressive  of  the  utmost  conster- 
nation : 

"  Damme,  if  it  ain't  Miggs  come  back  !  " 

The  young  damsel  whom  he  named  no  sooner  heard  these 
words,  than  deserting  a  small  boy  and  a  very  large  box  by 
which  she  was  accompanied,  and  advancing  with  such  pre- 
cipitation that  her  bonnet  flew  off  her  head,  burst  into  the 
room,  clasped  her  hands  (in  which  she  held  a  pair  of  pattens, 
one  in  each),  raised  her  eyes  devotedly  to  the  ceiling,  and 
shed  a  flood  of  tears. 

"  The  old  story  !  "  cried  the  locksmith,  looking  at  her  in 
inexpressible  desperation.  "  She  was  born  to  be  a  damper, 
this  young  woman  !  nothing  can  prevent  it  !  " 

*'  Ho,  master,  ho,  mim  !  "  cried  Miggs,  "  can  I  constrain  my 
feelings  in  these  here  once  agin  united  moments  !  Ho,  Mr. 
Warsen,  here's  blessedness  among  relations,  sir  !  Here's  for- 
givenesses of  injuries,  here's  amicablenesses  !  " 

The  locksmith  looked  from  his  wife  to  Dolly,  and  from 
Dolly  to  Joe,  and  from  Joe  to  Miggs,  with  his  eyebrows  still 
elevated  and  his  mouth  still  open.  When  his  eyes  got  back 
to  Miggs,  they  rested  on  her  ;  fascinated. 

""  To  think,"  cried  Miggs,  with  hysterical  joy,  "  that  Mr. 
Joe,  and  dear  Miss  Dolly,  has  raly  come  together  after  all  as 
has  been  said  and  done  contrary  !    To  see  them  two  a-settin' 


6oo  BARNABY   RUDGE. 

along  with  him  and  her,  so  pleasant  and  in  all  respects  so 
affable  and  mild  ;  and  me  not  knowing  of  it,  and  not  being 
in  the  ways  to  make-  no  preparations  for  their  teas.  Ho, 
Avhat  a  cutting  thing  it  is,  and  yet  what  sweet  sensations  is 
awoke  within  me  !  " 

Either  in  clasping  her  hands  again,  or  in  an  ecstasy  of 
pious  joy,  Miss  Miggs  clinked  her  pattens  after  the  manner 
of  a  pair  of  cymbals  at  this  juncture  ;  and  then  resumed,  in 
the  softest  accents  : 

''  And  did  my  missis  think — ho,  goodness,  did  she  think — 
as  her  own  Miggs,  which  supported  her  under  so  many  trials, 
and  understood  her  natur'  when  them  as  intended  well  but' 
acted  rough,  went  so  deep  into  her  feeling — did  she  think  as 
her  own  Miggs  would  ever  leave  her  ?  Did  she  think  as  Miggs, 
though  she  was  but  a  servant,  and  knowed  that  servitudes 
was  no  inheritances,  would  forgit  that  she  was  the  humble 
instruments  as  always  made  it  comfortable  between  them 
two  when  they  fell  out,  and  always  told  master  of  the  meek- 
ness and  forgiveness  of  her  blessed  dispositions  ?  Did  she 
think  as  Miggs  had  no  attachments  ?  Did  she  think  that 
wages  was  her  only  object  ?  " 

To  none  of  these  interrogatories,  whereof  every  one  was 
more  pathetically  delivered  than  the  last,  did  Mrs.  Varden 
answer  one  word  ;  but  Miggs,  not  at  all  atashed  by  this  cir- 
cumstance, turned  to  the  small  boy  in  attendance — her  eldest 
nephew — son  of  her  own  married  sister — born  in  Golden 
Lion  Court,  number  twenty-sivin,  and  bred  in  the  very  shad- 
ow of  the  second  bell-handle  on  the  right-hand  door-post 
— and  with  a  plentiful  use  of  her  pocket  handkerchief,  ad- 
dressed herself  to  him  :  requesting  that  on  his  return  home 
he  would  console  his  parents  for  the  loss  of  her,  his  aunt,  by 
delivering  to  them  a  faithful  statement  of  lus  having  left  her 
in  the  bosom  of  that  family,  with  which,  as  his  aforesaid 
parents  well  knew,  her  best  affections  were  incorporated  ; 
that  he  would  remind  them  that  nothing  less  than  her  imperi- 
ous sense  of  duty,  and  devoted  attachment  to  her  old  master 
and  missis,  likewise  Miss  Dolly  and  young  Mr.  Joe,  should 
ever  have  induced  her  to  decline  that  pressing  invitation 
which  they,  his  parents,  had,  as  he  could  testify,  given  her, 
to  lodge  and  board  with  them,  free  of  all  cost  and  charge, 
for  evermore  ;  lastly,  that  he  would  help  her  with  her  box 
up- stairs,  and  then  repair  straight  home,  bearing  her  bless- 
ing and  her  strong  injunctions  to  mingle  in  his  prayers  a 
supplication  that  he  might  in  course  of  time  grow  up  a  lock- 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  6oi 

smith,  or  a  Mr.  Joe,  and  to  have  Mrs.  Vardens  and  Miss 
Dollys  for  his  relations  and  friends. 

Having  brought  this  admonition  to  an  end — upon  which, 
to  say  the  truth,  the  young  gentleman  for  whose  benefit  it 
was  designed,  bestowed  little  or  no  heed,  having  to  all  ap- 
pearance his  faculties  absorbed  in  the  contemplation  of  the 
sweetmeats — Miss  Miggs  signified  to  the  company  in  gen- 
eral that  they  were  not  to  be  uneasy,  for  she  would  soon  re- 
turn; and  with  her  nephew's  aid,  prepared  to  bear  her  ward- 
robe up  the  staircase. 

*'  My  dear,"  said  the  locksmith  to  his  w^fe.  *'  Do  you 
desire  this  ?  " 

"  I  desire  it  !  "  she  answered.  *'  I  am  astonished — I  am 
amazed — at  her  audacity.  Let  her  leave  the  house  this 
moment." 

Miggs,  hearing  this,  let  her  end  of  the  box  fall  heavily  to 
the  floor,  gave  a  very  loud  sniff,  crossed  her  arms,  screwed 
down  the  corners  of  her  mouth,  and  cried,  in  an  ascending 
scale  :     '*  Ho,  good  gracious  !  "  three  distinct  times. 

*'  You  hear  what  your  mistress  says,  my  love,"  remarked 
the  locksmith.  "  You  had  better  go,  I  think.  Stay  ;  take 
this  with  you,  for  the  sake  of  old  service." 

Miss  Miggs  clutched  the  bank-note  he  took  from  his 
pocket-book  and  held  out  to  her  ;  deposited  it  in  a  small, 
red  leather  purse  ;  put  the  purse  in  her  pocket  (displaying, 
as  she  did  so,  a  considerable  portion  of  some  under-gar- 
ment,  made  of  flannel,  and  more  black  cotton  stocking  than 
is  commonly  seen  in  public)  ;  and,  tossing  her  head,  as  she 
looked  at  Mrs.  Varden,  repeated — 

*'  Ho,  good  gracious  !  " 

"  I  think  you  said  that  once  before,  my  dear,"  observed 
the  locksmith. 

"  Times  is  changed,  is  they,  mim  ?  '  cried  Miss  Miggs, 
bridling  ;  "  you  can  spare  me  now,  can  you  ?  You  can 
keep  'em  down  without  me  ?  You're  not  in  wants  of  any 
one  to  scolCj  or  throw  the  blame  upon,  no  longer,  an't  you, 
mim  ?  I'm  glad  to  find  you've  grown  so  independent.  I 
wish  you  joy,  I'm  sure  !  " 

With  that  she  dropped  a  courtesy,  and  keeping  her  head 
erect,  her  ear  toward  Mrs.  Varden,  and  her  eye  on  the  rest 
of  the  company,  as  she  alluded  to  them  in  her  remarks,  pro- 
ceeded : 

"  I'm  quite  delighted,  I'm  sure,  to  find  sich  independency, 
feeling  sorry  though,  at  the  same  time,  mim,  that  you  should 


6o2  BARNABY  R.UDGE. 

have  been  forced  into  submissions  when  you  couldn't  help 
yourself — he,  he,  he  !  It  must  be  great  vexations,  'specially 
considering  liow  ill  you  always  spoke  of  Mr.  Joe — to  have 
him  for  a  son-in-law  at  last  ;  and  I  wonder  Miss  Dolly  can 
put  up  with  him,  either,  after  being  off  and  on  for  so  many 
years  with  a  coach-maker.  But  I  have  heerd  say,  that  the 
coach-maker  thought  twice  about — he,  he,  he  ! — and  that  he 
told  a  young  man  as  was  a  frind  of  his,  that  he  hoped  he 
knowed  better  than  to  be  drawed  into  that  ;  though  she  and 
all  the  family  did  pull  uncommon  strong  !  " 

Here  she  paused  for  a  reply,  and  receiving  none,  went  on 
as  before. 

'"'  I  have  heerd  say,  mini,  that  the  illness  of  some  ladies 
was  all  pretensions,  and  that  they  could  faint  away,  stone 
dead,  whenever  they  had  the  inclinations  so  to  do.  Of 
course  I  never  see  sich  cases  with  my  own  eyes — ho  no  ! 
He,  he,  he  !  Nor  m.aster  neither — ho  no  !  He,  he,  he  !  I 
have  heerd  the  neighbors  make  remarks  as  some  one  as  they 
was  acquainted  with,  was  a  poor  good-natur'd  mean-spirited 
creetur,  as  went  out  fishing  for  a  wife  one  day,  and  caught 
a  Tartar.  Of  course  I  never  to  my  knowledge  see  the  poor 
person  himself.  Nor  did  you  neither,  mim — ho  no.  I 
wonder  who  it  can  be — don't  you,  mim  ?  No  doubt  you  do, 
mim.     Ho  yes.    He,  he,  he  !  " 

Again  Miggs  paused  for  a  reply,  and  none  being  offered, 
was  so  oppressed  with  teeming  spite  and  spleen,  that  she 
seemed  like  to  burst. 

"I'm  glad  Miss  Dolly  can  laugh,"  cried  Miggs,  with  a 
feeble  titter.  **  I  like  to  see  folks  a-laughing — so  do  you, 
mim,  don't  you  ?  You  was  always  glad  to  see  people  in 
spirits,  wasn't  you,  mim  ?  And  you  always  did  your  best  to 
keep  'em  cheerful,  didn't  you,  mim  ?  Though  there  an't 
such  a  great  deal  to  laugh  at  now  either  ;  is  there,  mim  ?  It 
an't  so  much  of  a  catch,  after  looking  out  sharp  ever  since 
she  was  a  little  chit,  and  costing  such  a  deal  in  dress  and 
show,  to  get  a  poor,  common  soldier,  with  one  arm,  is  it, 
mim  ?  He,  he  !  I  wouldn't  have  a  husband  with  one  arm, 
anyways.  I  would  have  two  arms,  if  it  was  me,  though  in- 
stead of  hands  they'd  only  got  hooks  at  the  end,  like  our 
dustman  !  " 

Miss  Miggs  was  about  to  add,  and  had,  indeed,  begun  to 
add,  that,  taking  them  in  the  abstract,  dustmen  were  far 
more  eligible  matches  than  soldiers,  though,  to  be  sure, 
when  people  were  past   choosing  they  must  take  the  best 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  603 

they  could  get,  and  think  tliemselves  well  off  too  ;  but  her 
vexation  and  chagrin  being  of  that  internally  bitter  sort 
which  finds  no  relief  in  words,  and  is  aggravated  to  mad- 
ness by  want  of  contradiction,  she  could  hold  out  no  longer, 
and  burst  into  a  storm  of  sobs  and  tears. 

In  this  extremity  she  fell  on  the  unlucky  nephew,  tooth 
and  nail,  and  plucking  a  handful  of  hair  from  his  head,  de- 
manded to  know  how  long  she  was  to  stand  there  to  be  in- 
sulted, and  whether  or  no  he  meant  to  help  her  to  carry  out 
the  box  again,  and  if  he  took  a  pleasure  in  hearing  his  family 
reviled  ;  with  other  inquiries  of  that  nature  ;  at  which  dis- 
grace and  provocation,  the  small  boy,  who  had  been  all  this 
time  gradually  lashed  into  rebellion  by  the  sight  of  unattain- 
able pastry,  walked  off  indignant,  leaving  his  aunt  and  the 
box  to  follow  at  their  leisure.  Somehow  or  other  by  dint 
of  pushing  and  pulling,  they  did  attain  the  street  at  last; 
where  Miss  Miggs,  all  blowzed  with  the  exertion  of  getting 
there,  and  with  her  sobs  and  tears,  sat  down  upon  her 
property  to  rest  and  grieve,  until  she  could  insnare  some 
other  youth  to  help  her  home. 

"  It's  a  thing  to  laugh  at,  Martha,  not  to  care  for,"  whis- 
pered the  locksmith,  as  he  followed  his  wife  to  the  window, 
and  good-humoredly  dried  her  eyes.  ''  What  does  it  matter  ? 
You  had  seen  your  fault  before.  Come  !  Bring  up  Toby 
again,  my  dear  ;  Dolly  shall  sing  us  a  song  ;  and  we'll  be  all 
the  merrier  for  this  interruption  !  " 


CHAPTER  LXXXI. 

Another  month  had  passed,  and  the  end  of  August  had 
nearly  come,  when  Mr.  Haredale  stood  alone  in  the  mail- 
coach  office  at  Bristol.  Although  but  a  few  weeks  had  inter- 
vened since  his  conversation  with  Edward  Chester  and  his 
niece,  in  the  locksmith's  house,  and  he  had  made  no  change, 
in  the  meantime,  in  his  accustomed  style  of  dress,  his  ap- 
pearance was  greatly  altered.  He  looked  much  older,  and 
more  careworn.  Agitation  and  anxiety  of  mind  scattered 
wrinkles  and  gray  hairs  with  no  unsparing  hand  ;  but  deeper 
traces  follow  on  the  silent  uprooting  of  old  habits,  and  sev- 
ering of  dear,  familiar  ties.  The  affections  may  not  be  so 
easily  wounded  as  the  passions,  but  their  hurts  are  deeper, 
and  more  lasting.  He  was  now  a  solitary  man,  and  the 
heart  within  him  was  dreary  and  lonesonrie 


6o4  BAkNABV    RUUGE. 

He  was  not  the  less  alone  for  having  spent  so  many  years 
in  seclusion  and  retirement.  This  was  no  better  preparation 
than  a  round  of  social  cheerfulness  ;  perhaps  it  even  in- 
creased the  keenness  of  his  sensibility.  He  had  been  so 
dependent  upon  her  for  companionship  and  love  ;  she  had 
come  to  be  so  much  a  part  and  parcel  of  his  existence  ;  they 
had  had  so  many  cares  and  thoughts  in  common,  which  no 
one  else  had  shared  ;  that  losing  her  was  beginning  life  anew, 
and  being  required  to  summon  up  the  hope  and  elasticity 
of  youth,  amid  the  doubts,  and  distrusts,  and  weakened  en- 
ergies of  age. 

The  effort  he  had  made  to  part  from  her  with  seeming 
cheerfulness  and  hope — and  they  had  parted  only  yesterday 
— left  him  the  more  depressed.  With  these  feelings,  he  was 
about  to  revisit  London  for  the  last  time,  and  look  once 
more  upon  the  walls  of  their  home,  before  turning  his  back 
upon  it,  forever. 

The  journey  was  a  very  different  one,  in  those  days,  from 
what  the  present  generation  find  it ;  but  it  came  to  an  end, 
as  the  longest  journey  will,  and  he  stood  again  in  the  streets 
of  the  metropolis.  He  lay  at  the  inn  where  the  coach 
stopped,  and  resolved,  before  he  went  to  bed,  that  he  would 
make  his  arrival  known  to  no  one  ;  would  spend  but  another 
night  in  London  ;  and  would  spare  himself  the  pang  of  part- 
ing, even  with  the  honest  locksmith. 

Such  conditions  of  the  mind  as  that  to  which  he  was  a 
prey  when  he  lay  down  to  rest,  are  favorable  to  the  growth 
of  disordered  fancies,  and  uneasy  visions.  He  knew  this 
even  in  the  horror  with  which  he  started  from  his  first  sleep, 
and  threw  up  the  window  to  dispel  it  by  the  presence  of 
some  object,  beyond  the  room,  which  had  not  been,  as  it 
were,  the  witness  of  his  dream.  But  it  was  not  a  new  ter- 
ror of  the  night ;  it  had  been  present  to  him  before,  in  many 
shapes  ;  it  had  haunted  him  in  by-gone  times,  and  visited 
his  pillow  again  and  again.  If  it  had  been  but  an  ugly  ob- 
ject, a  childish  specter,  haunting  his  sleep,  its  return,  in  its 
old  form,  might  have  awakened  a  momentary  sensation  of 
fear,  which,  almost  in  the  act  of  waking,  would  have  passed 
away.  This  disquiet,  however,  lingered  about  him,  and 
would  yield  to  nothing.  When  he  closed  his  eyes  again,  he 
felt  it  hovering  near  ;  as  he  slowly  sunk  into  slumber,  he 
was  conscious  of  its  gathering  strength  and  purpose,  and 
gradually  assuming  its  recent  shape  ;  when  he  sprung  up 
from  his  bed,  the  same  phantom  vanished  from   his  heated 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  605. 

brain,  and  left  him  filled  \yith  a  dread  against  which  re.isot; 
and  waking  thought  were  powerless. 

The  sun  was  up,  before  he  could  shake  it  off.  He  rose 
Jate,  but  not  refreshed,  and  remained  within  doors  all  that 
day.  He  had  a  fancy  for  paying  his  last  visit  to  the  old 
spot  in  the  evening,  for  he  had  been  accustomed  to  walk 
there  at  that  season,  and  desired  to  see  it  under  the  aspect 
that  was  most  familiar  to  him.  At  such  an  hour  as  would 
afford  him  time  to  reach  it  a  little  before  sunset,  he  left  the 
inn,  and  turned  into  the  busy  street. 

He  had  not  gone  far,  and  was  thoughtfully  making  his 
way  among  the  noisy  crowd,  when  he  felt  a  hand  upon  his 
shoulder,  and,  turning,  recognized  one  of  the  waiters  from 
the  inn,  who  begged  his  pardon,  but  he  had  left  his  sword 
behind  him. 

"  Why  have  you  brought  it  to  me  ?  "  he  asked,  stretching 
out  his  hand,  and  yet  not  taking  it  from  the  man,  but  look- 
ing at  him  in  a  disturbed  and  agitated  manner. 

The  man  was  sorry  to  have  disobliged  him,  and  would 
carry  it  back  again.  The  gentleman  had  said  that  he  was 
going  a  little  way  into  the  country,  and  that  he  might  not  re- 
turn until  late.  The  roads  were  not  very  safe  for  single 
travelers  after  dark,  and,  since  the  riots,  gentlemen  had  been 
more  careful  than  ever,  not  to  trust  themselves  unarmed  in 
lonely  places.  "  We  thought  you  were  a  stranger,  sir,"  he 
added,  "  and  that  you  might  believe  our  roads  to  be  better 
than  they  are  ;  but  perhaps  you  know  them  well,  and  carry 
fire-arms " 

He  took  the  sword,  and  putting  it  up  at  his  side,  thanked 
the  man,  and  resumed  his  walk. 

It  was  long  remembered  that  he  did  this  in  a  manner  so 
strange,  and  with  such  a  trembling  hand,  that  the  messenger 
stood  looking  after  his  retreating  figure,  doubtful  whether  he 
ought  not  to  follow,  and  watch  him.  It  was  long  remem- 
bered that  he  had  been  heard  pacing  his  bedroom  in  the 
dead  of  the  night  ;  and  the  attendants  had  mentioned  to  each 
other  in  the  morning,  how  fevered  and  how  pale  he  looked  ; 
and  that  when  this  man  went  back  to  the  inn,  he  told  a  fel- 
low-servant that  what  he  had  observed  in  this  short  inter- 
view lay  very  heavy  on  his  mind,  and  that  he  feared  the  gen- 
tleman intended  to  destroy  himself,  and  would  never  come 
back  alive. 

With  a  half-consciousness  that  his  manner  had  attracted 
the  man's  attention  (remembering  the  expression  of  his  face 


6o6  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

when  they  parted),  Mr.  Haredale  quickened  his  steps,  and, 
arriving  at  a  stand  of  coaches,  bargained  with  the  driver  of 
the  best  to  carry  him  so  far  on  his  road  as  the  point  where 
the  footway  struck  across  the  fields,  and  to  await  his  return 
at  a  house  of  entertainment  which  was  within  a  stone's- 
throw  of  that  place.  Arriving  there  in  due  course,  he 
alighted  and  pursued  his  way  on  foot. 

He  passed  so  near  the  Maypole,  that  he  could  see  its  smoke 
rising  from  among  the  trees,  while  a  flock  of  pigeons — some 
of  its  old  inhabitants,  doubtless — sailed  gayly  home  to  roost, 
between  him  and  the  unclouded  sky.  "  The  old  house  will 
brighten  up  now,"  he  said,  as  he  looked  toward  it,  "  and 
there  will  be  a  merry  fireside  beneath  its  ivied  roof.  It  is 
some  comfort  to  know  that  every  thing  will  not  be  blighted 
hereabouts.  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  one  picture  of  life  and 
cheerfulness  to  turn  to,  in  my  mind  ! " 

He  resumed  his  walk,  and  bent  his  steps  toward  the  War- 
ren. It  was  a  clear,  calm,  silent  evening,  with  hardly  a 
breath  of  wind  to  stir  the  leaves,  or  any  sound  to  break  the 
stillness  of  the  time,  but  drowsy  sheep-bells  tinkling  in  the 
distance,  and,  at  intervals,  the  far-off  lowing  of  cattle,  or  bark 
of  village  dogs.  The  sky  was  radiant  with  the  softened  glory 
of  sunset  ;  and  on  the  earth,  and  in  the  air,  a  deep  repose 
prevailed.  At  such  an  hour  he  arrived  at  the  deserted  man- 
sion which  had  been  his  home  so  long,  and  looked  for  the 
last  time  upon  its  blackened  walls. 

The  ashes  of  the  commonest  fire  are  melancholy  things, 
for  in  them  there  is  an  image  of  death  and  ruin — of  some- 
thing that  has  been  bright,  and  is  but  dull,  cold,  dreary 
dust — with  which  our  nature  forces  us  to  sympathize.  How 
much  more  sad  the  crumbled  embers  of  a  home  :  the  cast- 
ing down  of  that  great  altar,  where  the  worst  among  us  some- 
times perform  the  worship  of  the  heart ;  and  where  the  best 
have  offered  up  such  sacrifices,  and  done  such  deeds  of  hero- 
ism, as,  chronicled,  would  put  the  proudest  temples  of  old 
Time,  with  all  their  vaunting  annals,  to  the  blush  I 

He  roused  himself  from  a  long  train  of  meditation,  and 
walked  slowly  round  the  house.  It  was  by  this  time  almost 
dark. 

He  had  nearly  made  the  circuit  of  the  building,  when  he 
uttered  a  half-suppressed  exclamation,  started,  and  stood 
still.  Reclining,  in  an  easy  attitude,  with  his  back  against 
a  tree,  and  contemplating  the  ruin  with  an  expression  of 
pleasure — a  pleasure  so  keen   that  it  overcame  his  habitual 


BARiNABY  RUDGE.  607 

indolence  and  command  of  feature,  and  displayed  itself  ut- 
terly free  from  all  restraint  or  reserve — before  him,  on  his 
own  ground,  and  triumphing  then,  as  he  had  triumphed  in 
ever/misfortune  and  disappointment  of  his.  life,  stood  the 
man  whose  presence,  of  all  mankind,  in  any  place,  and  least 
of  all  in  that,  he  could  the  least  endure. 

Although  his  blood  so  rose  against  this  man,  and  his 
wrath  so  stirred  within  him,  that  he  could  have  struck  him 
dead,  he  put  such  fierce  constraint  upon  himself  that  he  passed 
him  without  a  word  or  look.  Yes,  and  he  w^ould  have  gone 
on,  and  not  turned,  though  to  resist  the  devil  who  poured 
such  hot  temptation  in  his  brain,  required  an  effort  scarcely 
to  be  achieved,  if  this  man  had  not  himself  summoned  him 
to  stop  ;  and  that,  with  an  assumed  compassion  in  his  voice 
which  drove  him  well-nigh  mad,  and  in  an  instant  routed  all 
the  self-command  it  had  been  anguish — acute,  poignant  an- 
guish— to  sustain. 

All  consideration,  reflection,  mercy,  forbearance  ;  every 
thing  by  which  a  goaded  man  can  curb  his  rage  and  passion; 
fled  from  him  as  he  turned  back.  And  yet  he  said,  slowly 
and  quite  calmly — far  more  calmly  than  he  had  ever  spoken 
to  him  before  : 

"  Why  have  you  called  to  me  ?  " 

"  To  remark,"  said  Sir  John  Chester,  with  his  wonted  com- 
posure, "  what  an  odd  chance  it  is,  that  we  should  meet 
here  !  " 

"  It  is  a  strange  chance." 

"  Strange  ?  The  most  remarkable  and  singular  thing  in 
the  world.  I  never  ride  in  the  evening  ;  I  have  not  done  so 
for  years.  The  whim  seized  me,  quite  unaccountably,  in  the 
middle  of  last  night.  How  very  picturesque  this  is  !  "  He 
pointed,  as  he  spoke,  to  the  dismantled  house,  and  raised  his 
glass  to  his  eye. 

"  You  praise  your  own  work  very  freely." 

Sir  John  let  fall  his  glass  ;  inclined  his  face  tow^ard  him 
wdth  an  air  of  the  most  courteous  inquiry  ;  and  slightly 
shook  his  head  as  though  he  were  remarking  to  himself,  "  I 
fear  this  animal  in  going  mad  !  " 

*'  I  say  you  praise  your  own  work  very  freely,"  repeated 
Mr.  Haredale. 

"  Work  ! "  echoed  Sir  John,  looking  smilingly  round. 
"  Mine  !     I  beg  your  pardon,  1  really  beg  your  pardon — " 

"Why,  you  see,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  "  those  walls.  You 
see  those  tottering  gables.     You  see  on  every  side  where  the 


6o8  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

fire  and  smoke  have  raged.  You  see  the  destruction  that 
has  been  wanton  here.     Do  you  not  ?  " 

"  My  good  friend,"  returned  the  knight,  gently  checking 
his  impatience  with  his  hand,  "  of  course  I  do.  I  see  every 
thing  you  speak  of,  when  you  stand  aside,  and  do  not  inter- 
pose yourself  between  the  view  and  me.  I  am  very  sorry  for 
you.  If  I  had  not  had  the  pleasure  to  meet  you  here,  I 
think  I  should  have  written  to  tell  you  so.  But  you  don't 
bear  it  as  well  as  I  had  expected — excuse  me — no,  you  don't 
indeed." 

He  pulled  out  his  snuff-box,  and  addressing  him  with 
the  superior  air  of  a  man  who,  by  reason  of  his  higher 
nature,  has  a  right  to  read  a  moral  lesson  to  another,  con- 
tinued : 

"  For  you  are  a  philosopher,  you  know — one  of  that  stern 
and  rigid  school  who  are  far  above  the  weaknesses  of  man- 
kind in  general.  You  are  removed,  a  long  way,  from  the 
frailties  of  the  crowd.  You  contemplate  them  from  a  height 
and  rail  at  them  with  a  most  impressive  bitterness.  I  have 
heard  you." 

"And  shall  again,"  said  Mr.  Haredale. 

"  Thank  you,"  returned  the  other.  "  Shall  we  walk  as 
we  talk  ?  The  damp  falls  rather  heavily.  Well — as  you 
please.  But  I  grieve  to  say  that  I  can  spare  you  only  a  very 
few  moments." 

"  I  would,"  said  Mr.  Haredale,  "  you  had  spared  me  none. 
I  would,  with  all  my  soul,  you  had  been  in  paradise  (if 
such  a  monstrous  lie  could  be  enacted),  rather  than  here  to- 
night." 

"  Nay,"  returned  the  other — "  really — you  do  yourself  in- 
justice. You  are  a  rough  companion,  but  I  would  not  go  so 
far  to  avoid  you." 

*'  Listen  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Haredale.     "  Listen  to  me." 

"While  you  rail  ?  "  inquired  Sir  John. 

**  While  I  deliver  your  infamy.  You  urged  and  stimulated 
to  do  your  work  a  fit  agent,  but  one  who  in  his  nature — in 
the  very  essence  of  his  being — is  a  traitor,  and  who  has 
been  false  to  you  (despite  the  sympathy  you  two  should  have 
together)  as  he  has  been  to  all  others.  With  hints,  ana 
looks,  and  crafty  words,  which  told  again  are  nothing,  you  set 
on  Gashford  to  this  work — this  work  before  us  now.  With 
these  same  hints,  and  looks,  and  crafty  words,  which  told 
again  are  nothing,  you  urged  him  on  to  gratify  the  deadly 
hate    he   owes    me— I    have    earned  it,  I  thank  heaven— 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  609 

by  the  abduction  and  dishonor  of  my  niece.  You  did.  I 
see  denial  in  your  looks,"  he  cried,  abruptly  pointing  in  his 
face,  and  stepping  back,  '*  and  denial  is  a  lie  !  " 

He  had  his  hand  upon  his  sword  ;  but  the  knight,  with  a 
contemptuous  smile,  replied  to  him  as  coldly  as  before. 

*'  You  will  take  notice,  sir — if  you  can  discriminate  suffi- 
ciently— that  1  have  taken  the  trouble  to  deny  nothing.  Your 
discernment  is  hardly  fine  enough  for  the  perusal  of  faces, 
not  of  a  kind  as  coarse  as  your  speech  ;  nor  has  it  ever  been 
that  I  remember  ;  or,  in  one  face  that  I  could  name,  you 
would  have  read  indifference,  not  to  say  disgust,  somewhat 
sooner  than  you  did.  I  speak  of  a  long  time  ago — but  you 
understand  me." 

"  Disguise  it  as  you  will,  you  mean  denial.  Denial  explicit 
or  reserved,  expressed  or  left  to  be  inferred,  is  still  a  lie. 
You  say  you  don't  deny.     Do  you  admit  ? " 

"  You  yourself,"  returned  Sir  John,  suffering  the  current 
of  his  speech  to  flow  as  smoothly  as  if  it  had  been  stemmed 
by  no  one  word  of  interruption,  "  publicly  proclaimed  the 
character  of  the  gentleman  in  question  (I  think  it  was  in  West- 
minster Hall)  in  terms  which  relieve  me  from  the  necessity  of 
making  any  further  allusion  to  him.  You  may  have  been 
warranted  ;  you  may  not  have  been  ;  I  can't  say.  Assum- 
ing the  gentleman  to  be  what  you  described,  and  to  have 
made  to  you  or  any  other  person  any  statements  that  may 
have  happened  to  suggest  themselves  to  him,  for  the  sake 
of  his  own  security,  or  for  the  sake  of  money,  or  for  his 
own  amusement,  or  for  any  other  consideration — I  have 
nothing  to  say  to  him,  except  that  his  extremely  degrading 
situation  appears  to  me  to  be  shared  with  his  employers. 
You  are  so  very  plain  yourself,  that  you  will  excuse  a  little 
freedom  in  me,  1  am  sure." 

"  Attend  to  me  again,  Sir  John — but  once,"  cried  Mr.  Hare- 
dale  ;  "  in  your  every  look,  and  word,  and  gesture,  you  tell 
me  this  was  not  your  act.  I  tell  you  that  it  was,  and  that 
you  tampered  with  that  man  I  speak  of,  and  with  your 
wretched  son  (whom  God  forgive  !)  to  do  this  deed.  You 
talk  of  degradation  and  character.  You  told  me  once  that 
you  had  purchased  the  absence  of  the  poor  idiot  and  his 
mother,  when  (as  I  have  discovered  since,  and  then  sus- 
pected) you  had  gone  to  tempt  them,  and  found  them  flown. 
To  you  I  traced  the  insinuation  that  I  alone  reaped  any  har- 
vest from  my  brother's  death  ;  and  all  the  foul  attacks  and 
whispered  calumnies  that  followed  in  its  train.     In  every 


6io  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

action  of  my  life,  from  that  first  hope  which  you  converted 
into  grief  and  desolation,  you  have  stood,  like  an  adverse 
fate,  between  me  and  peace.  In  all,  you  have  ever  been  the 
same  cold-blooded,  hollow,  false,  unworthy  villain.  For  the 
second  time,  and  for  the  last,  I  cast  these  charges  in  your 
teeth,  and  spurn  you  from  me  as  I  would  a  faithless 
dog  !  " 

With  that  he  raised  his  arm,  and  struck  him  on  the  breast 
so  that  he  staggered.  Sir  John,  the  instant  he  recovered, 
drew  his  sword,  threw  away  the  scabbard  and  his  hat,  and 
running  on  his  adversary,  made  a  desperate  lunge  at  his 
heart,  which,  but  that  his  guard  was  quick  and  true,  would 
have  stretched  him  dead  upon  the  grass. 

In  the  act  of  striking  him  the  torrent  of  his  opponent's 
rage  had  reached  a  stop.  He  parried  his  rapid  thrusts, 
without  returning  them,  and  called  to  him,  with  a  frantic 
kind  of  terror  in  his  face,  to  keep  back. 

"  Not  to-night !  not  to-night  !  "  he  cried.  "  In  God's 
name,  not  to-night !  " 

Seeing  that  he  lowered  his  weapon,  and  that  he  would  not 
thrust  in  turn,  Sir  John  lowered  his. 

"  Not  to-night  !  "  his  adversary  cried.  "  Be  warned  in 
time  !  " 

"  You  told  me — it  must  have  been  in  a  sortof  inspiration," 
said  Sir  John,  quite  deliberately,  though  now  he  dropped 
his  mask,  and  showed  his  hatred  in  his  face,  "  that  this  was 
the  last  time.  Be  assured  it  is  !  Did  you  believe  our  last 
meeting  was  forgotten  ?  Did  you  believe  that  your  every 
word  and  look  was  not  to  be  accounted  for,  and  was  not 
well  remembered  ?  Do  you  believe  that  I  have  waited  your 
time,  or  you  mine  ?  What  kind  of  a  man  is  he  who  entered, 
with  all  his  sickening  cant  of  honesty  and  truth,  into  a  bond 
with  me  to  prevent  a  marriage  he  affected  lO  dislike,  and 
when  I  had  redeemed  my  part  to  the  spirit  and  the  letter, 
skulked  from  his,  and  brought  the  match  about  in  his  own 
time,  to  rid  himself  of  a  burden  he  had  grown  tired  of,  and 
cast  a  spurious  luster  on  his  house  ? " 

"  I  have  acted,"  cried  Mr.  Haredale,  **  with  honor  and  in 
good  faith.  I  do  so  now.  Do  not  force  me  to  renew  this 
duel  to-night  !  " 

"  You  said  my  'wretched'  son,  I  think  ?  "  said  Sir  John, 
with  a  smile.  "  Poor  fool  !  The  dupe  of  such  a  shallow 
knave — trapped  into  marriage  by  such  an  uncle  and  by 
such  a  niece — he   well  deserves   your  pity.     But  he  is  no 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  6ii 

longer  a  son  of  mine  :  you  are  welcome  to  the  prize  your 
craft  has  made,  sir  !  " 

"  Once  more,"  cried  his  opponent,  wildly  stamping  on  the 
ground,  "  although  you  tear  me  from  my  better  angel,  I  im- 
plore you  not  to  come  within  the  reach  of  my  sword  to- 
night. Oh  !  why  were  you  here  at  all !  Why  have  we  met  ! 
To-morrow  would  have  cast  us  far  apart  forever.'' 

"  That  being  the  case,"  returned  Sir  John,  without  the 
least  emotion,  "  it  is  very  fortunate  that  we  have  met  to- 
night. Haredale,  I  have  always  despised  you,  as  you  know, 
but  I  have  given  you  credit  for  a  species  of  brute  courage. 
For  the  honor  of  my  judgment,  which  I  had  thought  a  good 
one,  I  am  sorry  to  find  you  a  coward." 

Not  another  word  was  spoken  on  either  side.  They 
crossed  swords,  though  it  was  now  quite  dusk,  and  attacked 
each  other  fiercely.  They  were  well  matched,  and  each  was 
thoroughly  skilled  in  the  management  of  his  weapon. 

After  a  few  seconds  they  grew  hotter  and  more  furious, 
and  pressing  on  each  other  inflicted  and  received  several 
slight  w(3unds.  It  was  directly  after  receiving  one  of  these 
in  his  arm,  that  Mr.  Haredale,  making  a  keener  thrust  as  he 
felt  the  warm  blood  spirting  out,  plunged  his  sword  through 
his  opponent's  body  to  the  hilt. 

Their  eyes  met,  and  were  on  each  other  as  he  drew  it  out. 
He  put  his  arm  about  the  dying  man,  who  repulsed  him, 
feebly,  and  dropped  upon  the  turf.  Raising  himself  upon 
his  hands,  he  gazed  at  him  for  an  instant,  with  scorn  and 
hatred  in  his  look  ;  but,  seeming  to  remember,  even  then, 
that  this  expression  would  distort  his  features  after  death, 
he  tried  to  smile,  and,  faintly  moving  his  right  hand,  as  if  to 
hide  his  bloody  linen  in  his  vest,  fell  back  dead — the  phan- 
tom of  last  night. 


CHAPTER  THE  LAST. 

A  parting  glance  at  such  of  the  actors  in  this  little  his- 
tory as  it  has  not,  in  the  course  of  its  events,  dismissed,  will 
bring  it  to  an  end. 

Mr.  Haredale  fled  that  night.  Before  pursuit  could  be 
begun,  indeed  before  Sir  John  was  traced  or  missed,  he  had 
left  the  kingdom.  Repairing  straight  to  a  religious  estab- 
lishment, known  throughout  Europe  for  the  rigor  and  sever- 
ity of  its  discipline,  and  for  the  merciless  penitence  it  ex- 


6i2  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

acted  from  those  who  nought  its  shelter  as  a  refuge  from  the 
world,  he  took  the  vows  which  thenceforth  shut  him  out 
from  nature  and  its  kind,  and  after  a  few  remorseful  years 
was  buried  in  its  gloomy  cloisters. 

Two  days  elapsed  before  the  body  of  Sir  John  was  found. 
As  soon  as  it  was  recognized  and  carried  home,  the  faithful 
valet,  true  to  his  master's  creed,  eloped  with  all  the  cash  and 
movables  he  could  lay  his  hands  on,  and  started  as  a  finished 
gentleman  upon  his  own  account.  In  this  career  he  met 
with  great  success,  and  would  certainly  have  married  an 
heiress  in  the  end,  but  for  an  unlucky  check  which  led  to 
his  premature  decease.  He  sank  under  a  contagious  disor- 
der, very  prevalent  at  that  time,  and  vulgarly  termed  the 
jail  fever. 

Lord  George  Gordon,  remaining  in  his  prison  in  the  Tower 
until  Monday  the  fifth  of  February  in  the  following  year, 
was  on  that  day  solemnly  tried  at  Westminster  for  high 
treason.  Of  this  crime  he  was,  after  a  patient  investiga- 
tion, declared  Not  Guilty  ;  upon  the  ground  that  there  was 
no  proof  of  his  having  called  the  multitude  together  with 
any  traitorous  or  unlawful  intentions.  Yet  so  many  people 
were  there,  still,  to  whom  those  riots  taught  no  lesson  of  re- 
proof or  moderation,  that  a  public  subscription  was  set  on 
foot  in  Scotland  to  defray  the  cost  of  his  defense. 

For  seven  years  afterward  he  remained,  at  the  strong  in- 
tercession of  his  friends,  comparatively  quiet  ;  saving  that 
he,  every  now  and  then,  took  occasion  to  display  his  zeal  for 
the  Protestant  faith  in  some  extravagant  proceeding  which 
was  the  delight  of  its  enemies  ;  and  saving,  besides,  that  he 
was  formally  excommunicated  by  the  Archbishop  of  Can- 
terbury, for  refusing  to  appear  as  a  witness  in  the  Ecclesias- 
tical Court  when  cited  for  that  purpose.  In  the  year  1788 
he  was  stimulated  by  some  new  insanity  to  write  and  publish 
an  injurious  pamphlet,  reflecting  on  the  Queen  of  France, 
in  very  violent  terms.  Being  indicted  for  the  libel,  and  (af- 
ter various  strange  demonstrations  in  court)  found  guilty,  he 
fled  into  Holland  in  place  of  appearing  to  receive  sentence  : 
from  whence,  as  the  quiet  burgomasters  of  Amsterdam  had 
no  relish  for  his  company,  he  was  sent  home  again  with  all 
speed.  Arriving  in  the  month  of  July  at  Harwich,  and  go- 
ing thence  to  Birmingham,  he  made  in  the  latter  place,  in 
August,  a  public  profession  of  the  Jewish  religion  ;  and 
figured  there  as  a  Jew  until  he  was  arrested,  and  brought 
back  to  London  to  receive  the  sentence  he  had  evaded.    By 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  613 

virtue  of  this  sentence  he  was,  in  the  month  of  December, 
cast  into  Newgate  for  five  years  and  ten  months,  and  re- 
quired beside  to  pay  a  large  fine,  and  to  furnish  heavy 
securities  for  his  future  good  behavior. 

After  addressing,  in  the  midsummer  of  the  following  year, 
an  appeal  to  the  commiseration  of  the  National  Assembly  of 
France,  which  the  English  minister  refused  to  sanction,  he 
composed  himself  to  undergo  his  full  term  of  punishment  ; 
and  suffering  his  beard  to  grow  nearly  to  his  waist,  and  con- 
forming in  all  respects  to  the  ceremonies  of  his  new  religion, 
he  applied  himself  to  the  study  of  history,  and  occasionally 
to  the  art  of  painting,  in  which,  in  his  younger  days,  he  had 
shown  some  skill.  Deserted  by  his  former  friends,  and 
treated  in  all  respects  like  the  worst  criminal  in  the  jail,  he 
lingered  on,  quite  cheerful  and  resigned,  until  the  first  of 
November,  1793,  when  he  died  in  his  cell,  being  then  only 
three-and-forty  years  of  age. 

Many  men  with  fewer  sympathies  for  the  distressed  and 
needy,  with  less  abilities  and  harder  hearts,  have  made  a 
shining  figure  and  left  a  brilliant  fame.  He  had  his  mourn- 
ers. The  prisoners  bemoaned  his  loss,  and  missed  him  ;  for 
though  his  means  were  not  large,  his  charity  was  great,  and 
in  bestowing  alms  upon  them  he  considered  the  necessities 
of  all  alike,  and  knew  no  distinction  of  sect  or  creed.  There 
are  wise  men  in  the  highways  of  the  world  who  may  learn 
something,  even  from  this  poor  crazy  lord  who  died  in  New- 
gate. 

To  the  last,  he  was  truly  served  by  bluff  John  Grueby. 
John  was  at  his  side  before  he  had  been  four-and-twenty 
hours  in  the  Tower,  and  never  left  him  until  he  died.  He  had 
one  other  constant  attendant,  in  the  person  of  a  beautiful 
Jewish  girl  ;  who  attached  herself  to  him  from  feelings  half 
religious,  half  romantic,  but  whose  virtuous  and  disinterested 
character  appears  to  have  been  beyond  the  censure  even  of 
the  most  censorious. 

Gashford  deserted  him,  of  course.  He  subsisted  for  a 
time  upon  his  traffic  in  his  master's  secrets  ;  and,  this  trade 
failing  when  the  stock  was  quite  exhausted,  procured  an  ap- 
pointment in  the  honorable  corps  of  spies  and  eavesdrop- 
pers employed  by  the  government.  As  one  of  these  wretch- 
ed underlings,  he  did  his  drudgery,  sometimes  abroad,  some- 
times at  home,  and  long  endured  the  various  miseries  of 
such  a  station.  Ten  or  a  dozen  years  ago — not  more — a 
meager,  wan   old  man,  diseased    and    miserably  poor,   was 


6x4  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

found  dead  in  his  bed  at  an  obscure  inn  in  the  Borough, 
were  he  was  quite  unknown.  He  had  taken  poison.  There 
was  no  clew  to  his  name  ;  but  it  was  discovered  from  certain 
entries  in  a  pocket-book  he  carried,  that  he  had  been  secre- 
tary to  Lord  George  Gordon  in  the  time  of  the  famous  riots. 

Many  months  after  the  re-establishment  of  peace  and 
order,  and  even  when  it  had  ceased  to  be  the  town-talk,  that 
every  military  officer,  kept  at  free  quarters  by  the  city  dur- 
ing the  late  alarms,  had  cost  for  his  board  and  lodging  four 
pounds  four  per  day,  and  every  private  soldier  two  and  two- 
pence half-penny  ;  many  months  after  even  this  engrossing 
topic  was  forgotten,  and  the  United  Bull-dogs,  were,  to  a  man, 
all  killed,  imprisoned,  or  transported,  Mr.  Simon  Tappertit, 
being  removed  from  a  hospital  to  prison,  and  thence  to  his 
place  of  trial,  was  discharged  by  proclamation,  on  two 
wooden  legs.  Shorn  of  his  graceful  limbs,  and  brought 
down  from  his  high  estate  to  circumstances  of  utter  destitu- 
tion, and  the  deepest  misery,  he  made  shift  to  stump  back 
to  his  old  master,  and  beg  for  some  relief.  By  the  lock- 
smith's advice  and  aid,  he  was  established  in  business  as  a 
shoe-black,  and  opened  shop  under  an  archway  near  the  Horse 
Guards.  This  being  a  central  quarter,  he  quickly  made  a 
very  large  connection  ;  and  on  levee  days,  was  sometimes 
known  to  have  as  many  as  twenty  half-pay  officers  waiting 
their  turn  for  polishing.  Indeed  his  trade  increased  to  that 
extent,  that  in  course  of  time,  he  entertained  no  less  than 
two  apprentices,  besides  taking  for  his  wife  the  vvidow  of  an 
eminent  bone  and  rag  collector,  formerly  of  Millbank.  With 
this  lady  (who  assisted  in  the  business)  he  lived  in  great 
domestic  happiness,  only  checkered  by  those  little  storms 
which  serve  to  clear  the  atmosphere  of  wedlock,  and  brighten 
its  horizon.  In  some  of  these  gusts  of  bad  weather,  Mr. 
Tappertit  would,  in  the  assertion  of  his  prerogative,  so  far 
forget  himself,  as  to  correct  his  lady  with  a  brush,  or  boot, 
or  shoe  ;  while  she  (but  only  in  extreme  cases)  would  retal- 
iate by  taking  off  his  legs,  and  leaving  him  exposed  to  the 
derision  of  those  urchins  who  delight  in  mischief. 

Miss  Miggs,  baffled  in  all  her  schemes,  matrimonial  and 
otherwise,  and  cast  upon  a  thankless,  undeserving  world, 
turned  very  sharp  and  sour  ;  and  did  at  length  become  so 
acid,  and  did  so  pinch  and  slap  and  tweak  the  hair  and 
noses  of  the  youth  of  Golden  Lion  Court,  that  she  was  by  one 
consent  expelled  that  sanctuary,  and  desired  to  bless  some 
other  spot  of  earth,  in  preference.     It  chanced  at  that  mo- 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  615 

ment,  that  the  justices  of  the  peace  for  Middlesex  proclaimed 
by  public  placard  that  they  stood  in  need  of  a  female  turn- 
key for  the  County  Bridewell,  and  appointed  a  day  and 
hour  for  the  inspection  of  candidates.  Miss  Miggs  attend- 
ing at  the  time  appointed,  was  instantly  chosen  and  selected 
from  one  hundred  and  twenty- four  competitors,  and  at  once 
promoted  to  the  office  ;  which  she  held  until  her  decease, 
more  than  thirty  years  afterward,  remaining  single  all  that 
time.  It  was  observed  of  this  lady  that  while  she  was  in- 
flexible and  grim  to  all  her  female  flock,  she  was  particularly 
so  to  those  who  could  establish  any  claim  to  beauty  :  and  it 
was  often  remarked  as  a  proof  of  her  indomitable  virtue  and 
severe  chastity,  that  to  such  as  had  been  frail  she  showed 
no  mercy  ;  always  falling  upon  them  on  the  slightest  occa- 
sion, or  on  no  occasion  at  all,  with  the  fullest  measure  of  her 
wrath.  Among  other  useful  inventions  which  she  practiced 
upon  this  class  of  offenders  and  bequeathed  to  posterity,  was 
the  art  of  inflicting  an  exquisitely  vicious  poke  or  dig  with 
the  wards  of  a  key  in  the  small  of  the  back,  near  the  spine. 
She  likewise  originated  a  mode  of  treading  by  accident  (in 
pattens)  on  such  as  had  small  feet  ;  also  very  remarkable  for 
its  ingenuity,  and  previously  quite  unknown. 

It  was  not  very  long,  you  may  be  sure,  before  Joe  Willet 
and  Dolly  Varden  were  made  husband  and  wife,  and  with  a 
handsome  sum  in  bank  (for  the  locksmith  could  afford  to 
give  his  daughter  a  good  dowry),  reopened  the  Maypole.  It 
was  not  very  long,  you  may  be  sure,  before  a  red-faced  little 
boy  was  seen  staggering  about  the  Maypole  passage, 
and  kicking  up  his  heels  on  the  green  before  the  door. 
It  was  not  very  long,  counting  by  years,  before  there  was  a 
red-faced  little  girl,  another  red-faced  little  boy,  and  a  whole 
troop  of  girls  and  boys  :  so  that,  go  to  Chigwell  when  you 
would,  there  would  surely  be  seen,  either  in  the  village  street, 
or  on  the  green,  or  frolicking  in  the  farmyard — for  it  was  a 
farm  now,  as  well  as  a  tavern — more  small  Joes  and  small 
Dollys  than  could  be  easily  counted.  It  was  not  a  very  long 
time,  before  these  appearances  ensued  ;  but  it  was  a  very 
long  time  before  Joe  looked  five  years  older,  or  Dolly  either, 
or  the  locksmith  either,  or  his  wife  either  :  for  cheerfulness 
and  content  are  great  beautifiers,  and  are  famous  preservers 
of  youthful  looks,  depend  upon  it. 

It  was  a  long  time,  too,  before  there  was  such  a  country 
inn  as  the  Maypole,  in  all  England  :  indeed  it  is  a  great 
question  whether  there  has  ever  been  such  another  to  this 


6i6  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

hour,  or  ever  will  be.  It  was  a  long  time  too — for  never,  as 
the  proverb  says,  is  a  long  day — before  they  forgot  to  have 
an  interest  in  wounded  soldiers  at  the  Maypole,  or  before 
Joe  omitted  to  refresh  them,  for  the  sake  of  his  old  cam- 
paign ;  or  before  the  sergeant  left  off  looking  in  there,  now 
and  then  ;  or  before  they  fatigued  themselves,  or  each  other, 
b)  talking  on  these  occasions  of  battles  and  sieges,  and  hard 
weather  and  hard  service,  and  a  thousand  things  belonging 
to  a  soldier's  life.  As  to  the  great  silver  snuff-box  which  the 
king  sent  Joe  with  his  own  hand,  because  of  his  conduct  in 
the  riots,  what  guest  ever  went  to  the  Maypole  without 
putting  finger  or  thumb  into  that  box,  and  taking  a  great 
pinch,  though  he  had  never  taken  a  pinch  of  snuff  before,  and 
almost  sneezed  himself  into  convulsions  even  then  ?  As  to  the 
purple-faced  vintner,  where  is  the  man  who  lived  in  those 
times  and  never  saw  him  at  the  Maypole  :  to  all  appearance 
as  much  at  home  in  the  best  room,  as  if  he  lived  there  ?  And 
as  to  the  feastings  and  christenings,  and  revelings  at  Christ- 
mas, and  celebrations  of  birthdays,  wedding  days,  and  all 
manner  of  days,  both  at  the  Maypole  and  at  the  Golden 
Key — if  they  are  not  notorious,  what  facts  are  ? 

Mr.  Willet  the  elder,  having  been  by  some  extraordinary 
means  possessed  vv'ith  the  idea  that  Joe  wanted  to  be  married, 
and  that  it  would  be  well  for  him,  his  father,  to  retire  into 
private  life,  and  enable  him  to  live  in  comfort,  took  up  his 
abode  in  a  small  cottage  at  Chigwell  ;  where  they  widened 
and  enlarged  the  fireplace  for  him,  hung  up  the  boiler,  and 
furthermore  planted  in  the  little  garden  outside  the  front- 
door, a  fictitious  Maypole  ;  so  that  he  was  quite  at  home  di- 
rectly. To  this,  his  new  habitation,  Tom  Cobb,  Phil  Parkes, 
and  Solornon  Daisy  went  regularly  every  night ;  and  in  the 
chimney-corner,  they  all  four  quaffed,  and  smoked,  and 
prosed,  and  dozed,  as  they  had  done  of  old.  It  being  ac- 
cidentally discovered  after  a  short  time  that  Mr.  Willet  still 
appeared  to  consider  himself  a  landlord  by  profession,  Joe 
provided  him  with  a  slate,  upon  which  the  old  man  regularly 
scored  up  vast  accounts  for  meat,  drink,  and  tobacco.  As 
he  grew  older  this  passion  increased  upon  him  ;  and  it  be- 
came his  delight  to  chalk  against  the  name  of  each  of  his 
cronies  a  sum  of  enormous  magnitude,  and  impossible  to  be 
paid  :  and  such  was  his  secret  jo}'  in  these  entries,  that  he 
would  be  perpetually  seen  going  behind  the  door  to  look  at 
them,  and  coming  forth  again,  suffused  with  the  liveliest  sat- 
isfaction. 


BARNABY  RUDGE.  617 

He  never  recovered  the  surprise  the  rioters  had  given  him, 
and  remained  in  the  same  mental  condition  down  to  the  last 
moment  of  his  life.  It  was  like  to  have  been  brought  to  a 
speedy  termination  by  the  first  sight  of  his  first  grandchild, 
which  appeared  to  fill  him  with  the  belief  that  some  alarm- 
ing miracle  had  happened  to  Joe.  Being  promptly  blooded, 
however,  by  a  skillful  surgeon,  he  rallied  ;  and  although  the 
doctors  alfagreed,  on  his  being  attacked  with  symptoms  of 
apoplexy  six  months  afterward,  that  he  ought  to  die,  and 
took  it  very  ill  that  he  did  not,  he  remained  alive — possibly 
on  account  of  his  constitutional  slowness— for  nearly  seven 
years  more,  when  he  was  one  morning  found  speechless  in 
his  bed.  He  lay  in  this  state,  free  from  all  tokens  of  un- 
easiness, for  a  whole  week,  when  he  was  suddenly  restored 
to  consciousness  by  hearing  the  nurse  whisper  in  his  son's 
ear  that  he  was  going.  "I'm  a-going,  Joseph,"  said  Mr. 
Willet,  turning  round  upon  the  instant,  "  to  the  Salwanners  " 
— and  immediately  gave  up  the  ghost. 

He  left  a  large  sum  of  money  behind  him  ;  even  more  than 
he  was  supposed  to  have  been  worth,  although  the  neighbors, 
according  to  the  custom  of  mankind  in  calculating  the  wealth 
that  other  people  ought  to  have  saved,  had  estimated  his 
property  in  good  round  numbers.  Joe  inherited  the  whole  ; 
so  that  he  became  a  man  of  great  consequence  in  those  parts, 
and  was  perfectly  independent. 

Some  time  elapsed  before  Barnaby  got  the  better  of  the 
shock  he  had  sustained,  or  had  regained  his  old  health  and 
gayety.  But  he  recovered  by  degrees  :  and  although  he 
could  never  separate  his  condemnation  and  escape  from  the 
idea  of  a  terrific  dream,  he  became,  in  other  respects,  more 
rational.  Dating  from  the  time  of  his  recovery,  he  had  a 
better  memory  and  greater  steadiness  of  purpose  ;  but  a  dark 
cloud  overhung  his  whole  previous  existence,  and  never 
cleared  away. 

He  was  not  the  less  happy  for  this  ;  for  his  love  of  free- 
dom and  interest  in  all  that  moved  or  grew,  or  had  its  being 
in  the  elements,  remained  to  him  unimpaired.  He  lived 
with  his  mother  on  the  Maypole  farm,  tending  the  pouUry 
and  the  cattle,  working  in  a  garden  of  his  own,  and  helping 
everywhere.  He  was  known  to  every  bird  and  beast  about 
the  place,  and  had  a  name  for  every  one.  Never  was  there 
a  Hghter-hearted  husbandman,  a  creature  more  popular  v/ith 
young  and  old,  a  blither  or  more  happy  soul  than  Barnaby; 


6i8  BARNABY  RUDGE. 

and  though  he  was  free  to  ramble  where  he  would,  he  never 
quitted  her,  but  was  for  evermore  her  stay  and  comfort. 

It  was  remarkable  that  although  he  had  that  dim  sense  of 
the  past,  he  sought  out  Hugh's  dog,  and  took  him  under 
his  care  ;  and  that  he  never  could  be  tempted  into  London. 
When  the  riots  were  many  years  old,  and  Edward  and  his 
wife  came  back  to  England  with  a  family  almost  as  numer- 
ous as  Dolly's,  and  one  day  appeared  at  the  Maypole  porch, 
he  knew  them  instantly,  and  wept  and  leaped  for  joy.  But 
neither  to  visit  them,  nor  on  any  other  pretense,  no  matter 
how  full  of  promise  and  enjoyment,  could  he  be  persuaded  to 
set  foot  in  the  streets  ;  nor  did  he  ever  conquer  his  repug- 
nance or  look  upon  the  town  again. 

Grip  soon  recovered  his  looks,  and  became  as  glossy  and 
sleek  as  ever.  But  he  was  profoundly  silent.  Whether  he 
had  forgotten  the  art  of  polite  conversation  in  Newgate,  or 
had  made  a  vow  in  those  troubled  times  to  forego,  for  a 
period,  the  display  of  his  accomplishments,  is  a  matter  of  un- 
certainty ;  but  certain  it  is  that  for  a  whole  year  he  never 
indulged  in  ony  other  sound  than  a  grave,  decorous  croak. 
At  the  expiration  of  that  term,  the  morning  being  bright 
and  sunny,  he  was  heard  to  address  himself  to  the  horses  in 
the  stable,  upon  the  subject  of  the  kettle,  so  often  men- 
tioned in  these  pages  ;  and  before  the  witness  who  overheard 
him  could  run  into  the  house  with  the  intelligence,  and  add 
to  it  upon  his  solemn  affirmation  the  statement  that  he  had 
heard  him  laugh,  the  bird  himself  advanced  with  fantastic 
steps  to  the  very  door  of  the  bar,  and  there  cried  '*  I'm  a 
devil,  /'m  a  devil  !  "  with  extraordinary  rapture. 

From  that  period  (although  he  was  supposed  to  be  much 
affected  by  the  death  of  Mr.  Willet,  Senior),  he  constantly 
practiced  and  improved  himself  in  the  vulgar  tongue  ;  and 
as  he  was  a  mere  infant  for  a  raven  when  Barnaby  was  gray, 
he  has  very  probably  gone  on  talking  to  the  present  time. 


THE 

MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 


CHAPTER    I. 

THE    DAWN. 

An  ancient  English  cathedral  tower  ?  How  can  the 
ancient  English  cathedral  tower  be  here  !  The  well-known 
massive  gray  square  tower  of  its  old  cathedral  ?  How  can 
that  be  here  !  There  is  no  spike  of  rusty  iron  in  the  air, 
between  the  eye  and  it,  from  any  point  of  the  real  prospect. 
What  is  the  spike  that  intervenes,  and  who  has  set  it  up  ? 
May  be,  it  is  set  up  by  the  sultan's  orders  for  the  impaling 
of  a  horde  of  Turkish  robbers,  one  by  one.  It  is  so,  for 
cymbals  clash,  and  the  sultan  goes  by  to  his  palace  in  long 
procession.  Ten  thousand  cimeters  flash  in  the  sunlight, 
and  thrice  ten  thousand  dancing- girls  strew  flowers.  Then 
follow  white  elephants  caparisoned  in  countless  gorgeous 
colors,  and  infinite  in  number  and  attendants.  Still,  the 
cathedral  tower  rises  in  the  background,  where  it  can  not 
be,  and  still  no  writhing  figure  is  on  the  grim  spike.  Stay  ! 
Is  the  spike  so  low  a  thing  as  the  rusty  spike  on  the  top  of 
a  post  of  an  old  bedstead  that  has  tumbled  all  awry  ?  Some 
vague  period  of  drowsy  laughter  must  be  devoted  to  the 
consideration  of  this  possibility. 

Shaking  from  head  to  foot,  the  man  whose  scattered  con- 
sciousness has  thus  fantastically  pieced  itself  together,  at 
length  rises,  supports  his  trembling  frame  upon  his  arms, 
and  looks  around.  He  is  in  the  meanest  and  closest  of 
small  rooms.  Through  the  ragged  window-curtain,  the 
light  of  early  day  steals  in  from  a  miserable  court.  He  lies. 
dressed,  across  a  large  unseemly  bed,  upon  a  bedstead  that 
has  indeed  given  way  under  the  weight  upon  it.  Lying,  also 
dressed  and  also  across  the  bed,  not  longwise,  are  a  China- 


620         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

man,  a  Lascar,  and  a  haggard  woman.  The  two  first  are  in 
a  sleep  or  stupor  ;  the  last  is  blowing  at  a  kind  of  pipe,  to 
kindle  it.  And  as  she  blows,  and,  shading  it  with  her  lean 
hand,  concentrates  its  red  spark  of  light,  it  serves  in  the 
dim  morning  as  a  lamp  to  show  him  what  he  sees  of  her. 

"Another?"  says  this  woman,  in  a  querulous,  rattling 
whisper.     "  Have  another  ?  " 

He  looks  about  him,  with  his  hand  to  his  forehead. 

**  Ye've  smoked  as  many  as  five  since  ye  come  in  at  mid- 
night," the  woman  goes  on,  as  she  chronically  complains. 
"  Poor  me,  poor  me,  my  head  is  so  bad  !  Them  two  come  in 
after  ye.  Ah,  poor  me,  the  business  is  slack,  is  slack  !  Few 
Chinamen  about  the  docks,  and  fewer  Lascars,  and  no  ships 
coming  in,  these  say  !  Here's  another  ready  for  ye,  deary. 
Ye'll  remember,  like  a  good  soul,  won't  ye,  that  the  market 
price  is  dreffle  high  just  now  ?  More  nor  three  shillings  and 
sixpence  for  a  thimbleful  !  And  ye'll  remember  that  nobody 
but  me  (and  Jack  Chinaman  t'other  side  the  court ;  but  he 
can't  do  it  as  well  as  me)  has  the  true  secret  of  mixing  it  ? 
Ye'll  pay  up  according,  deary,  won't  ye  ?  " 

She  blows  at  the  pipe  as  she  speaks,  and,  occasionally 
bubbling  at  it,  inhales  much  of  its  contents. 

"  Oh  me,  oh  me,  my  lungs  is  weak,  my  lungs  is  bad  !  It's 
nearly  ready  for  ye,  deary.  Ah,  poor  me,  poor  me,  my 
poor  hand  shakes  like  to  drop  off !  I  see  ye  coming  to,  and 
I  ses  to  my  poor  self,  '  I'll  have  another  ready  for  him,  and 
he'll  bear  in  mind  the  market  price  of  opium,  and  pay 
according.'  Oh  my  poor  head  !  I  make  my  pipes  of  old 
penny  ink-bottles,  ye  see,  deary — this  is  one — and  I  fits  in  a 
mouthpiece,  this  way,  and  I  takes  my  mixter  out  of  this 
thimble  with  this  little  horn  spoon  ;  and  so  I  fills,  deary. 
Ah,  my  poor  nerves  !  I  got  heavens-hard  drunk  for  sixteen 
year  afore  I  took  to  this  ;  but  this  don't  hurt  me,  not  to 
speak  of.  And  it  takes  away  the  hunger  as  well  as  wittles, 
deary." 

She  hands  him  the  nearly  emptied  pipe,  and  sinks  back, 
turning  over  on  her  face. 

He  rises  unsteadily  from  the  bed,  lays  the  pipe  upon  the 
hearthstone,  draws  back  the  ragged  curtain,  and  looks  with 
repugnance  at  his  three  companions.  He  notices  that  the 
woman  has  opium-smoked  herself  into  a  strange  likeness  of 
the  Chinaman.  His  form  of  cheek,  eye,  and  temple,  and  his 
color,  are  repeated  in  her.  Said  Chinaman  convulsively 
wrestles  with  ouc  of  his  many  gods,  or  devils,  perhaps,  and 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        621 

snarls  horribly.  The  Lascar  laughs  and  dribbles  at  the 
mouth.     The  hostess  is  still. 

"  What  visions  can  she  have?"  the  waking  man  muses,  as 
he  turns  her  face  toward  him,  and  stands  looking  down  at  it. 
"  Visions  of  many  butchers'  shops,  and  public-houses,  and 
much  credit  ?  Of  an  increase  of  hideous  customers,  and  this 
horrible  bedstead  set  upright  again,  and  this  horrible  court 
swept  clean  ?  What  can  she  rise  to,  under  any  quantity  of 
opium,  higher  than  that  ! — Eh  ?" 

He  bends  down  his  ear,  to  listen  to  her  mutterings. 

*'  Unintelligible  !  " 

As  he  watches  the  spasmodic  shoots  and  darts  that  break 
out  of  her  face  and  limbs,  like  fitful  lightning  out  of  a  dark 
sky,  some  contagion  in  them  seizes  upon  him  :  insomuch 
that  he  has  to  withdraw  himself  to  a  lean  arm-chair  by  the 
hearth — placed  there,  perhaps,  for  such  emergencies — and  to 
sit  in  it,  holding  tight,  until  he  has  got  the  better  of  this  un- 
clean spirit  of  imitation. 

Then  he  comes  back,  pounces  on  the  Chinaman,  and,  seiz- 
ing him  with  both  hands  by  the  throat,  turns  him  violently 
on  the  bed.  The  Chinaman  clutches  the  aggressive  hands, 
resists,  gasps,  and  protests. 

"  What  do  you  say  ? " 

A  watchful  pause. 

"  Unintelligible  !  " 

Slowly  loosening  his  grasp  as  he  listens  to  the  incoherent 
jargon  with  an  attentive  frown,  he  turns  to  the  Lascar  and 
fairly  drags  him  forth  upon  the  floor.  As  he  falls,  the  Las- 
car starts  into  a  half-risen  attitude,  glares  with  his  eyes, 
lashes  about  him  fiercely  with  his  arms,  and  draws  a  phantom 
knife.  It  then  becomes  apparent  that  the  woman  has  taken 
possession  of  his  knife,  for  safety's  sake  ;  for,  she  too  start- 
ing up,  and  restraining  and  expostulating  with  him,  the 
knife  is  visible  in  her  dress,  not  in  his,  when  they  drowsily 
drop  back,  side  by  side. 

There  has  been  chattering  and  clattering  enough  between 
them,  but  to  no  purpose.  When  any  distinct  word  has  been 
flung  into  the  air,  it  has  had  no  sense  or  sequence.  Where- 
fore "  unintelligible  !  "  is  again  the  comment  of  the  watcher, 
made  with  some  reassured  nodding  of  his  head,  and  a  gloomy 
smile.  He  then  lays  certain  silver  money  on  the  table,  finds 
his  hat,  gropes  his  way  down  the  broken  stairs,  gives  a  good- 
morning  to  some  rat-ridden  doorkeeper,  in  bed  in  a  black 
hutch  beneath  the  stairs,  and  passes  out,^  , 


622         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

That  same  afternoon,  the  massive  gray  square  tower  of  an 
old  cathedral  rises  before  the  sight  of  a  jaded  traveler.  The 
bells  are  going  for  daily  vesper  service,  and  he  must  needs 
attend  it,  one  would  say,  from  his  haste  to  reach  the  open 
cathedral  door.  The  choir  are  getting  on  their  sullied  white 
robes,  in  a  hurry,  when  he  arrives  among  them,  gets  on  his  own 
robe,  and  falls  into  the  procession  filing  in  to  service.  Then 
the  sacristan  locks  the  iron-barred  gates  that  divide  the 
sanctuary  from  the  chancel,  and  all  of  the  procession,  having 
scuttled  into  their  places,  hide  their  faces  ;  and  then  the  in- 
toned words,  "  When  the  Wicked  Man — "  rise  among 
groins  of  arches  and  beams  of  roof,  awakening  muttered 
thunder. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A   DEAN,  AND    A    CHAPTER    ALSO. 

Whosoever  has  observed  that  sedate  and  clerical  bird,  the 
rook,  may  perhaps  have  noticed  that  when  he  Avings  his  way 
homeward  toward  nightfall,  in  a  sedate  and  clerical  com- 
pany, two  rooks  will  suddenly  detach  themselves  from  the 
rest,  will  retrace  their  flight  for  some  distance,  and  will  there 
poise  and  linger — conveying  to  mere  men  the  fancy  that  it  is 
of  some  occult  importance  to  the  body  politic  that  this  art- 
ful couple  should  pretend  to  have  renounced  connection 
with  it. 

Similarly,  service  being  over  in  the  old  cathedral  with  the 
square  tower,  and  the  choir  scuffling  out  again,  and  divers 
venerable  persons  of  rook-like  aspect  dispersing,  two  of 
these  latter  retrace  their  steps,  and  walk  together  in  the 
echoing  close. 

Not  only  is  the  day  waning,  but  the  year.  The  low  sun 
is  fiery  and  yet  cold  behind  the  monastery  ruin,  and  the  Vir- 
ginia creeper  on  the  cathedral  wall  has  showered  half  its 
deep-red  leaves  down  on  the  pavement.  There  has  been 
rain  this  afternoon,  and  a  wintry  shudder  goes  among  the 
little  pools  on  the  cracked,  uneven  fiaas-stones,  and  through 
the  giant  elm-trees  as  they  shed  a  gust  of  tears.  Their  fallen 
leaves  lie  strewn  thickly  about.  Some  of  these  leaves,  in  a 
timid  rush,  seek  sanctuary  within  the  low  arched  cathedral 
door  ;  but  two  men,  coming  out,  resist  them,  and  cast  them 
forth  again  with  their  feet ;  tkis  dxjfto,  one  of  the  Uvo  locks 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        623 

the  door  with  a  goodly  key,  and  the  other  flits  away  with  a 
folio  music-book. 

"  Mr.  Jasper  was  that,  Tope  ' " 

'*Yes,  Mr.  Dean." 

"  He  has  staid  late." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Dean.  I  have  staid  for  him,  your  reverence. 
He  has  been  took  a  little  poorly." 

"Say  'taken,'  Tope — to  the  dean,"  the  younger  rook 
interposes  in  a  low  tone  with  this  touch  of  correction,  as 
who  should  say,  "  You  may  offer  bad  grammar  to  the  laity, 
or  the  humbler  clergy,  not  to  the  dean." 

Mr.  Tope,  chief  verger  and  showman,  and  accustomed 
to  be  high  with  excursion-parties,  declines  with  a  silent  lofti- 
ness to  perceive  that  any  suggestion  has  been  tendered  to 
him. 

"  And  when  and  how  has  Mr.  Jasper  been  taken— for,  as 
Mr.  Crisparkle  has  remarked,  it  is  better  to  say  taken — 
taken — "  repeats  the  dean  ;  "  when  and  how  has  Mr.  Jas- 
per been  taken " 

*'  Taken,  sir,"  Tope  deferentially  murmurs. 

" — Poorly,  Tope  ?  " 

"  Why,  sir,  Mr.  Jasper  was  that  breathed " 

"  I  wouldn't  say  '  That  breathed,'  Tope,"  Mr.  Crisparkle 
interposes,  with  the  same  touch  as  before.  "  Not  English — 
to  the  dean." 

"  Breathed  to  that  extent,"  the  dean  (not  unflattered  by 
this  indirect  homage)  condescendingly  remarks,  ''  would  be 
preferable." 

"  Mr.  Jasper's  breathing  was  so  remarkably  short,"  thus 
discreetly  does  Mr.  Tope  work  his  way  round  the  sunken 
rock,  **  when  he  came  in,  that  it  distressed  him  mightily  to 
get  his  notes  out  ;  which  was  perhaps  the  cause  of  his  hav- 
ing a  kind  of  fit  on  him  after  a  little.  His  memory  grew 
Dazed  " — Mr.  Tope,  with  his  eyes  on  the  Reverend  Mr. 
Crisparkle,  shoots  this  word  out,  as  defying  him  to  improve 
upon  it — "  and  a  dimness  and  giddiness  crept  over  him  as 
strange  as  ever  I  saw  :  though  he  didn't  seem  to  mind  it 
particularly,  himself.  However,  a  little  time  and  a  little 
water  brought  him  out  of  his  Daze."  Mr.  Tope  repeats  the 
word  and  its  emphasis,  with  the  air  of  saying,  "  As  I  Aave 
made  a  success,  I'll  make  it  again." 

"  And  Mr.  Jasper  has  gone  home  quite  himself,  has  he?" 
asked  the  dean. 

"  Your  revereue^,  he  hai  gone  howe  ^uite  hiaiself.     And 


624         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

I'm  glad  to  see  he's  having  his  fire  kindled  up,  for  its  chilly- 
after  the  wet,  and  the  cathedral  had  both  a  damp  feel  and  a 
damp  touch  this  afternoon,  and  he  was  very  shivery." 

They  all  three  looked  toward  an  old  stone  gate-house 
crossing  the  close,  with  an  arched  thoroughfare  passing 
beneath  it.  Through  its  latticed  window,  a  fire  shines  out 
upon  the  fast-darkening  scene,  involving  in  shadow  the  pen- 
dent masses  of  ivy  and  creeper  covering  the  building's  front. 
As  the  deep  cathedral  bell  strikes  the  hour,  a  ripple  of  wind 
goes  through  these  at  their  distance,  like  a  ripple  of  the 
solemn  sound  that  hums  through  tomb  and  tower,  broken 
niche  and  defaced  statue,  in  the  pile  close  at  hand. 

"  Is  Mr.  Jasper's  nephew  with  him  ?  "  the  dean  asks. 

"No,  sir,"  replies  the  verger,  "but  expected.  There's  his 
own  solitary  shadow  betwixt  his  two  windows — the  one  look- 
ing this  way,  and  the  one  looking  down  into  the  High  Street 
— drawing  his  own  curtains  now." 

**  Well,  well,"  says  the  d^an,  with  a  sprightly  air  of  break- 
ing up  the  little  conference,  "  I  hope  Mr.  Jasper's  heart  may 
not  be  too  much  set  upon  his  nephew.  Our  affections,  how- 
ever laudable,  in  this  transitory  world,  should  never  master 
us  ;  we  should  guide  them,  guide  them.  I  find  I  am  not 
disagreeably  reminded  of  my  dinner,  by  hearing  my  dinner- 
bell.  Perhaps,  Mr.  Crisparkle,  you  will,  before  going  home, 
look  in  on  Jasper  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  Mr.  Dean.  And  tell  him  that  you  had  the 
kindness  to  desire  to  know  how  he  was  ?  " 

"  Ay  ;  do  so,  do  so.  Certainly.  Wished  to  know  how  he 
was.     By  all  means.     Wished  to  know  how  he  was." 

With  a  pleasant  air  of  patronage,  the  dean  as  nearly  cocks 
his  quaint  hat  as  a  dean  in  good  spirits  may,  and  directs  lus 
comely  gaiters  toward  the  ruddy  dining-room  of  the  snug 
old  red- brick  house,  where  he  is  at  present  "  in  residence  " 
with  Mrs.  Dean  and  Miss  Dean. 

Mr.  Crisparkle,  minor  canon,  fair  and  rosy,  and  perpet- 
ually pitching  himself  headforemost  into  all  the  deep  run- 
ning water  in  the  surrounding  country  ;  Mr.  Crisparkle, 
minor  canon,  early  riser,  musical,  classical,  cheerful,  kind^ 
good-natured,  social,  contented,  and  boy-like  ;  Mr.  Cris- 
parkle, minor  canon  and  good  man,  lately  "  coach  "  upon  the 
chief  Pagan  high-roads,  but  since  promoted  by  a  patron 
(grateful  for  a  well-taught  son)  to  his  present  Christian 
beat ;  betakes  himself  to  the  gate-house,  on  bis  way  home  to 
his  e.xrly  tea,  .         ^  .  .  ^.  .  . 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DRoOD.        625 

"  Sorry  to  hear  from  Tope  that  you  have  not  been  well, 
Jasper." 

"  Oh,  it  was  nothing,  nothing  !  " 

*' You  look  a  little  worn." 

"Do  I  ?  Oh,  I  don't  think  so.  What  is  better,  I  don't 
feel  so.  Tope  has  made  too  much  of  it,  I  suspect.  It's  his 
trade  to  make  the  most  of  every  thing  appertaining  to  the 
cathedral,  you  know." 

"  I  may  tell  the  dean — I  call  expressly  from  the  dean — 
that  you  are  all  right  again  ? " 

The  reply,  with  a  slight  smile,  is,  *'  Certainly  ;  with  my 
respects  and  thanks  to  the  dean," 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  that  you  expect  young  Drood." 

"I  expect  the  dear  fellow  every  moment." 

**  Ah  !     He  will  do  you  more  good  than  a  doctor,  Jasper." 

"  More  good  than  a  dozen  doctors  ;  for  I  love  him  dearly, 
and  I  don't  love  doctors,  or  doctors'  stuff." 

Mr.  Jasper  is  a  dark  man  of  some  six-and-twenty,  with 
thick,  lustrous,  well-arranged  black  hair  and  wliisker.  He 
looks  older  than  he  is,  as  dark  men  often  do.  His  voice  is 
deep  and  good,  his  face  and  figure  are  good,  his  manner  is 
a  little  somber.  His  room  is  a  little  somber,  and  may  have 
had  its  influence  in  forming  his  manner.  It  is  mostly  in 
shadow.  Even  when  the  sun  shines  brilliantly,  it  seldom 
touches  the  grand  piano  in  the  recess,  or  the  folio  music- 
books  on  the  stand,  or  the  book-shelves  on  the  wall,  or  the 
unfinished  picture  of  a  blooming  school-girl  hanging  over 
the  chimney-piece  ;  her  flowing  brown  hair  tied  with  a  blue 
ribbon,  and  her  beauty  remarkable  for  a  quite  childish, 
almost  babyish,  touch  of  saucy  discontent,  comically  con- 
scious of  itself.  (There  is  not  the  least  artistic  merit  in  this 
picture,  which  is  a  mere  daub  ;  but  it  is  clear  that  the  painter 
has  made  it  humorously — one  might  almost  say,  revenge- 
fully— like  the  original.) 

"  We  shall  miss  you,  Jasper,  at  the  '  Alternate  Musical 
Wednesdays  '  to-night ;  but  no  doubt  you  are  best  at  home. 
Good-night.  God  bless  you  !  '  Tell  me,  shep-herds,  te-e-ell 
me  ;  tell  me-e-e,  have  you  seen  (have  you  seen,  have  you 
seen,  have  you  seen)  my-y-y  Flo-o-ora  pass  this  way  ?  *  " 
Melodiously  good  minor  canon  the  Reverend  Septimus 
Crisparkle  thus  delivers  himself  in  musical  rhythm,  as  he 
withdraws  his  amiable  face  from  the  doorway  and  conveys 
it  down  stairs. 

Sounds  of  recognition  and  greeting  pass  bet we<^n  the  Rev- 


626         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

erend  Septimus  and  somebody  else,  at  the  stair-foot.  Mr. 
Jasper  listens,  starts  from  his  chair,  and  catches  a  young 
fellow  in  his  arms,  exclaiming 

"  My  dear  Edwin  !  " 

*'  My  dear  Jack  !     So  glad  to  see  you  !  " 

"  Get  off  your  great-coat,  bright  boy,  and  sit  down  here  in 
your  own  corner.  Your  feet  are  not  wet  ?  Pull  your  boots 
off.     Do  pull  your  boots  off." 

"  My  dear  Jack,  I  am  as  dry  as  a  bone.  Don't  moddley- 
coddley,  there's  a  good  fellow.  I  like  any  thing  better  than 
being  moddley-coddleyed." 

With  the  check  upon  him  of  being  unsympathetically 
restrained  in  a  genial  outburst  of  enthusiasm,  Mr.  Jasper 
stands  still,  and  looks  on  intently  at  the  young  fellow,  di- 
vesting himself  of  his  outer  coat,  hat,  gloves,  and  so  forth. 
Once  for  all,  a  look  of  intentness  and  intensity — a  look  of 
hungry,  exacting,  watchful,  and  yet  devoted  affection — is 
always,  now  and  ever  afterward,  on  the  Jasper  face  when- 
ever the  Jasper  face  is  addressed  in  this  direction.  And 
whenever  it  is  so  addressed,  it  is  never,  on  this  occasion 
or  on  any  other,  dividedly  addressed  ;  it  is  always  con- 
centrated. 

"  Now  I  am  right,  and  now  I'll  take  my  corner,  Jack.  Any 
dinner,  Jack  ? " 

Mr.  Jasper  opens  a  door  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room, 
and  discloses  a  small  inner  room  pleasantly  lighted  and 
prepared,  wherein  a  comely  dame  is  in  the  act  of  setting 
dishes  on  table. 

'^  What  a  jolly  old  Jack  it  is  !  "  cries  the  young  fellow,  with 
a  clap  of  his  hands.  *' Look  here,  Jack;  tell  me;  whose 
birthday  is  it?" 

*' Not  yours,  I  know,"  Mr.  Jasper  answers,  pausing  to 
consider. 

"  Not  mine,  you  know  ?  No  ;  not  mine,  /know  !  Pussy's!  " 

Fixed  as  the  look  the  young  fellow  meets  is,  there  is  yet 
in  it  some  strange  power  of  suddenly  including  the  sketch 
over  the  chimney-piece. 

"  Pussy's,  Jack  !  We  must  drink  many  happy  returns  to 
her.  Come,  uncle  ;  take  your  dutiful  and  sharp-set  nephew 
in  to  dinner." 

As  the  boy  (for  he  is  little  more)  lays  a  hand  on  Jasper's 
shoulder,  Jasper  cordially  and  gayly  lays  a  hand  on  /lis  shoul- 
der, and  so  Marseillaise-M-ise  they  ^o  in  to  dinner. 

"  And  Lord  !  Here's  Mrs.  Tope'!  "  cries  the  boy.  "  Love- 
lier than  ever  I " 


THE  MVSTERV  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        627 

"Never  you  mind  me,  Master  Edwin,"  retorts  the  ver- 
ger's wife  ;  "  I  can  take  care  of  myself." 

"  You  can't.  You're  much  too  handsome.  Give  me  a 
kiss,  because  it's  Pussy's  birthday." 

"I'd  Pussy  you,  young  man,  if  I  was  Pussy,  as  you  call 
her,"  Mrs.Tope  blushingly  retorts,  after  being  saluted.  "Your 
uncle's  too  much  wrapped  up  in  you,  that's  where  it  is.  He 
makes  so  much  of  you  that  it's  my  opinion  you  think  you've 
only  to  call  your    Pussys  by  the  dozen,  to  make  'em  come." 

"  You  forgot,  Mrs.  Tope,"  Mr.  Jasper  interposes,  taking 
his  place  at  table  with  a  genial  smile,  "  and  so  do  you,  Ned, 
that  uncle  and  nephew  are  words  prohibited  here  by  com- 
mon consent  and  express  agreement.  For  what  we  are 
going  to  receive.     His  holy  name  be  praised  !  " 

"  Done  like  the  dean  !  Witness,  Edwin  Drood  I  Please 
to  carve,  Jack,  for  I  can't." 

This  sally  ushers  in  the  dinner.  Little  to  the  present  pur- 
pose, or  to  any  purpose,  is  said,  while  it  is  in  course  of  being 
disposed  of.  At  length  the  cloth  is  drawn,  and  a  dish  of 
walnuts  and  a  decanter  of  rich-colored  sherry  are  placed 
upon  the  table. 

"  I  say  !  Tell  me.  Jack,"  the  young  fellow  then  flows  on  ; 
"  do  you  really  and  truly  feel  as  if  the  mention  of  our  rela- 
tionship divided  us  at  all  ?     I  don't." 

"  Uncles  as  a  rule,  Ned,  are  so  much  older  than  their 
nephews,"  is  the  reply,  "  that  I  have  that  feeling  instinct- 
ively." 

"  As  a  rule  ?  Ah,  may  be  !  But  what  is  a  difference  in 
age  of  half  a  dozen  years  or  so  ;  and  some  uncles,  in  large 
families,  are  even  younger  than  their  nephews.  By  George, 
I  wish  it  was  the  case  with  us  ! 

"Why?" 

"  Because  if  it  was,  I'd  take  the  lead  with  you.  Jack,  and 
be  as  wise  as  Begone  dull  care  that  turned  a  young  man 
gray,  and  begone  dull  care  that  turned  an  old  man  to  clay. 
Halloo,  Jack  !     Don't  drink." 

"Why  not?" 

"Ask  why  not,  on  Pussy's  birthday,  and  no  happy  re- 
turns proposed  !  Pussy,  Jack,  and  many  of  'em  !  Happy 
returns,  I  mean." 

Laying  an  affectionate  and  laughing  touch  on  the  boy's 
extended  hand,  as  if  it  were  at  once  his  giddy  head  and  his 
light  heart,  Mr.  Jasper  drinks  the  toast  in  silence. 

"  Hip,  hip,  hip,  and   nine  times  nine,  and  one   to  finish 


628        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

with,  and  all  that,  understood.  Hooray,  hooray,  hooray  I 
And  now,  Jack,  let's  have  a  little  talk  about  Pussy.  Two 
pairs  of  nut-crackers  ?  Pass  me  one,  and  take  the  other." 
Crack.     "  How's  Pussy  getting  on.  Jack  ?  " 

"  With  her  music  ?     Fairly." 

*'  What  a  dreadfully  conscientious  fellow  you  are,  Jack  ! 
But  /know,  Lord  bless  you  !   Inattentive,  isn't  she? 

"  She  can  learn  any  thing,  if  she  will." 

"  //she  will  ?     Egad,  that's  it.     But  if  she  won't  ?  '* 

Crack.     On  Mr.  Jasper's  part. 

'*  How's  she  looking,  Jack  ?  " 

Mr.  Jasper's  concentrated  face  again  includes  the  por- 
trait as  he  returns,  *'  Very  like  your  sketch  indeed." 

"  I  am  a  little  proud  of  it,"  says  the  young  fellow,  glanc- 
ing up  at  the  sketch  with  complacency,  and  then  shutting 
one  eye,  and  taking  a  corrected  prospect  of  it  over  a  level 
bridge  of  nut-cracker  in  the  air,  "  Not  badly  hit  off  from 
memory.  But  I  ought  to  have  caught  that  expression  pretty 
well,  for  I  have  seen  it  often  enough." 

Crack.     On  Edwin  Drood's  part. 

Crack.     On  Mr.  Jasper's  part. 

"  In  point  of  fact,"  the  former  resumes,  after  some  silent 
dipping  among  his  fragments  of  walnut  with  an  air  of  pique, 
"  I  see  it  whenever  I  go  to  see  Pussy.  If  I  don't  find  it  on 
her  face,  I  leave  it  there.  You  know  I  do,  Miss  Scornful 
Pert.  Booh !  "  With  a  twirl  of  the  nut-crackers  at  the 
portrait. 

Crack.     Crack.     Crack.     Slowly,  on  Mr.  Jasper's  part. 

Crack.     Sharply  on  the  part  of  Edwin  Drood. 

Silence  on  both  sides. 

"  Have  you  lost  your  tongue,  Jack?" 

"  Have  you  found  yours,  Ned  ?" 

*'  No,  but  really  ; — isn't  it,  you  know,  after  all  !  " 

Mr.  Jasper  lifts  his  dark  eyebrows  inquiringly. 

*'  Isn't  it  unsatisfactory  to  be  cut  off  from  choice  in  such 
a  matter  ?  There,  Jack  !  I  tell  you  !  If  I  could  choose,  I 
would  choose  Pussy  from  all  the  pretty  girls  in  the 
world." 

"But  you  have  not  got  to  choose." 

"  That's  what  I  complain  of.  My  dead-and-gone  father 
and  Pussy's  dead-and-gone  father  must  needs  marry  us 
together  by  anticipation.  Why  th^ — devil,  I  v/as  going  to 
say,  if  it  had  been  respectful  to  their  memory — couldn't 
they  leave  us  alone  ? " 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        629 

"  Tut,  tut,  dear  boy,"  Mr.  Jasper  remonstrates,  in  a  tone 
of  gentle  deprecation. 

"Tut,  tut  ?  Yes,  Jack,  it's  all  very  well  for  jou.  You  can 
take  it  easily.  Your  life  is  not  laid  down  to  scale,  and 
lined  and  dotted  out  for  you,  like  a  surveyor's  plan.  You 
have  no  uncomfortable  suspicion  that  you  are  forced  upon 
any  body,  nor  has  any  body  an  uncomfortable  suspicion  that 
she  is  forced  upon  you,  or  that  you  are  forced  upon  her. 
You  can  choose  for  yourself.  Life,  ior  you,  is  a  plum  with 
the  natural  bloom  on  ;  it  hasn't  been  over-carefully  wiped 
off  ior  you — " 

"  Don't  stop,  dear  fellow.     Go  on." 

"  Can  1  any  how  have  hurt  your  feelings,  Jack  ? " 

*'  How  can  you  have  hurt  ray  feelings  ?  " 

**  Good  heaven,  Jack,  you  look  frightfully  ill  !  There's  a 
strange  film  come  over  your  eyes." 

Mr.  Jasper,  with  a  forced  smile,  stretches  out  his  right 
hand,  as  if  at  once  to  disarm  the  apprehension  and  gain  time 
to  get  better.     After  a  while  he  says  faintly — 

**  I  have  been  taking  opium  for  a  pain — an  agony — that 
sometimes  overcomes  me.  The  effects  of  the  medicine  steal 
over  me  like  a  blight  or  a  cloud,  and  pass.  You  see  them 
in  the  act  of  passing  ;  they  will  be  gone  directly.  Look 
away  from  me.     They  will  go  all  the  sooner," 

With  a  scared  face  the  younger  man  complies,  by  casting 
his  eyes  downward  at  the  ashes  on  the  hearth.  Not  relax- 
ing his  own  gaze  at  the  fire,  but  rather  strengthening  it  with 
a  fierce,  firm  grip  upon  his  elbow-chair,  the  elder  sits  for  a 
few  moments  rigid,  and  then,  with  thick  drops  standing  on 
his  forehead,  and  a  sharp  catch  of  his  breath,  becomes  as  he 
was  before.  On  his  so  subsiding  in  his  chair,  his  nephew 
gently  and  assiduously  tends  him  while  he  quite  recovers. 
When  Jasper  is  restored,  he  lays  a  tender  hand  upon  his 
nephew's  shoulder,  and,  in  a  tone  of  voice  less  troubled  than 
the  purport  of  his  words— indeed,  with  something  of  rail- 
lery or  banter  in  it — thus  addresses  him — 

"  There  is  said  to  be  a  hidden  skeleton  in  every  house  ; 
but  you  thought  there  was  none  in  mine,  dear  Ned." 

"  Upon  my  life.  Jack,  I  did  think  so.  However,  when  I 
come  to  consider  that  even  in  Pussy's  house — if  she  had  one 
— and  in  mine — if  I  had  one — " 

"  You  were  going  to  say  (but  that  I  interrupted  you  in 
spite  of  myself)  what  a  quiet  life  mine  is.  No  whirl  and 
uproar  around  me,  no  distracting  commerce   or  calculation, 


630         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWLN  DROOD. 

no  risk,  no  change  of  place,  myself  devoted  to  the  art  I  pur 
sue,  my  business  my  pleasure." 

"  I  really  was  going  to  say  something  of  the  kind,  Jack  ; 
but  you  see,  you,  speaking  of  yourself,  almost  necessarily 
leave  out  much  that  I  should  have  put  in.  For  instance  ;  I 
should  have  put  in  the  foreground  your  being  so  much  re- 
spected as  lay  precentor,  or  lay  clerk,  or  whatever  you  call 
it  of  this  cathedral  ;  your  enjoying  the  reputation  of  having 
done  such  wonders  with  the  choir  ;  your  choosing  your  so- 
ciety, and  holding  such  an  independent  position  in  this  queer 
old  place  ;  your  gift  of  teaching  (why,  even  Pussy,  whodon't 
like  being  taught,  says  there  never  was  such  a  master  as  you 
are  !)  and  your  connection." 

*'  Yes  ;  1  saw  what  you  were  tending  to.     I  hate  it." 

"  Hate  it,  Jack  ?"     (Much  bewildered.) 

"  I  hate  it.  The  cramped  monotony  of  my  existence 
grinds  me  away  by  the  grain.  How  does  our  service  sound 
to  you  ?  " 

"  Beautiful  !     Quite  celestial." 

"  It  often  sounds  to  me  quite  devilish.  I  am  so  weary  of 
it.  The  echoes  of  my  own  voice  among  the  arches  seem  to 
mock  me  with  my  daily  drudging  round.  No  wretched 
monk  who  droned  his  life  away  in  that  gloomy  place,  before 
me,  can  have  been  more  tired  of  it  than  I  am.  He  could 
take  for  relief  (and  did  take)  to  carving  demons  out  of  the 
stalls  and  seats  and  desks.  What  shall  I  do  ?  Must  I  take 
to  carving  them  out  of  my  heart  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  had  so  exactly  found  your  niche  in  life. 
Jack,"  Edwin  Drood  returns,  astonished,  bending  forward 
in  his  chair  to  lay  a  sympathetic  hand  on  Jasper's  knee,  and 
looking  at  him  with  an  anxious  face. 

"  1  know  you  thought  so.     They  all  think  so." 

"  Well  ;  I  suppose  they  do,"  says  Edwin,  meditating 
aloud.     "  Pussy  thinks  so." 

"  When  did  she  tell  you  that  ? " 

"  The  last  time  I  was  here.  You  remember  when.  Three 
months  ago." 

"  How  did  she  phrase  it  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  She  only  said  that  she  had  become  your  pupil, 
and  that  you  were  made  for  your  vocation." 

The  younger  man  glances  at  the  portrait.  The  elder  sees 
it  in  him. 

"Anyhow,  my  dear  Ned,"  Jasper  resumes,  as  he  shakes 
his  head  with  a  grave  cheerfulness,  "  I  must  subdue  myself 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        631 

to  my  vocation,  which  is  much  the  same  thing  outwardly. 
It's  too  late  to  find  another  now.  This  is  a  confidence  be- 
tween us." 

"  It  shall  be  sacredly  preserved,  Jack." 

"  I  have  reposed  it  in  you,  because — " 

*'  I  feel  it,  1  assure  you.  Because  we  are  fast  friends,  and 
because  you  love  and  trust  me,  as  I  love  and  trust  you. 
Both  hands.  Jack." 

As  each  stands  looking  into  the  other's  eyes,  and  as  the 
uncle  holds  the  nephew's  hands,  the  uncle  thus  proceeds: — 

*'  You  know  now,  don't  you,  that  even  a  poor  monotonous 
chorister  and  grinder  of  music,  in  his  niche,  may  be  troubled 
with  some  stray  sort  of  ambition,  aspiration,  recklessness, 
dissatisfaction,  what  shall  we  call  it?" 

"  Yes,  dear  Jack." 

"  And  you  will  remember  ?  " 

"  My  dear  Jack,  I  only  ask  you,  am  I  likely  to  forget 
what  you  have  said  with  so  much  feeling  ?" 

"  Take  it  as  a  warning,  then." 

In  the  act  of  having  his  hands  released,  and  of  moving  a 
step  back,  Edwin  pauses  for  an  instant  to  consider  the  ap- 
plication of  these  last  words.  The  instant  over,  he  says, 
sensibly  touched  : 

''  I  am  afraid  I  am  but  a  shallow,  surface  kind  of  fel- 
low. Jack,  and  that  my  headpiece  is  none  of  the  best.  But 
I  needn't  say  I  am  young  ;  and  perhaps  I  shall  not  grow 
worse  as  I  grow  older.  At  all  events,  I  hope  I  have  some- 
thing impressible  within  me,  which  feels — deeply  feels — the 
disinterestedness  of  your  painfully  laying  your  inner  self 
bare,  as  a  warning  to  me." 

Mr.  Jasper's  steadiness  of  face  and  figure  becomes  so 
marvelous  that  his  breathing  seems  to  have  stopped. 

^'  I  couldn't  fail  to  notice,  Jack,  that  it  cost  you  a  great 
effort,  and  that  you  were  very  much  moved,  and  very  unlike 
your  usual  self.  Of  course,  I  knew  that  you  were  extremely 
fond  of  me,  but  I  really  was  not  prepared  for  your,  as  I  may 
say,  sacrificing  yourself  to  me,  in  that  way." 

Mr.  Jasper,  becoming  a  breathing  man  again  without  the 
smallest  stage  of  transition  between  the  two  extreme  states, 
lifts  his  shoulders,  laughs,  and  waves  his  right  arm. 

"  No  ;  don't  put  the  sentiment  away.  Jack  ;  please  don't ; 
for  I  am  very  much  in  earnest.  I  have  no  doubt  that  that 
unhealthy  state  of  mind  which  you  have  so  powerfully  de- 
scribed is  attended  with  some  real  suffering,  and  is  hard  to 


632         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

bear.  But  let  me  reassure  you,  Jack,  as  to  the  chances  of 
its  overcomnig  me.  I  don't  think  I  am  in  the  way  of  it.  In 
some  few  months  less  than  another  year,  you  know  1  shall 
carry  Pussy  off  from  school  as  Mrs.  Edwin  Drood.  I  shall 
then  go  engineering  into  the  East,  and  Pussy  with  me.  And 
although  we  have  our  little  tiffs  now,  arising  out  of  a  certain 
unavoidable  flatness  that  attends  our  love-making,  owing  to  its 
end  all  being  settled  beforehand,  still  I  have  no  doubt  of  our 
getting  on  capitally  then  when  it's  done  and  can't  be  helped. 
In  short,  Jack,  to  go  back  to  the  old  song  I  was  freely  quot- 
ing at  dinner  (and  who  knows  old  songs  better  than  you  !), 
my  wife  shall  dance  and  I  will  sing,  so  merrily  pass  the  day. 
Of  Pussy's  being  beautiful  there  can  not  be  a  doubt  ;  and 
when  you  are  good  beside.  Little  Miss  Impudence,"  once 
more  apostrophizing  the  portrait,  "  I'll  burn  your  comic  like- 
ness and  paint  your  music  master  another." 

Mr.  Jasper,  with  his  hand  to  his  chin,  and  with  an  expres- 
sion of  musing  benevolence  on  his  face,  has  attentively 
watched  every  animated  look  and  gesture  attending  the  de- 
livery of  these  words.  He  remains  in  that  attitude  after 
they  are  spoken,  as  if  in  a  kind  of  fascination  attendant  on 
his  strong  interest  in  the  youthful  spirit  that  he  loves  so  well. 
Then  he  says,  with  a  quiet  smile  : 

"You  won't  be  warned,  then?" 

"  No,  Jack." 

"  You  can't  be  warned,  then  ?  " 

"  No,  Jack,  not  by  you.  Beside  that  I  don't  really  con- 
sider myself  in  danger,  I  don't  like  your  putting  yourself  in 
that  position." 

"  Shall  we  go  and  walk  in  the  church-yard  ?  " 

**  By  all  means.  You  won't  mind  my  slipping  out  of  it  for 
half  a  moment  to  the  Nuns'  House,  and  leaving  a  parcel 
there  ?  Only  gloves  for  Pussy  ;  as  many  pairs  of  gloves  as 
she  is  years  old  to-day.     Rather  poetical,  Jack  ?  " 

Mr.  Jasper,  still  in  the  same  attitude,  murmurs,  "  '  Noth- 
ing half  so  sweet  in  life,'  Ned  !  " 

"  Here's  the  parcel  in  my  great-coat  pocket.  They  must 
be  presented  to-night,  or  the  poetry  is  gone.  It's  against 
regulations  for  me  to  call  at  night,  but  not  to  leave  a  packet. 
I  am  ready.  Jack  !  " 

Mr.  Jasper  dissolves  his  attitude,  and  they  go  out  to- 
gether. 


THE   MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        633 
CHAPTER   in. 

THE     nuns'    house. 

For  sufficient  reasons  which  this  narrative  will  itself  un- 
fold as  it  advances,  a  fictitious  name  must  be  bestowed  upon 
the  old  cathedral  town.  Let  it  stand  in  these  pages  as 
Cloisterham.  It  was  once  possibly  known  to  the  Druids  by 
another  name,  and  certainly  to  the  Romans  by  another,  and 
to  the  Saxons  by  another,  and  to  the  Normans  by  another  ; 
and  a  name  more  or  less  in  the  course  of  many  centuries  can 
be  of  little  moment  to  its  dusty  chronicles. 

An  ancient  city  Cloisterham,  and  no  meet  dwelling-place 
for  any  one  with  hankerings  after  the  noisy  world.  A  mo- 
notonous, silent  city,  deriving  an  earthy  flavor  throughout', 
from  its  cathedral  cript,  and  so  abounding  in  vestiges  of 
monastic  graves,  that  the  Cloisterham  children  grow  small 
salad  in  the  dust  of  abbots  and  abbesses,  and  make  dirt-pies 
of  nuns  and  friars  ;  while  every  plowman  in  its  outlying 
fields  renders  to  once  puissant  lord  treasurers,  archbish- 
ops, bishops,  and  such  like,  the  attention,  which  the_  ogre 
in  the  story-book  desired  to  render  to  his  unbidden  visitor, 
and  grinds  their  bones  to  make  his  bread. 

A  drowsy  city  Cloisterham,  whose  inhabitants  seem  to 
suppose,  with  an  inconsistency  more  strange  than  lare,  that 
all  its  changes  lie  behind  it,  and  that  there  are  no  more  to 
come.  A  queer  moral  to  derive  from  antiquity,  yet  older 
than  any  traceable  antiquity.  So  silent  are  the  streets  of 
Cloisterham  (though  prone  to  echo  on  the  smallest  provoca- 
tion), that  of  a  summer  day  the  sunblinds  of  its  shops  scarce 
dare  to  flap  in  the  south  wind  ;  while  the  sun-browned 
tramps  who  pass  along  and  stare,  quicken  their  limp  a  little, 
that  they  may  the  sooner  get  beyond  the  confines  of  its 
oppressive  respectability.  This  is  a  feat  not  difficult  of 
achievement,  seeing  that  the  streets  of  Cloisterham  city  are 
little  more  than  one  narrow  street  by  which  you  get  into  it 
and  get  out  of  it  :  the  rest  being  mostly  disappointing  yards 
with  pumps  in  them  and  no  thoroughfare — exception  made 
of  the  cathedral  close,  and  a  paved  Quaker  settlement,  in 
color  and  general  conformation  very  like  a  Quakeress's 
bonnet,  up  in  a  shady  corner. 

In  a  word,  a  city  of  another  and  a  by-gone  time  is  Cloi«- 


634         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIxN  DROOD. 

terham,  with  its  hoarse  cathedral  bell,  its  hoarse  rooks  hover- 
ing about  the  cathedral  tower,  its  hoarser  and  less  distinct 
rooks  in  the  stalls  far  beneath.  Fragments  of  old  wall, 
saint's  chapel,  chapter-house,  convent,  and  monastery  have 
got  incongruously  or  obstructively  built  into  many  of  its 
houses  and  gardens,  much  as  kindred  jumbled  notions  have 
become  incorporated  into  many  of  its  citizens'  minds.  All 
things  in  it  are  of  the  past.  Even  its  single  pawnbroker 
takes  in  no  pledges,  nor  has  he  for  a  long  time,  but  offers 
vainly  an  unredeemed  stock  for  sale,  of  which  the  costlier 
articles  are  dim  and  pale  old  watches  apparently  in  a  slow 
perspiration,  tarnished  sugar-tongs  with  ineffectual  legs,  and 
odd  volumes  of  dismal  books.  The  most  abundant  and  the 
most  agreeable  evidences  of  progressing  life  in  Cloisterham 
are  the  evidences  of  vegetable  life  in  its  many  gardens  ; 
even  its  droopmg  and  despondent  little  theater  has  its  poor 
strip  of  garden,  receiving  the  foul  fiend,  when  he  ducks 
from  its  stage  into  the  infernal  regions,  among  scarlet  beans 
or  oyster-shells,  according  to  the  season  of  the  year. 

In  the  midst  of  Cloisterham  stands  the  Nuns'  House  , 
a  venerable  brick  edifice  whose  present  appellation  doubt- 
less is  derived  from  the  legend  of  its  conventual  uses. 
On  the  trim  gate  inclosing  its  old  court-yard  is  a  re- 
splendent brass  plate  flashing  forth  the  legend  :  "  Seminary 
for  Young  Ladies.  Miss  Twinkleton."  The  house-front 
is  so  old  and  worn,  and  the  brass  plate  is  so  shining  and  star- 
ing, that  the  general  result  has  reminded  imaginative  stran- 
gers of  a  battered  old  beau  with  a  large  modern  eye-glass 
stuck  in  his  blind  eye. 

Whether  the  nuns  of  yore,  being  of  a  submissive  rather 
than  a  stiff-necked  generation,  habitually  bent  their  contem- 
plative heads  to  avoid  collision  with  the  beams  in  the  low 
ceilings  of  the  many  chambers  of  their  house  :  whether 
they  sat  in  its  long  low  windows,  telling  their  beads  for  their 
mortification  instead  of  making  necklaces  of  them  for  their 
adornment  ;  whether  they  were  ever  walled  up  alive  in  odd 
angles  and  jutting  gables  of  the  building  for  having  some 
ineradicable  leaven  of  busy  mother  Nature  in  them  which 
has  kept  the  fermenting  world  alive  ever  since  ; — these  may 
be  matters  of  interest  to  its  haunting  ghosts  (if  any),  but 
constitute  no  item  in  Miss  Twinkleton's  half-yearly  accounts. 
They  are  neither  of  Miss  Twinkleton's  inclusive  regulars, 
nor  of  her  extras.  The  lady  who  undertakes  the  poetical 
department  of  the  establishment  at  so  much   (or  so  little)  a 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        635 

quarter,  has  no  pieces  in  her  list  of  recitals  bearing  on  such 
unprofitable  questions. 

As,  in  some  cases  of  drunkenness,  and  in  others  of  animal 
magnetism,  there  are  two  states  of  consciousness  which  never 
clas^h,  but  each  of  which  pursues  its  separate  course  as  though 
it  were  continuous  instead  of  broken  (thus  if  I  hide  my  watch 
when  1  am  drunk,  I  must  be  drunk  again  before  I  can  remem- 
ber where),  so  Miss  Twinkleton  has  two  distinct  and  separate 
phases  of  being.  Every  night,  the  moment  the  young  ladies 
have  retired  to  rest,  does  Miss  Twinkleton  smarten  up  hei 
curls  a  little,  brighten  up  her  eyes  a  little,  and  become  a  spright- 
lier  Miss  Twinkleton  than  the  young  ladies  have  ever  seen. 
Every  night,  at  the  same  hour,  does  Miss  Twinkleton  resume 
the  topics  of  the  previous  night,  comprehending  the  tenderer 
scandal  of  Cloisterham,  of  which  she  has  no  knowledge  what- 
ever by  day,  and  references  to  a  certain  season  at  Tunbridge 
Wells  (airily  called  by  Miss  Twinkleton  in  this  state  of  her 
existence  "  The  Wells"),  notably  the  season  wherein  a  cer- 
tain finished  gentleman  (compassionately  called  by  Miss 
Twinkleton  in  this  state  of  her  existence,  "  Foolish  Mr.  Por- 
ters ")  revealed  a  homage  of  the  heart,  whereof  Miss  Twmkle- 
ton,  in  her  scholastic  state  of  existence,  is  as  ignorant  as  a 
granite  pillar.  Miss  Twinkleton's  companion  in  both  states 
of  existence,  and  equally  adaptable  to  either,  is  one  Mrs. 
Tisher,  a  deferential  widow  with  a  weak  back,  a  chronic 
sigh,  and  a  suppressed  voice,  who  looks  after  the  young 
ladies'  wardrobes,  and  leads  them  to  infer  that  she  has  seen 
better  days.  Perhaps  this  is  the  reason  why  it  is  an  article 
of  faith  with  the  servants,  handed  down  from  race  to  race, 
that  the  departed  Tisher  was  a  hairdresser. 

The  pet  pupil  of  the  Nuns'  House  is  Miss  Rosa  Bud,  of 
course  called  Rosebud  ;  wonderfully  pretty,  wonderfully 
childish,  wonderfully  whimsical.  An  awkward  interest 
(awkward  because  romantic)  attaches  to  Miss  Bud  in  the 
minds  of  the  young  ladies,  on  account  of  its  being  known 
to  them  that  a  husband  has  been  chosen  for  her  by  will  and 
bequest,  and  that  her  guardian  is  bound  down  to  bestow  her 
on  that  husband  when  he  comes  of  age.  Miss  Twinkleton, 
in  her  seminarial  state  of  existence,  has  combated  the 
romantic  aspect  of  this  destiny  by  affecting  to  shake  her 
head  over  it  behind  Miss  Bud's  dimpled  shoulders,  and  to 
brood  on  the  unhappy  lot  of  that  doomed  little  victim.  But 
with  no  better  effect— possibly  some  unfelt  touch  of  foolish 
Mr.  Porters  has  undermined  the  endeavor— than   to  evoke 


6^6        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

from  the  young  ladies  a  unanimous  bedchamber  cry  of  *'0h  ! 
what  a  pretending  o!d  thing  Miss  Twinkleton  is,  my  dear  I " 

The  Nuns'  House  is  never  in  such  a  state  of  flutter  as 
when  this  allotted  husband  calls  to  see  little  Rosebud.  (It 
is  unanimously  understood  by  the  young  ladies  that  he  is 
lawfully  entitled  to  this  privilege,  and  that  if  Miss  Twinkle- 
ton  disputed  it  she  would  be  instantly  taken  up  and  trans- 
ported.) When  his  ring  at  the  gate  bell  is  expected,  or  takes 
place,  every  young  lady  who  can,  under  any  pretense,  look 
out  of  window,  looks  out  of  window  ;  while  every  young 
lady  who  is  "  practicing "  practices  out  of  time  ;  and  the 
French  class  becomes  so  demoralized  that  the  mark  goes 
round  as  briskly  as  the  bottle  at  a  convivial  party  in  the  last 
century. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  day  next  after  the  dinner  of  two 
at  the  Gate  House  the  bell  is  rung  with  the  usual  fluttering 
results. 

*'  Mr.  Edwin  Drood  to  see  Miss  Rosa." 

This  is  the  announcement  of  the  parlor- maid  in  chief. 
Miss  Twinkleton,  with  an  exemplary  air  of  melancholy  on 
her,  turns  to  the  sacrifice,  and  says,  "  You  may  go^down,  my 
dear."     Miss  Bud  goes  down,  followed  by  all  eyes. 

Mr.  Edwin  Drood  is  waiting  in  Miss  Twinkleton's  own 
parlor — a  dainty  room,  with  nothing  more  directly  scholastic 
in  it  than  a  terrestrial  and  a  celestial  globe.  These  express- 
ive machines  imply  (to  parents  and  guardians)  that  even 
when  Miss  Twinkleton  retires  into  the  bosom  of  privacy, 
duty  may  at  any  moment  compel  her  to  become  a  sort  of 
Wandering  Jewess,  scouring  the  earth  and  soaring  through 
the  skies  in  search  of  knowledge  for  her  pupils. 

The  last  new  maid,  who  has  never  seen  the  young  gentle- 
man Miss  Rosa  is  engaged  to,  and  who  is  making  his 
acquaintance  between  the  hinges  of  the  open  door,  left  open 
for  the  purpose,  stumbles  guiltily  down  the  kitchen  stairs, 
as  a  charming  little  apparition  with  its  face  concealed  by  a 
little  silk  apron  thrown  over  its  head,  glides  into  the  par- 
lor. 

"  Oh  !  It  is  so  ridiculous  !  "  says  the  apparition,  stopping 
and  shrinking.     "  Don't,  Eddy  !  "' 

**  Don't  what,  Rosa?" 

"  Don't  come  any  nearer,  please.     It  is  so  absurd." 

"  What  is  absurd,  Rosa  .?  " 

"The  whole  thing  is.  It  is  so  absurd  to  be  an  engaged 
orphan  ;  and  it  is  so  absurd  to  have  the  girls  and  the  serv- 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         637 

ants  scuttling  about   after  one,  like  mice  in  the  wainscot ; 
and  it  is  so  absurd  to  be  called  upon  !  " 

The  apparition  appears  to  have  a  thumb  in  the  corner  of 
its  mouth  while  making  this  complaint. 

"  You  give  me  an  affectionate  reception,  Pussy,  I  must 
say." 

"Well,  I  will  in  a  minute,  Eddy,  but  I  can't  just  yet. 
How  are  you?"  (very  shortly). 

"  I  am  unable  to  reply  that  I  am  much  the  better  for 
seeing  you,  Pussy,  inasmuch  as  I  see  nothing  of  you," 

This  second  remonstrance  brings  a  dark,  bright,  pouting 
eye  out  from  a  corner  of  the  apron  ;  but  it  swiftly  becomes 
invisible  again,  as  the  apparition  exclaims,  "  Oh  !  good 
gracious,  you  have  had  half  your  hair  cut  off ! " 

"  I  should  have  done  better  to  have  had  my  head  cut  off, 
I  think,"  says  Edwin,  rumpling  the  hair  in  question,  with  a 
fierce  glance  at  the  looking-glass,  and  giving  an  impatient 
stamp.     "  Shall  I  go  ?  " 

"  No,  you  needn't  go  just  yet,  Eddy.  The  girls  would  all 
be  asking  questions  why  you  went." 

"  Once  for  all,  Rosa,  will  you  uncover  that  ridiculous  little 
head  of  yours  and  give  me  a  welcome  ?" 

The  apron  is  pulled  off  the  childish  head,  as  its  wsarer  re- 
plies, "  You're  very  welcome,  Eddy.  There  !  I'm  sure  that's 
nice.  Shake  hands.  No,  I  can't  kiss  you,  because  I've  got 
an  acidulated  drop  in  my  mouth." 

"  Are  you  at  all  glad  to  see  me.  Pussy  ?  " 

'*0h  yes,  I'm  dreadfully  glad. — Go  and  sit  down. — Mish 
Twinkleton." 

It  is  the  custom  of  that  excellent  lady,  when  these  visits 
occur,  to  appear  every  three  minutes,  either  in  her  own  per- 
son  or  in  that  of  Mrs.  Tisher,  and  lay  an  offering  on  the 
shrine  of  propriety  by  affecting  to  look  for  some  desiderated 
article.  On  the  present  occasion.  Miss  Twinkleton,  grace- 
fully gliding  in  and  out,  says,  in  passing,  "  How  do  you  do, 
Mr.  Drood  ?  Very  glad  indeed  to  have  the  pleasure.  Pray 
excuse  me.     Tweezers.     Thank  you  !  " 

"  I  got  the  gloves  last  evening,  Eddy,  and  I  like  them  very 
much.     They  are  beauties." 

"  Well,  that's  something,"  the  affianced  replies,  half  grum- 
bling. ''  The  smallest  encouragement  thankfully  received^ 
And  how  did  you  pass  your  birthday,  Pussy?  " 

"  Delightfully  !  Every  body  gave  me  a  present.  And  we 
had  a  feast.     And  we  had  a  ball  at  night." 


6sS        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  A  feast  and  a  ball,  eh  ?  These  occasions  seem  to  go  off 
toleraljly  well  wiiliout  me,  Pussy." 

'*  De-lightfully  !  "  cries  Rosa,  in  a  quite  spontaneous  man- 
ner, and  without  the  least  pretense  of  reserve. 

*'  Hah  !     And  what  was  the  feast  ?  " 

"  Tarts,  oranges,  jellies  and  shrimps." 

"  Any  partners  at  the  ball  ?  " 

"  We  danced  with  one  another,  of  course,  sir.  But  some 
of  the  girls  made  game  to  be  their  brothers.  It  ii/as  so 
droll !  " 

"  Did  any  body  make  game  to  be — " 

"  To  be  you  ?  Oh  dear,  yes  !  "  cries  Rosa,  laughing  with 
great  enjoyment.     "  That  was  the  first  thing  done." 

"  I  hope  she  did  it  pretty  well,"  says  Edwin,  rather  doubt- 
fully. 

"  Oh  !  It  was  excellent  ! — I  wouldn't  dance  with  you, 
you  know." 

Edwin  scarcely  seems  to  see  the  force  of  this  ;  begs  to 
know  if  he  may  take  the  liberty  to  ask  why  ? 

"  Because  I  was  so  tired  of  you,"  returns  Rosa.  But  she 
quickly  adds,  and  pleadingly,  too,  seeing  displeasure  in  his 
face  :  "  Dear  Eddy,  you  were  just  as  tired  of  me,  you  know." 

"  Did  I  say  so,  Rosa  ?  " 

"  Say  so  !  Do  you  ever  say  so  ?  No,  you  only  showed  it. 
Oh,  she  did  it  so  well  !  "  cries  Rosa,  in  a  sudden  ecstasy  wdth 
her  counterfeit  betrothed. 

"  It  strikes  me  that  she  must  be  a  devilish  impudent  girl," 
says  Edwin  Drood.  "  And  so.  Pussy,  you  have  passed  your 
last  birthday  in  this  old  house." 

"  Ah,  yes  !  "  Rosa  vjlasps  her  hands,  looks  down  with  a 
sigh,  and  shakes  her  head. 

"  You  seem  to  be  sorry,  Rosa." 

*'  I  am  sorry  for  the  poor  old  place.  Somehow,  I  feel  as  if 
it  would  miss  me,  when  I  am  gone  so  far. away,  so  young." 

''  Perhaps  we  had  better  stop  short,  Rosa  ! " 

She  looks  up  at  him  with  a  swift,  bright  look  ;  next  mo- 
ment shakes  her  head,  sighs,  and  looks  down  again. 

"  That  is  to  say,  is  it.  Pussy,  that  we  are  both  resigned  ? " 

She  nods  her  head  again,  and  after  a  short  silence,  quaintly 
bursts  out  with,  "  You  know' we  must  be  married,  and  mar- 
ried from  here,  Eddy,  or  the  poor  girls  will  be  so  dreadfully 
disappointed  !  " 

For  the  moment  there  is  more  of  compassion,  both  for  her 
and  for  himself,  in  her  affianced  husband's  face,   than  there 


THE  MVS  lERV   OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         639 

is  of  love.  He  checks  the  look,  and  asks,  *'  Shall  I  take  you 
out  for  a  walk,  Rosa  dear  ? " 

Rosa  dear  does  not  seem  at  all  clear  on  this  point,  until 
her  face,  which  has  been  comically  reflective,  brightens. 
'*  Oh  yes,  Eddy  ;  let  us  go  for  a  walk  !  And  I  tell  you  what 
we'll  do.  You  shall  pretend  that  you  are  engaged  to  some- 
body else,  and  I'll  pretend  that  I  am  not  engaged  to  any  body 
and  then  we  shan't  quarrel." 

"  Do  you  think  that  will  prevent  our  falling  out,  Rosa  ?  " 

"  I  know  it  will.  Hush  !  Pretend  to  look  out  of  window 
-Mrs.  Tisher  !  " 

Through  a  fortuitous  concourse  of  accidents,  the  matronly 
Tislier  heaves  in  sight,  says,  in  rustling  through  the  room 
like  the  legendary  ghost  of  a  dowager  in  silken  skirts,  "  1 
hope  I  see  Mr.  Drood  well  ;  though  I  needn't  ask,  if  I  may 
judge  from  his  complexion  ?  I  trust  I  disturb  no  one  ;  but 
there  was  a  paper  knife — Oh,  thank  you,  I  am  sure  !  "  and 
disappears  with  her  prize. 

"  One  other  thing  you  must  do,  Eddy,  to  oblige  me,"  says 
Rosebud.  "  The  moment  we  get  into  the  street,  you  must 
put  me  outside,  and  keep  close  to  the  house  yourself, — 
squeeze  and  graze  yourself  against  it." 

"  By  all  means,  Rosa,  if  you  wish  it.    Might  I  ask  why  ? '' 

"  Oh,  because  I  don't  want  the  girls  to  see  you." 

"  It's  a  fine  day  ;  but  would  you  like  me  to  carry  an  um- 
brella up  ? " 

"  Don't  be  foolish,  sir.  You  haven't  got  polished  leather 
boots  on,"  pouting,  with  one  shoulder  raised. 

"  Perhaps  that  might  escape  the  notice  of  the  girls,  even 
if  they  did  see  me,"  remarks  Edwin,  looking  down  at  his 
boots  with  a  sudden  distaste  for  them. 

*'  Nothing  escapes  their  notice,  sir.  And  then  I  know 
what  would  happen.  Some  of  them  would  begin  reflecting 
on  me  by  saying  (for  they  are  free)  that  they  never  will  on 
any  account  engage  themselves  to  lovers  without  polished 
leather  boots.  Hark  !  Miss  Twinkleton.  I'll  ask  for 
leave." 

The  discreet  lady  being  indeed  heard  without,  inquiring 
of  nobody  in  a  blandly  conversational  tone  as  she  advances, 
*'  Eh  ?  Indeed  ?  Are  you  quite  sure  you  saw  my  mother-of- 
pearl  button-holder  on  the  work-table  in  my  room  ?  "  is  at 
once  solicited  for  walking  leave,  and  graciously  accords  it. 
And  soon  the  young  couple  go  out  of  the  Nuns*  House,  tak- 
ing all  precautions  against  the  discovery   of  the  so  vitally 


640         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWiN  DROOD. 

» 
defective  boots   of  Mr.  Edwin  Drood — precautions,   let  us 
hope,  effective  for  the  peace  of  Mrs.  Edwin  Drood,  that  is 
to  be. 

"  Which  way  shall  we  take,  Rosa  ?  " 

Rosa  replies,  "  I  want  to  go  to  the  Lumps-of-Delight 
shop." 

"  To  the—" 

"  A  Turkish  sweetmeat,  sir.  My  gracious  me  !  don't  you 
understand  any  thing  ?  Call  yourself  an  engineer,  and  not 
know  that  ?  " 

'*  Why,  how  should  1  know  it,  Rosa  ?  " 

"  Because  I  am  very  fond  of  them.  But  oh  !  I  forgot 
what  we  are  to  pretend.  No,  you  needn't  know  any  thing 
about  them  ;  never  mind." 

So  he  is  gloomily  borne  off  to  the  Lumps-of-Delight  shop, 
where  Rosa  makes  her  purchase,  and,  after  offering  some  to 
him  (which  he  rather  indignantly  declines),  begins  to  par- 
take of  it  with  great  zest,  previously  taking  off  and  rolling 
up  a  pair  of  little  pink  gloves,  like  rose-leaves,  and  occasion- 
ally putting  her  little  pink  fingers  to  her  rosy  lips,  to  cleanse 
them  from  the  Dust  of  Delight  that  comes  off  the  Lumps. 

"  Now,  be  a  good-tempered  Eddy,  and  pretend.  And  so 
you  are  engaged  ?  " 

"  And  so  I  am  engaged.'* 

"  Is  she  nice?  " 

**  Charming." 

"  Tall  ? " 

"  Immensely  tall  ?  "  (Rosa  being  short.) 

"  Must  be  gawky,  I  should  think,"  is  Rosa's  quiet  com- 
mentary. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon  :  not  at  all,"  contradiction  rising 
in  him.     "  What  is  termed  a  fine  woman,  a  splendid  woman." 

*'  Big  nose,  no  doubt,"  is  the  quiet  commentary  again. 

"  Not  a  little  one,  certainly,"  is  the  quick  reply.  (Rosa's 
being  a  little  one.) 

*'  Long  pale  nose,  with  a  red  knob  in  the  middle.  / 
know  the  sort  of  nose,"  says  Rosa,  with  a  satisfied  nod,  and 
tranquilly  enjoying  the  Lumps. 

*'  You  {/o/i't  know  the  sort  of  nose,  Rosa,"  with  some 
warmth  ;  "because  it's  nothing  of  the  kind." 

"  Not  a  pale  nose,  Eddy  ?  " 

*'  No."     Determined  not  to  assent. 

**  A  red  nose?  Oh  !  I  don't  like  red  noses  However, 
to  be  sure,  she  can  always  powder  it." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        641 

"  She  would  scorn  to  powder  it,"  says  Edwin,  becoming 
heated. 

''  Would  she  ?  What  a  stupid  thing  she  must  be  !  Is  she 
stupid  in  every  thing  ?  " 

*'  No.     In  nothing." 

After  a  pause,  in  which  the  whimsically  wicked  face  has 
not  been  unobservant  of  him,  Rosa  says, — 

"And  this  most  sensible  of  creatures  likes  the  idea  of 
being  carried  off  to  Egypt  ;  does  she,  Eddy  ? " 

*'  Yes.  She  takes  a  sensible  interest  in  triumphs  of  engi- 
neering skill,  especially  when  they  are  to  change  the  whole 
condition  of  an  undeveloped  country." 

"  Lor  !  "  says  Rosa,  shrugging  her  shoulders,  with  a  little 
laugh  of  wonder. 

"  Do  you  object,"  Edwin  inquires,  with  a  majestic  turn  of 
his  eyes  downward  upon  the  fairy  figure, — "  do  you  object, 
Rosa,  to  her  feeling  that  interest  ?  " 

"Object?  My  dear  Eddy!  But  really.  Doesn't  she 
hate  boilers  and  things  ?  " 

"  I  can  answer  for  her  not  being  so  idiotic  as  to  hate  boil- 
ers," he  returns,  with  angry  emphasis  ;  "  though  I  can  not 
answer  for  her  views  about  things,  really  not  understanding 
what  things  are  meant." 

"  But  don't  she  hate  Arabs,  and  Turks,  and  Fellahs,  and 
people  ?  " 

"Certainly  not,"  very  firmly. 

"  At  least,  she  mint  hate  the  Pyramids  ?    Come,  Eddy  ?  " 

"  Why  should  she  be  such  a  little — tall,  I  mean— goose,  as 
to  hate  the  Pyramids,  Rosa?  " 

"Ah  !  you  should  hear  Miss  Twinkleton,"  often  nodding 
her  head,  and  much  enjoying  the  Lumps,  "  bore  about  them, 
and  then  you  wouldn't  ask.  Tiresome  old  burying  grounds  ! 
Isises,  and  Ibises,  and  Cheopses,  and  Pharaohses  ;  who 
cares  about  them  ?  And  then  there  was  Belzoni  or  some- 
body, dragged  out  by  the  legs,  half  choked  with  bats  and 
dust.  All  the  girls  say  serve  him  right,  and  hope  it  hurt 
him,  and  wish  he  had  been  quite  choked." 

The  two  youthful  figures,  side  by  side,  but  not  now  arm 
in  arm,  wander  discontentedly  about  the  old  close  ;  and 
each  sometimes  stops  and  slowly  imprints  a  deeper  footstep 
in  the  fallen  leaves. 

"  Well  !  "  says  Edwin,  after  a  lengthy  silence.  "Accord- 
ing to  custom.     We  can't  get  on,  Rosa," 

Rosa  tosses  her  head,  and  says  she  don't  want  to  get  on. 


642         THE  MYSTERV  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

*'  That's  a  pretty  sentiment,  Rosa,  considering." 

"  Considering  what  ?  " 

*'  If  I  say  what,  you'll  go  wrong  again." 

"  You'll  go  wrong,  you  mean,  Eddy.  Don't  be  ungener- 
ous." 

"  Ungenerous  !     I  like  that !  " 

**  Then  I  do?it  like  that,  and  so  I  tell  you  plainly,"  Rosa 
pouts. 

^'  Now,  Rosa,  I  put  it  to  you.  Who  disparaged  my  profes- 
sion, my  destination " 

"  You  are  not  going  to  be  buried  in  the  Pyramids,  I 
hope  ?  "  she  interrupts,  arching  her  delicate  eyebrows.  *'  You 
never  said  you  were.  If  you  are,  why  haven't  you  mentioned 
it  to  me  ?     I  can't  find  out  your  plans  by  instinct." 

**  Now,  Rosa,  you  know  very  well  what  I  mean,  my 
dear." 

"  Well,  then,  why  did  you  begin  with  your  detestable  red- 
nosed  giantess  ?  And  she  would,  she  would,  she  would, 
she  would,  she  would  powder  it  ! "  cried  Rosa,  in  a  little 
burst  of  comical  contradictory  spleen. 

*'  Somehow  or  other,  1  never  can  come  right  in  these  dis- 
cussions," says  Edwin,  sighing  and  becoming  resigned. 

"  How  is  it  possible,  sir,  that  you  ever  can  come  right 
when  you're  always  wrong  ?  And  as  to  Belzoni.  I  suppose 
he's  dead  ; — I'm  sure  I  hope  he  is — and  how  can  his  legs  or 
his  chokes  concern  you  ?  " 

'' It  is  nearly  time  for  your  return,  Rosa.  We  have  not 
had  a  very  happy  walk,  have  we  ?  " 

"  A  happy  walk  ?  A  detestably  unhappy  walk,  sir.  If  I 
go  up-stairs  the  moment  1  get  in  and  cry  till  I  can't  take  my 
dancing  lesson,  you  are  responsible,  mind  !  " 

"  Let  us  be  friends,  Rosa." 

"  Ah  !  "  cries  Rosa,  shaking  her  head  and  bursting  into 
real  tears.  "  I  wish  we  coind  be  friends  !  It's  because  we 
can't  be  friends,  that  we  try  one  another  so.  I  am  a  young 
little  thing,  Eddy,  to  have  an  old  heartache  ;  but  I  really, 
really  have  sometimes.  Don't  be  angry.  I  know  you  have 
one  yourself,  too  often.  We  should  both  of  us  have  done 
better,  if  What  is  to  be  had  been  left  What  might  have  been. 
I  am  quite  a  serious  little  thing  now,  and  not  teasing  you. 
Let  each  of  us  forbear,  tiiis  one  time,  on  our  own  account, 
and  on  the  other's  !  " 

Disarmed  by  this  glimpse  of  a  woman's  nature  in  the  spoiled 
child,  though  for  an  instant  disposed  to  resent  it  as  seeming 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN   DROOD.        643 

to  involve  the  enforced  infliction  of  himself  upon  her,  Ed- 
win Drood  stands  Avatching  her  as  she  childishly  cries  and 
sobs,  with  both  hands  to  the  handkerchief  at  her  eyes,  and 
then — she  becoming  more  composed,  and  indeed  beginning, 
in  her  young  inconsistency,  to  laugh  at  herself  for  having 
been  so  moved — leads  her  to  a  seat  hard  by  under  the  elm- 
trees. 

'^  One  clear  word  of  understanding,  Pussy  dear.  I  am 
not  clever  out  of  my  own  line — now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I 
don't  know  that  I  am  particularly  clever  in  it — but  I  want  to 
do  right.  There  is  not — there  may  be — I  really  don't  see 
my  way  to  what  I  want  to  say,  but  I  must  say  it  before  we 
part — there  is  not  any  other  young " 

"  Oh  no,  Eddy  !  It's  generous  of  you  to  ask  ;  but  no,  no, 
no  !  " 

They  have  come  very  near  to  the  cathedral  windows,  and 
at  this  moment  the  organ  and  the  choir  sound  out  sublimely. 
As  they  sit  listening  to  the  solemn  swell,  the  confidence  of 
last  night  rises  in  young  Edwin  Drood's  mind,  and  he  thinks 
how  unlike  this  music  is  to  that  discordance. 

"  I  fancy  I  can  distinguish  Jack's  voice,"  is  his  remark  in 
a  low  tone  in  connection  with  the  train  of  thought. 

"  Take  me  back  at  once,  please,"  urges  his  affianced, 
quickly  laying  her  light  hand  upon  his  wrist.  "  They  will 
all  be  commg  out  directly  ;  let  us  get  away.  Oh,  what  a  re- 
sounding chord  !  But  don't  let  us  stop  to  listen  to  it ;  let  us 
get  away  !  " 

Her  hurry  is  over,  as  soon  as  they  have  passed  out  of  the 
close.  They  go,  arm  in  arm  now,  gravely  and  deliberately 
enough,  along  the  old  High  Street,  to  the  Nuns'  House.  At 
the  gate,  the  street  being  within  sight  empty,  Edwin  bends 
down  his  face  to  Rosebud's. 

She  remonstrates,  laughing,  and  is  a  childish  school-girl 
again. 

"  Eddy,  no  !  I'm  too  sticky  to  be  kissed.  But  give  me 
your  hand,  and  I'll  blow  a  kiss  into  that." 

He  does  so.  She  breathes  a  light  breath  into  it,  and  asks, 
retaining  it  and  looking  into  it : 

'*  Now  say,  what  do  you  see  ?  " 

*'  See,  Rosa  ?  " 

*'  Why,  I  thought  you  Egyptian  boys  could  look  into  a 
hand  and  see  all  sorts  of  phantoms  ?  Can't  you  see  a  happy 
future  ?  " 

For  certain,  neither  of  them  sees  a  happy  p-esent,  as  the 


644         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

gate  opens  and  closes,  and  one  goes  in  and  the  other  goes 
away. 

CHAPTER   IV. 

MR.    SAPSEA. 

Accepting  the  jackass  as  the  type  of  self-sufficient 
stupidity  and  conceit — a  custom,  perhaps,  like  some  few- 
other  customs,  more  conventional  than  fair — then  the 
purest  jackass  in  Cloisterham  is  Mr.  Thomas  Sapsea,  auc- 
tioneer. 

Mr.  Sapsea  "  dresses  at  "  the  dean  ;  has  been  bowed  to 
for  the  dean,  in  mistake  ;  has  even  been  spoken  to  in  the 
street  as  my  lord,  under  the  impression  that  he  was  the  bishop 
come  down  unexpectedly,  without  his  chaplain.  Mr.  Sapsea 
is  very  proud  of  this,  and  of  his  voice,  and  of  his  style.  He 
has  even  (in  selling  landed  property)  tried  the  experiment 
of  slightly  intoning  in  his  pulpit,  to  make  himself  more  like 
what  he  takes  to  be  the  genuine  ecclesiastical  article.  So, 
in  ending  a  sale  by  public  auction,  Mr.  Sapsea  finishes  off 
with  an  air  of  bestowing  a  benediction  on  the  assembled 
brokers,  which  leaves  the  real  dean — a  modest  and  worthy 
gentleman — far  behind. 

Mr.  Sapsea  has  many  admirers  ;  indeed,  the  proposition  is 
carried  by  a  large  local  majority,  even  including  non-be- 
iievers  in  his  wisdom,  that  he  is  a  credit  to  Cloisterham. 
He  possesses  the  great  qualities  of  being  portentous  and 
dull,  and  of  having  a  roll  in  his  speech,  and  another  roll 
in  his  gait ;  not  to  mention  a  certain  gravely  flowing  action 
with  his  hands,  as  if  he  were  presently  going  to  confirm  the 
individual  with  whom  he  holds  discourse.  Much  nearer 
sixty  years  of  age  than  fifty,  with  a  flowing  outline  of 
stomach,  and  horizontal  creases  in  his  waistcoat ;  reputed 
to  be  rich  ;  voting  at  elections  in  the  strictly  respectable 
interest  ;  morally  satisfied  that  nothing  but  he  himself 
has  grown  since  he  was  a  baby  ;  how  can  dunder-headed 
Mr.  Sapsea  be  otherwise  than  a  credit  to  Cloisterham_  and 
society  ? 

Mr.  Sapsea's  premises  are  in  the  High  Street,  over  against 
the  Nuns'  House.  They  are  of  about  the  period  of  the 
Nuns'  House,  irregularly  modernized  here  and  there,  as 
steadily  deteriorating  generations  found,  more  and  more, 
that   they  preferred  air  and  light  to  fever  and  the  plague. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        645 

Over  the  doorway  is  a  wooden  effigy,  about  half  life-size, 
representing  Mr.  Sapsea's  father  in  a  curly  wig  and  toga,  in 
the  act  of  selling.  The  chastity  of  the  idea,  and  the  natural 
appearance  of  the  little  finger,  hammer,  and  pulpit,  have 
been  much  admired. 

Mr.  Sapsea  sits  in  his  dull  ground-floor  sitting-room,  giv- 
ing first  on  his  paved  back-yard,  and  then  on  his  railed-off 
garden.  Mr.  Sapsea  has  a  bottle  of  port-wine  on  a  table 
before  the  fire — the  fire  is  an  early  luxury,  but  pleasant  on 
a  cool,  chilly  autumn  evening — and  is  characteristically 
attended  by  his  portrait,  his  eight-day  clock,  and  his  weather- 
glass. Characteristically,  because  he  would  uphold  himself 
against  mankind,  his  weather-glass  against  weather,  and  his 
clock  against  time. 

By  Mr.  Sapsea's  side  on  the  table  are  a  writing-desk  and 
writing  materials.  Glancing  at  a  scrap  of  manuscript, 
Mr.  Sapsea  reads  it  to  himself  with  a  lofty  air,  and  then, 
slowly  pacing  the  room  with  his  thumbs  in  the  arm-holes  of 
his  waistcoat,  repeats  it  from  memory  ;  so  internally, 
though  with  much  dignity,  that  the  word  "  Ethelinda  "  is 
alone  audible. 

There  are  three  clean  wine-glasses  in  a  tray  on  the  table. 
His  serving-maid  entering  and  announcing  "  Mr.  Jasper  is 
come,  sir,"  Mr.  Sapsea  waves  "  Admit  him,"  and  draws  two 
wine-glasses  from  the  rank,  as  being  claimed. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  sir.  I  congratulate  myself  on  having 
the  honor  of  receiving  you  here  for  the  first  time."  Mr. 
Sapsea  does  the  honors  of  his  house  in  this  wise. 

''  You  are  very  good.  The  honor  is  mine  and  the  self- 
congratulation  is  mine." 

*'  You  are  pleased  to  say  so,  sir.  But  1  do  assure  you  that 
it  is  a  satisfaction  to  me  to  receive  you  in  my  humble  home. 
And  that  is  what  I  would  not  say  to  every  body."  Ineffable 
loftiness  on  Mr.  Sapsea's  part  accompanies  these  words,  as 
leaving  the  sentence  to  be  understood  :  "  You  will  not  easily 
believe  that  your  society  can  be  a  satisfaction  to  a  man  like 
myself  ;  nevertheless  it  is." 

''  I  have  for  some  time  desired  to  know  you,  Mr.  Sapsea." 

"  And  I,  sir,  have  long  known  you  by  reputation  as  a  man 
of  taste.  Let  me  fill  your  glass.  I  will  give  you,  sir,"  says 
Mr.  Sapsea,  filling  his  own — 

"  When  the  French  come  over. 
May  we  meet  them  at  Dover  I  *' 


646        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

This  was  a  patriotic  toast  in  Mr.  Sapsea's  infancy,  and  liz 
is  therefore  fully  convinced  of  its  being  appropriate  to  any 
subsequent  era. 

*'You  can  scarcely  be  ignorant,  Mr.  Sapsea,"  observes 
Jasper,  watching  the  auctioneer  with  a  smile,  as  the  latter 
stretches  out  his  legs  before  the  fire,  **  that  you  know  the 
world," 

"  Well,  sir,"  is  the  chuckling  reply,  "  I  think  I  know  som^  " 
thing  of  it — something  of  it." 

'*  Your  reputation  for  that  knowledge  has  always  interested 
and  surprised  me,  and  made  me  wish  to  know  you.  For 
Cloisterham  is  a  little  place.  Cooped  up  in  it  myself,  I 
know  nothing  beyond  it,  and  feel  it  to  be  a  very  little 
place." 

"  If  I  have  not  gone  to  foreign  countries,  young  man," 
Mr.  Sapsea  begins,  and  then  stops — "  You  will  excuse  my 
calling  you  young  man,  Mr.  Jasper  ?  You  are  much  my 
junior." 

"  By  all  means." 

"  If  I  have  not  gone  to  foreign  countries,  young  man, 
foreign  countries  have  come  to  me.  They  have  come  to  me 
in  the  way  of  business,  and  I  have  improved  upon  my  oppor- 
tunities. Put  it  that  I  take  an  inventory,  or  make  a  cata- 
logue. I  see  a  French  clock.  I  never  saw  him  before  in  my 
life,  but  I  instantly  lay  my  finger  on  him  and  say  *  Paris  !  ' 
I  see  some  cups  and  saucers  of  Chinese  make,  equally 
strangers  to  me  personally  ;  I  put  my  finger  on  them,  then 
and  there,  and  I  say  '  Pekin,  Nankin,  and  Canton.'  It  is 
the  same  with  Japan,  with  Egypt,  and  with  bamboo  and  san- 
dal-wood from  the  East  Indies  ;  I  put  my  finger  on  them  all. 
I  have  put  my  finger  on  the  North  Pole  before  now,  and 
said,  *  Spear  of  Esquimaux  make,'  for  half  a  pint  of  pale 
sherry  !  " 

"  Really  ?  A  very  remarkable  way,  Mr.  Sapsea,  of  acquir- 
ing a  knowledge  of  men  and  things." 

"  1  mention  it,  sir,"  Mr.  Sapsea  rejoins,  witli  unspeakable 
complacency,  "  because,  as  I  say,  it  don't  do  to  boast  of 
what  you  are  ;  but  show  how  you  came  to  be  it,  and  then 
you  prove  it." 

**  Most  interesting.  We  were  to  speak  of  the  late  Mrs. 
Sapsea." 

"We  were,  sir."  Mr.  Sapsea  fills  both  glasses,  and  takes 
the  decanter  into  safekeeping  again.  "  Before  I  consult 
your  opinion  as  a  man  of  taste  on  this  little  trifle,"  hoklin:i 


THE  iMVSTERY  OF  EDWiN  DROOD.         64V 

it  up,  "which  is  but  a  trifle,  and  still  has  required  some 
thought,  sir,  some  little  fever  of  the  brow,  I  ought  perhaps 
to  describe  the  character  of  the  late  Mrs.  Sapsea,  now  dead 
three  quarters  of  a  year." 

Mr.  Jasper,  in  the  act  of  yawning  behind  his  wine  glass, 
puts  down  that  screen  and  calls  up  a  look  of  interest.  It  is 
a  little  impaired  in  its  expressiveness  by  his  having  a  shut  up 
gape  still  to  dispose  of,  with  watering  eyes. 

'*  Half  a  dozen  years  ago,  or  so,"  Mr,  Sapsea  proceeds, 
"  when  I  had  enlarged  ray  mind  up  to — I  will  not  say  to 
what  it  now  is,  for  that  might  seem  to  aim  at  too  much,  but 
up  to  the  pitch  of  wanting  another  mind  to  be  absorbed  in  it 
— I  cast  my  eye  about  me  for  a  nuptial  partner.  Because,  as 
I  say,  it  is  not  good  for  man  to  be  alone." 

Mr.  Jasper  appears  to  commit  this  original  idea  to  mem- 
ory. 

"  Miss  Brobity  at  that  time  kept,  I  will  not  call  it  the  rival 
establishment  to  the  establishment  at  the  Nuns'  House  op- 
posite, but  I  will  call  it  the  other  parallel  establishment  down 
town.  The  world  did  have  it  that  she  showed  a  passion  for 
attending  my  sales,  when  they  took  place  on  half-holidays, 
or  in  vacation  time.  The  world  did  put  it  about  that  she 
admired  my  style.  The  world  did  notice  that,  as  time 
flowed  by,  my  style  became  traceable  in  the  dictation-exer- 
cises of  Miss  Brobity's  pupils.  Young  man,  a  whisper  even 
sprang  up  in  obscure  malignity,  that  one  ignorant  and  be- 
sotted churl  (a  parent)  so  committed  himself  as  to  object  to 
it  by  name.  But  I  do  not  believe  this.  For  is  it  likely  that 
any  human  creature  in  his  right  senses  would  so  lay  himself 
open  to  be  pointed  at,  by  what  I  call  the  finger  of  scorn  ?  " 

Mr.  Jasper  shakes  his  head.  Not  in  the  least  likely.  Mr. 
Sapsea,  in  a  grandiloquent  state  of  absence  of  mind,  seems 
to  refill  his  visitor's  glass,  which  is  full  already,  and  does 
really  refill  his  own,  which  is  empty. 

''  Miss  Brobity's  being,  young  man,  was  deeply  imbued 
with  homage  to  mind.  She  revered  mind,  when  launched, 
or,  as  I  say,  precipitated  on  an  extensive  knowledge  of  the 
world.  When  I  made  my  proposal,  she  did  me  the  honor 
to  be  so  overshadowed  with  a  species  of  awe,  as  to  be  able 
to  articulate  only  the  two  words,  '  Oh  Thou  !  ' — meaning 
myself.  Her  limpid  blue  eyes  were  fixed  upon  me,  her 
semi-transparent  hands  were  clasped  together,  pallor  over- 
spread her  aquiline  features,   and,   though  encouraged  to 


648         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

proceed,  slie  never  did  proceed  a  word  further.  I  disposed 
of  the  parallel  establishment,  by  private  contract,  and  we 
became  as  nearly  one  as  could  be  expected  under  the  cir- 
cumstances. But  she  never  could,  and  she  never  did,  find 
a  phrase  satisfactory  to  her  perhaps-too-favorable  estimate 
of  my  intellect.  To  the  very  last  (feeble  action  of  liver), 
she  addressed  me  in  the  same  unfinished  terms." 

Mr.  Jasper  has  closed  his  eyes  as  the  auctioneer  has 
deepened  his  voice.  He  now  abruptly  opens  them,  and 
says,  in  unison  with  the  deepened  voice,  "  Ah  !  " — rather  as 
if  stopping    himself   on    the    extreme    verge    of   adding — 

men  ! 

*'  I  have  been  since,"  says  Mr.  Sapsea,  with  his  legs 
stretched  out,  and  solemnly  enjoying  himself  with  the  wine 
and  the  fire,  "  what  you  behold  me  ;  I  have  been  since  a 
solitary  mourner  ;  I  have  been  since,  as  I  say,  wasting  my 
evening  conversation  on  the  desert  air.  I  will  not  say  that 
I  have  reproached  myself  ;  but  there  have  been  times  when 
I  have  asked  myself  the  question,  What  if  her  husband  had 
been  nearer  on  a  level  with  her  ?  If  she  had  not  had  to  look 
up  quite  so  high,  what  might  the  stimulating  action  have 
been  upon  the  liver  ?  " 

Mr.  Jasper  says,  with  an  appearance  of  having  fallen 
into  dreadfully  low  spirits,  that  he  "  supposes  it  was  to 
be." 

"  We  can  only  suppose  so,  sir,"  Mr.  Sapsea  coincides. 
"As  I  say,  man  proposes,  heaven  disposes.  It  may  or  may 
not  be  putting  the  same  thought  in  another  form  ;  but  that 
is  the  way  I  put  it." 

Mr.  Jasper  murmurs  assent. 

'*  And  now,  Mr.  Jasper,"  resumes  the  auctioneer,  produc- 
ing his  scrap  of  manuscript,  *'  Mrs.  Sapsea's  monument 
haying  had  full  time  to  settle  and  dry,  let  me  take  your 
opinion,  as  a  man  of  taste,  on  the  inscription  I  have  (as  I 
before  remarked,  not  without  some  little  fever  of  the  brow) 
drawn  out  for  it.  Take  it  in  your  own  hand.  The  setting 
out  of  the  lines  requires  to  be  followed  with  the  eye,  as  well 
as  the  contents  with  the  mind." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        649 
Mr.  Jasper,  complying,  sees  and  reads  as  follows  : 

ETHELINDA, 

Reverential  Wife  of 
MR.  THOMAS  SAPSEA, 

AUCTIONEER,    VALUER,    ESTATE    AGENT,    ETC. 
OF    THIS    CITY. 

Whose  Knowledge  of  the  World, 

Though  somewhat  extensive. 

Never  brought  him  acquainted  with 

A  SPIRIT 

More  capable  of 

LOOKING.    UP    TO    HIM. 

STRANGER,   PAUSE, 

And  ask  thyself  the  question, 

CANST  THOU  DO  LIKEWISE? 

If  Not, 

WITH  A  BLUSH  RETIRE. 

Mr.  Sapsea  having  risen  and  stationed  himself  with  his 
back  to  the  fire,  for  the  purpose  of  observing  the  effect  of 
these  lines  on  the  countenance  of  a  man  of  taste,  conse- 
quently has  his  face  toward  the  door,  when  his  serving- 
maid,  again  appearing,  announces,  "  Durdles  is  come,  sir  !  " 
He  promptly  draws  forth  and  fills  the  third  wine-glass,  as 
being  now  claimed,  and  replies  "Show  Durdles  in." 

"  Admirable  !  "  quoth  Mr.  Jasper,  handing  back  the 
paper. 

"You  approve,  sir  ?  " 

"  Impossible  not  to  approve.  Striking,  characteristic,  and 
complete." 

The  auctioneer  inclines  his  head,  as  one  accepting  his 
due  and  giving  a  receipt,  and  invites  the  entering  Durdles 
to  take  off  that  glass  of  wine  (handing  the  same),  for  it  will 
warm  him. 

Durdles  is  a  stone-mason  chiefly  in  the  gravestone,  tomb, 
and  monument  way,  and  wholly  of  their  color  from  head  to 
foot.  No  man  is  better  known  in  Cloisterham.  He  is  the 
chartered  libertine  of  the  place.  Fame  trumpets  him  a  won- 
derful workman — which  for  aught  that  any  body  knows,  he 
may  be  (as  he  never  works)  ;  and  a  wonderful  sot — which 
every  body  knows  he  is.  With  the  cathedral  crypt  he  is 
better  acquainted  than  any  living  authority  ;  it  may  even  be 
than   any  dead  one.     It  is  said   that   the  intimacy  of  this 


650         THE  IsIYSTERY  OF  EDWIN   DROOD.  ' 

acquaintance  began  in  his  habitually  resorting  to  that  secret 
place,  to  lock  out  the  Cloisterham  boy-populace,  and  sleep  off 
the  fumes  of  liquor  ;  he  having  ready  access  to  the  cathedral, 
as  contractor  for  rough  repairs.  Be  this  as  it  may,  he  does 
know  much  about  it,  and  in  the  demolition  of  impedimental 
fragments  of  wall,  buttress  and  pavement  has  seen  strange 
sights.  He  often  speaks  of  himself  in  the  third  person  ; 
perhaps  being  a  little  misty  as  to  his  own  identity  when  he 
narrates  ;  perhaps  impartially  adopting  the  Cloisterham 
nomenclature  in  reference  to  a  character  of  acknowledged 
distinction.  Thus  he  will  say,  touching  his  strange  sights, 
''  Durdles  come  upon  the  old  chap,"  in  reference  to  a  buried 
magnate  of  ancient  time  and  high  degree,  "by  striking 
right  into  the  coffin  with  his  pick.  The  old  chap  gave  Dur- 
dles a  look  with  his  open  eyes,  as  much  as  to  say,  '  Is  your 
name  Durdles  ?  Why,  my  man,  I've  been  waiting  for  you 
a  devil  of  a  time  !  '  And  then  he  turned  to  powder." 
With  a  two  foot  rule  always  in  his  pocket,  and  a  mason's 
hammer  all  but  ahvays  in  his  hand,  Durdles  goes  continually 
sounding  and  tapping  all  about  and  about  the  cathedral  ; 
and  whenever  he  says  to  Tope,  ''  Tope,  here's  another  old 
'un  in  here  I  "  Tope  announces  it  to  the  dean  as  an  es- 
tablished discovery. 

In  a  suit  of  coarse  flannel  with  horn  buttons,  a  yellow 
neckerchief  with  draggled  ends,  an  old  hat  more  russet-col- 
ored than  black,  and  laced  boots  of  the  hue  of  his  stony 
calling,  Durdles  leads  a  hazy,  gipsy  sort  of  life,  carrying  his 
dinner  about  with  him  in  a  small  bundle,  and  sitting  on  all 
manner  of  tombstones  to  dine.  This  dinner  of  Durdles' 
has  become  quite  a  Cloisterham  institution  ;  not  only  be- 
cause of  his  never  appearing  in  public  without  it,  but  be- 
cause of  its  having  been,  on  certain  renowned  occasions, 
taken  into  custody  along  with  Durdles  (as  drunk  and  inca- 
pable), and  exhibited  before  the  bench  of  justices  at  tlie 
town  hall.  These  occasions,  however,  have  been  few  and 
far  apart,  Durdles  being  as  seldom  drunk  as  sober.  For  the 
rest,  he  is  an  old  bachelor,  and  he  lives  in  a  little  antiquated 
hole  of  a  house  that  was  never  finished,  supposed  to  be 
built,  so  far,  of  stones  stolen  from  the  city  wall.  To  this 
abode  there  is  an  approach,  ankle-deep  in  stone  chips,  re- 
sembling a  petrified  grove  of  tombstones,  urns,  draperies, 
and  broken  columns,  in  all  stages  of  sculpture.  Herein  two 
journeymen  incessantly  chip,  while  other  two  journeymen, 
who    face    each    otiier,    incessantly    saw    stone,  dipping  as 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        651 

regularly  in  and  out  of  their  sheltering  sentry-boxes,  as 
if  they  were  mechanical  figures  emblematical  of  time  and 
death. 

To  Durdles,  when  he  has  consumed  his  glass  of  port,  Mr. 
Sapsea  intrusts  that  precious  effort  of  his  muse.  Durdles  un- 
feelingly takes  out  his  two  foot  rule,  and  measures  the  lines 
calmly,  alloying  them  with  stone-grit. 

"  This  is  for  the  monument,  is  it,  Mr.  Sapsea  ?" 

"The  inscription.  Yes."  Mr.  Sapsea  waits  for  its  effect 
upon  a  common  mind. 

"  It'll  come  in  to  an  eighth  of  an  inch,"  says  Durdles. 
"  Your  servant,  Mr.  Jasper.     Hope  I  see  you  well." 

"  How  are  you,  Durdles  ?  " 

"  I've  got  a  touch  of  the  tombatism  on  me,  Mr.  Jasper, 
but  that  I  must  expect." 

"You  mean  the  rheumatism,"  says  Sapsea,  in  a  sharp  tone. 
(He  is  nettled  by  having  his  composition  so  mechanically 
received.) 

"  No,  I  don't.  I  mean,  Mr.  Sapsea,  the  tombatism.  It's 
another  sort  of  rheumatism.  Mr.  Jasper  knows  what  Dur- 
dles means.  You  get  among  them  tombs  afore  it's  well  light 
on  a  winter  morning  and  keep  on,  as  the  catechism  says,  a 
walking  in  the  same  all  the  days  of  your  life,  and  j'd?//'ll  know 
what  Durdles  means." 

"  It's  a  bitter  cold  place,"  Mr.  Jasper  assents,  with  an  an- 
tipathetic shiver. 

"  And  if  it's  bitter  cold  for  you,  up  in  the  chancel,  with  a 
lot  of  live  breath  smoking  out  about  you,  what  the  bitterness 
is  to  Durdles,  down  in  the  crypt  among  the  earthly  damps 
there,  and  the  dead  breath  of  the  old  'uns,"  returns  that  in- 
dividual, "  Durdles  leaves  you  to  judge.  Is  this  to  be  put 
in  hand  at  once,  Mr.  Sapsea  ?  " 

Mr.  Sapsea,"  with  an  author's  anxiety  to  rush  into  publica- 
tion, replies  that  it  can  not  be  out  of  hand  too  soon. 

"You  had  better  let  me  have  the  key,  then,"  says  Dur- 
dles. 

"  Why,  man,  it  is  not  to  be  put  inside  the  monument  !  " 

"  Durdles  knows  where  it's  to  be  put,  Mr.  Sapsea  ;  no  man 
better.  Ask  'ere  a  man  in  Cloisterham  whether  Durdles 
knows  his  work." 

Mr.  Sapsea  rises,  takes  a  key  from  a  drawer,  unlocks  an 
iron  safe  let  into  the  vv^all,  and  takes  from  it  another  key. 

"  When  Durdles  puts  a  touch  or  a  finish  upon  his  work  no 
matter  where,  inside  ov  outside,  Durdles  likes  to  look  at  his 


652         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

work  all  round,  and  see  that  his  work  is  a-doing  him  credit," 
Durdles  explains  doggedly. 

The  key  proffered  him  by  the  bereaved  widower  being  a 
large  one,  he  slips  his  two-foot  rule  into  a  side  pocket 
of  his  flannel  trowsers  made  for  it,  and  deliberately  opens 
his  flannel  coat,  and  opens  the  mouth  of  a  large  breast- 
pocket within  it  before  taking  the  key  to  place  in  that  repos- 
itory. 

*'  Why,  Durdles  !  "  exclaims  Jasper,  looking  on  amused. 
**  You  are  undermined  with  pockets  !  " 

"And  I  carries  weight  in  'em  too,  Mr.  Jasper.  Feel 
those,"  producing  two  other  large  keys. 

"  Hand  me  Mr.  Sapsea's  likewise.  Surely  this  is  the 
heaviest  of  the  three." 

"  You'll  find  'em  much  of  a  muchness,  I  expect,"  says 
Durdles.  "  They  all  belong  to  monuments.  They  all  open 
Durdles's  work.  Durdles  keeps  the  keys  of  his  work  mostly. 
Not  that  they're  much  used." 

"By  the  by,"  it  comes  into  Jasper's  mind  to  say,  as  he 
idly  examines  the  keys,  "  I  have  been  going  to  ask  you,  many 
a  day,  and  have  always  forgotten.  You  know  they  some- 
times call  you  Stony  Durdles,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  Cloisterham  knows  me  as  Durdles,  Mr.  Jasper." 

"  I  am  aware  of  that,  of  course.  But  the  boys  some- 
times  " 

"  Oh  !  If  you  mind  them  young  imps  of  boys — "  Durdles 
gruffly  interrupts. 

"  I  don't  mind  them  any  more  than  you  do.  But  there 
was  a  discussion  the  other  day  among  the  choir,  whether 
Stony  stood  for  Tony  ;  "  clinking  one  key  against  another. 

("  Take  care  of  the  wards,  Mr.  Jasper.") 

"  Or  whether  Stony  stood  for  Stephen  ;  "  clinking  with  a 
change  of  keys. 

("  You  can't  make  a  pitch-pipe  of  'em,  Mr.  Jasper.") 

"Or  whether  the  name  comes  from  your  trade.  How 
stands  the  fact  ?  " 

Mr.  Jasper  weighs  the  three  keys  in  his  hand,  lifts  his 
head  from  his  idly  stooping  attitude  over  the  fire,  anil 
delivers  the  keys  to  Durdles  with  an  ingenuous  and  friendly 
face. 

But  the  stony  one  is  a  gruff  one  likewise,  and  that  hazy 
state  of  his  is  always  an  uncertain  state,  highly  conscious  of 
its  dignity,  and  prone  to  take  offense.  He  drops  his  two 
keys  back  into  his  pocket  one  by  one,  and  buttons  them  up  ; 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        653 

he  takes  his  dinner-bundle  from  the  chair-back  on  which  he 
hung  it  when  he  came  in  ;  he  distributes  the  weight  he  car- 
ries, by  tying  the  third  key  up  in  it,  as  though  he  were  an 
ostrich,  and  liked  to  dine  off  cold  iron  ;  and  he  gets  out  of 
the  room,  deigning  no  word  of  answer. 

Mr.  Sapsea  then  proposes  a  hit  at  backgammon,  which, 
seasoned  with  his  own  improving  conversation,  and  term- 
inating in  a  supper  of  cold  roast  beef  and  salad,  beguiles  the 
golden  evening  until  pretty  late.  Mr.  Sapsea's  wisdom 
being,  in  its  delivery  to  mortals,  rather  of  the  diffuse  than 
the  epigrammatic  order,  is  by  no  means  expended  even  then, 
but  his  visitor  intimates  that  he  will  come  back  for  more  of 
the  precious  commodity  on  future  occasions,  and  Mr.  Sap- 
sea  lets  him  off  for  the  present,  to  ponder  on  the  installment 
ht  carries  away. 


CHAPTER  V. 

MR.    DURDLES    AND    FRIEND. 

John  Jasper,  on  his  way  home  through  the  close,  is 
brought  to  a  standstill  by  the  spectacle  of  Stony  Durdles, 
dinner-bundle  and  all,  leaning  his  back  against  the  iron 
railing  of  the  burial  ground  inclosing  it  from  the  old  cloister 
arches  ;  and  a  hideous  small  boy  in  rags  flinging  stones  at 
him  as  a  well  defined  mark  in  the  moonlight.  Sometimes 
the  stones  hit  him,  and  sometimes  they  miss  him,  but 
Durdles  seems  indifferent  to  either  fortune.  The  hideous 
small  boy,  on  the  contrary,  whenever  he  hits  Durdles,  blows 
a  whistle  of  triumph  through  a  jagged  gap  convenient  for 
the  purpose,  in  the  front  of  his  mouth,  where  half  his  teeth 
are  wanting  ;  and  whenever  he  misses  him,  yelps  out 
"  Mulled  agin  !  "  and  tries  to  atone  for  the  failure  by  taking 
a  more  correct  and  vicious  aim. 

"  What  are  you  doing  to  the  man  ? "  demands  Jasper, 
stepping  out  into  the  moonlight  from  the  shade. 

"  Making  a  cock-shy  of  him,"  replies  the  hideous  small 
boy. 

"Give  me  those  stones  in  your  hand." 

*'Yes,  I'll  give  'em  you  down  your  throat,  if  you  come 
a-ketching  hold  of  me,"  says  the  small  boy,  shaking  himself 
loose,  and  backing.  "  I'll  smash  your  eye,  if  you  don't  look 
out  !  '• 


654         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  Baby-devil  that  you  are,  what  has  the  man  done  to 
yoii  ? " 

"  He  won't  go  home.'' 

**What  is  that  to  you  ?" 

"  He  gives  me  a  'apenny  to  pelt  him  home  if  I  ketches 
him  out  too  late,"  says  the  boy.  And  then  chants,  like  a 
little  savage,  half  stumbling  and  half  dancing  among  the 
rags  and  laces  of  his  dilapidated  boots  : 

"  Widdy  widdy  wen  ' 
I  ket — ches — Im — out — ar— ter— ten, 
Widdy  widdy  wy  ! 

Then— E — don't — go — then — I — shy— 
Widdy  Widdy  Wake-cock  warning  1 " 

— with  a  comprehensive  sweep  on  the  last  word,  and  one 
more  delivery  at  Durdles. 

This  would  seem  to  be  a  poetical  note  of  preparation, 
agreed  upon  as  a  caution  to  IXirdles  to  stand  clear  if  he  can 
or  to  betake  himself  homeward. 

John  Jasper  invites  the  boy  with  a  beck  of  his  head  to 
follow  him  (feeling  it  hopeless  to  drag  him,  or  coax  him) 
and  crosses  to  the  iron  railing  where  the  Stony  (and  stoned) 
One  is  profoundly  meditating. 

**  Do  you  know  this  thing,  this  child  ?  "  asks  Jasper,  at  a 
loss  for  a  word  that  will  define  this  thing. 

'*  Deputy,"  says  Durdles,  with  a  nod. 

"  Is  that  its — his — name  ?  " 

"  Deputy,"  assents  Durdles. 

"  I'm  man-servant  up  at  the  I'ravelers'  Towpenny  in  Gas 
Works  Garding,"  this  thing  explains.  "  All  us  man-servants 
at  Travelers  Lodgings  is  named  Deputy.  Wlien  we're  chock 
full  and  the  travelers  all  a-bed  I  come  out  for  my  'elth." 
Then,  withdrawing  in  to  the  road,  and  taking  aim,  he  re- 
sumes— 

**  Widdy  widdy  wen  ! 
I — ket — ches — Im — out—ar — ter — " 

"  Hold  your  hand,"  cries  Jasper,  ''and  don  t  throw  while 
I  stand  so  near  him,  or  I'll  kill  you  !  Come,  Durdles  ;  let 
me  walk  home  with  you  to-night.  Shail  I  carry  vour  bun- 
dle ?  " 

"  Not  on  any  account,"  replies  Durdles,  adjusting  it. 
*  Durdles  was  making  his  reflections  here  v/hen  you  come 
up,  sir,  surrounded  by  his  works,  like  a  popular  author.  Your 
own  brother-in-law  ;  "  introducing  a  sarcophagus  within  the 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWJN   DROOD.        655 

railing,  white  and  cold  in  the  moonlight.  "  Ivlrs.  Sapsea  ;  " 
introducing  the  monument  of  that  devoted  wife.  *'  Late 
incumbent ; "  introducing  the  reverend  gentleman's  broken 
column.  "  Departed  assessed  taxes  ;  "  introducing  a  vase 
and  towel,  standing  on  what  might  represent  the  cake  of 
soap,  "  Former  pastry-cook  and  muffin-maker,  much  re- 
spected ;  "  introducing  gravestone.  "  All  safe  and  sound 
here,  sir,  and  old  Durdle's  work  !  Of  the  common  folk  that 
is  merely  bundled  up  in  turf  and  brambles,  the  less  said,  the 
better.     A  poor  lot,  soon  forgot." 

"  This  creature,  Deputy,  is  behind  us,"  says  Jasper,  look- 
ing back.     ''  Is  he  to  follow  us  ?  " 

The  relations  between  Durdles  and  Deputy  are  of  a  capri- 
cious kind  ;  for,  on  Durdles's  turning  himself  about  with 
the  slow  gravity  of  beery  soddenness,  Deputy  makes  a 
pretty  wide  circuit  into  the  road  and  stands  on  the  defen- 
sive. 

"  You  never  cried  Widdy  Warning  before  you  begun  to- 
night,' says  Durdles,  unexpectedly  reminded  of,  or  imagin- 
ing an  injury. 

"  Yer  lie,  I  did,"  says  Deputy,  in  his  only  form  of  polite 
contradiction. 

"  Own  brother,  sir,"  observes  Durdles,  turning  himself 
about  again,  and  as  unexpectedly  forgetting  his  offense  as 
he  had  recalled  or  conceived  it  ;  "  own  brother  to  Peter  the 
Wild  Boy  !     But  I  gave  him  an  object  in  life." 

''  At  which  he  takes  aim  ?"  Mr.  Jasper  suggests. 

*'  That's  it,  sir,"  returns  Durdles,  quite  satisfied  ;  "  at 
which  he  takes  aim.  I  took  him  in  hand  and  gave  him  an 
object.  What  was  he  before  ?  A  destroyer.  What  work 
did  he  do  ?  Nothing  but  destruction.  What  did  he  earn 
by  it  ?  Short  terms  in  Cloisterham  jail.  Not  a  person,  not 
a  piece  of  property,  not  a  window,  not  a  horse,  nor  a  dog, 
nor  a  cat,  nor  a  bird,  nor  a  fowl,  nor  a  pig,  but  what  he 
stoned  for  want  of  an  enlightened  object  before  him.  1  put 
that  enlightened  object  before  him,  and  now  he  can  turn  his 
honest  halfpenny  by  the  three  pennorth  a  week." 

*'  I  wonder  he  has  no  competitors," 

''  He  has  plenty,  Mr.  Jasper,  but  he  stones  *em  all  away. 
Now,  I  don't  know  what  this  scheme  of  mine  comes  to,"  pur- 
sues Durdles,  considering  about  it  with  the  same  sodden 
gravity  ;  "  I  don't  know  what  you  may  precisely  call  it.  It 
ain't  a  sort  of  a — scheme  of  a — national  ^';ducation  ?" 

*'  I  should  say  not,"  replies  Jasper. 


656         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  /  should  say  not,"  assents  Durdles  ;  *'  then  we  won't  try 
to  give  it  a  name." 

"  He  still  keeps  behind  us,"  repeats  Jasper,  looking  over 
his  shoulder  ;  "  is  he  to  follow  us  ? " 

"  We  can't  help  going  round  by  the  Travelers'  Twopenny, 
if  we  go  the  short  way,  which  is  the  back  v/ay,"  Durdles  an- 
swers, "  and  we'll  drop  him  there." 

So  they  go  on  ;  Deputy  as  a  rear  rank  of  one,  taking 
open  order,  and  invading  the  silence  of  the  hour  and  place 
by  stoning  every  wall,  post,  pillar,  and  other  inanimate 
object,  by  the  deserted  way. 

''  Is  there  any  thing  new  down  in  the  crypt,  Durdles  ?  " 
asks  John  Jasper. 

"  Any  thing  old,  I  think  you  mean,"  growls  Durdles. 
"^It  ain't  a  spot  for  novelty." 

*'  Any  new  discovery  on  your  part,  I  meant." 

"  There's  a  old  'un  under  the  seventh  pillar  on  the  left  as 
you  go  down  the  broken  steps  of  the  little  underground 
chapel  as  formerly  was,  I  make  him  out  (so  fur  as  I've  made 
him  out  yet)  to  be  one  of  them  old  'uns  with  a  crook.  To 
judge  from  the  size  of  the  passages  in  the  walls,  and  of  the 
steps  and  doors,  by  which  they  come  and  went,  them  crooks 
must  have  been  a  good  deal  in  the  way  of  the  old  'uns  I  Two 
on  'em  meeting  promiscuous  must  have  hitched  one  another 
by  the  miter,  pretty  often,  I  should  say.' 

Without  any  endeavor  to  correct  the  literality  of  this  opin- 
ion, Jasper  surveys  his  companion — covered  from  head  to 
foot  with  old  mortar,  lime,  and  stone-grit — as  though  he, 
Jasper,  were  getting  imbued  with  a  romantic  interest  in 
his  weird  life. 

''  Yours  is  a  curious  existence." 

Without  furnishing  the  least  cle\\^  to  the  question,  whether 
he  receives  this  as  a  compliment  or  as  quite  the  reverse, 
Durdles  gruffly  answers,  "  Yours  is  another." 

"  Well  !  Inasmuch  as  my  lot  is  cast  in  the  same  old 
earthy,  chilly,  never-changing  place,  Yes.  But  there  is  much 
more  mystery  and  interest  in  your  connection  with  the  cathe- 
dral than  in  mine.  Indeed,  I  am  beginning  to  have  some 
idea  of  asking  you  to  take  me  on  as  a  sort  of  student,  or  free 
'prentice,  under  you,  and  to  let  me  go  about  with  you  some- 
times, and  see  some  of  these  odd  nooks  in  which  you  pass 
your  days." 

The  Stony  One  replies,  in  a  general  way,  all  right.  Every 
body  knows  where  to  find  Durdles  when  he's  wanted.    Vv  hich, 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        657 

if  not  strictly  true,  is  approximately  so,  if  taken  to  express 
that  Durdles  may  always  be  found  in  a  state  of  vagabond- 
age somewhere. 

"  What  I  dwell  upon  most,"  says  Jasper,  pursuing  his  sub- 
ject of  romantic  interest,  "  is  the  remarkable  accuracy  with 
which  you  would  seem  to  find  out  where  people  are  buried. 
— What  is  the  matter  ?  That  bundle  is  in  your  way  ;  let  me 
hold  it." 

Durdles  has  stopped  and  backed  a  little  (Deputy  atten- 
tive to  all  his  movements,  immediately  skirmishing  into  the 
road),  and  was  looking  about  for  some  ledge  or  corner  to 
place  his  bundle  on,  when  thus  relieved  of  it. 

"  Just  you  give  me  my  hammer  out  of  that,"  says  Durdles, 
"  and  I'll  show  you." 

Clink,  clink.     And  his  hammer  is  handed  him. 

**  Now,  look'ee  here.  You  pitch  your  note,  don't  you,  Mr. 
Jasper  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  So  I  sound  for  mine.  I  take  my  hammer,  and  I  tap." 
(Here  he  strikes  the  pavement,  and  the  attentive  Deputy 
skirmishes  at  a  rather  wider  range,  as  supposing  that  his 
head  may  be  in  requisition.)  "  I  tap,  tap,  tap.  Solid  !  I 
go  on  tapping.  Solid  still  !  Tap  again.  Halloo  !  Hol- 
low !  Tap  again,  persevering.  Solid  in  hollow  !  Tap,  tap, 
tap,  to  try  it  better.  Solid  in  hollow  ;  and  inside  solid,  hol- 
low again  !  There  you  are  !  Old  'un  crumbled  away  in 
stone  coffin,  in  vault  !  " 

''  Astonishing  !  " 

"  I  have  even  done  this,"  says  Durdles,  drawing  out  his 
two-foot  rule  (Deputy  meanwhile  skirmishing  nearer,  as  sus- 
pecting that  treasure  may  be  about  to  be  discovered,  which 
may  somehow  lead  to  his  own  enrichment,  and  the  delicious 
treat  of  the  discoverers  being  hanged  by  the  neck,  on  his 
evidence,  until  they  are  dead).  "  Say  that  hammer  of  mine's 
a  wall — my  work.  Two  ;  four  ;  and  two  is  six,"  measuring 
on  the  pavement.     "  Six  foot  inside  that  wall  is  Mrs.  Sapsea." 

"  Not  really  Mrs.  Sapsea?  " 

"  Say  Mrs.  Sapsea.  Her  wall's  thicker,  but  say  Mrs.  Sap- 
sea. Durdles  taps  that  will  represented  by  that  hammer, 
and  says,  after  good  sounding,  *  Something  betwixt  us  ? ' 
Sure  enough,  some  rubbish  has  been  left  in  that  same  six- 
foot  space  by  Durdles's  men  !  " 

Jasper  opines  that  such  accuracy  "  is  a  gift." 

"  I  wouldn't  have  it  at  a  gift,"   returns  Durdles,  by  no 


658        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD, 

means  receiving  the  observation  in  good  part.  "  I  worked 
it  out  for  myself.  Durdles  comes  by  his  knowledge  through 
grubbing  deep  for  it,  and  having  it  up  by  the  roots  when  it 
don't  want  to  come. — Holloa,  you  Deputy  !" 

"Widdy!"  is  Deputy's  shrill  response,  standing  off 
again. 

"  Catch  that  ha'  penny.  And  don't  let  me  see  any  more 
of  you  to-night,  after  we  come  to  the  Travelers*  Twopenny." 

"  Warning  !  "  returns  Deputy,  having  caught  the  half- 
penny, and  appearing  by  this  mystic  word  to  express  his 
assent  to  the  arrangement. 

They  have  but  to  cross  what  was  once  the  vineyard,  be- 
longing to  what  was  once  the  monastery,  to  come  into  the 
narrow  back  lane  wherein  stands  the  crazy  wooden  house  of 
two  low  stories  currently  known  as  the  Travelers'  Twopenny 
— a  house  all  warped  and  distorted,  like  the  morals  of  the 
travelers,  with  scant  remains  of  a  lattice-work  porch  over  the 
door,  and  also  of  a  rustic  fence  before  its  stamped-out  gar- 
den ;  by  reason  of  the  travelers  being  so  bound  to  the  f)rem- 
ises  by  a  tender  sentiment  (or  so  fond  of  having  a  fire  by 
the  roadside  in  the  course  of  the  day),  that  they  can  never 
be  persuaded  or  threatened  into  departure,  without  violently 
possessing  themselves  of  some  wooden  forget-me-not,  and 
bearing  it  off. 

The  semblance  of  an  inn  is  attempted  to  be  given  to  this 
wretched  place  by  fragments  of  conventional  red  curtaining 
in  the  windows,  which  rags  are  made  muddily  transparent 
in  the  night-season  by  feeble  lights  of  rush  or  cotton  dip 
burning  dully  in  the  close  air  of  the  inside.  As  Durdles 
and  Jasper  come  near,  they  are  addressed  by  an  inscribed 
paper  lantern  over  the  door,  setting  forth  the  purport  of  the 
house.  They  are  also  addressed  by  some  half  dozen  other 
hideous  small  boys — whether  Twopenny  lodgers,  or  followers 
or  hangers-on  of  such,  who  knows  ? — who,  as  if  attracted  by 
some  carrion-scent  of  Deputy  in  the  air,  start  into  the  moon- 
light, as  the  vultures  might  gather  in  the  desert,  and  in- 
stantly fall  to  stoning  him  and  one  another, 

"Stop,  you  young  brutes,"  cries  Jasper,  angrily,  *'and  let 
us  go  by  !  " 

This  remonstrance  being  received  with  yells  and  flying 
stones,  according  to  a  custom  of  late  years  comfortably  es- 
tablished among  the  police  regulations  of  our  English  com- 
munities, v/here  Christians  are  stoned  on  all  sides,  as  if  the 
days  of  Saint  Stephen  were  revived,  Durdles  remarks  of  the 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        659 

youn^^  savages,  with  some  point  that  **  they  haven't  got  an 
object,"  and  leads  the  way  down  the  lane. 

At  the  corner  of  the  lane,  Jasper,  hotly  enraged,  checks 
his  companion  and  looks  back.  All  is  silent.  Next  mo- 
ment, a  stone  coming  rattling  at  his  hat,  a  distant  yell  of 
"  Wakecock  !  Warning ! "  followed  by  a  crow,  as  from 
some  infernally  hatched  chanticleer,  apprising  him  under 
whose  victorious  fire  he  stands,  he  turns  the  corner  into 
safety,  and  takes  Durdles  home  :  Durdles  stumbling  among 
the  litter  of  his  stony  yard  as  if  he  were  going  to  turn  head- 
foremost into  one  of  the  unfinished  tombs. 

John  Jasper  returns  by  another  way  to  his  Gate  House,  and 
entering  softly  with  his  key,  finds  his  fire  still  burning.  He 
takes  from  a  locked  press  a  peculiar  looking  pipe,  which  he 
fills — but  not  with  tobacco — and,  having  adjusted  the  con- 
tents of  the  bowl,  very  carefully,  with  a  little  instrument, 
ascends  an  inner  staircase  of  only  a  few  steps,  leading  to 
two  rooms.  One  of  these  is  his  own  sleeping-chamber,  the 
other  is  his  nephew's.     There  is  a  light  in  each. 

His  nephew  lies  asleep,  calm  and  untroubled.  John 
Jasper  stands  looking  down  upon  him,  his  unlighted  pipe 
in  his  hand,  for  some  time,  with  a  fixed  and  deep  attention. 
Then,  hushing  his  footsteps,  he  passes  to  his  own  room,  lights 
his  pipe,  and  delivers  himself  to  the  specters  it  invokes  at 
midnight. 

CHAPTER  VL 

PHILANTHROPY   IN    MINOR   CANON   CORNER. 

The  Reverend  Septimus  Crisparkle  (Septimus,  because 
six  little  brother  Crisparkles  before  him  went  out,  one  by 
one,  as  they  were  born,  like  six  little  rush-lights,  as  they  were 
lighted)  having  broken  the  thin  morning  ice  near  Cloister- 
ham  Weir  with  his  amiable  head,  much  to  the  invigoration 
of  his  frame,  was  now  assisting  his  circulation  by  boxing  at 
a  looking-glass  with  great  science  and  prowess.  A  fresh 
and  healthy  portrait  the  looking-glass  presented  of  the  Rev- 
erend Septimus,  feinting  and  dodging  with  the  utmost  art- 
fulness, and  hitting  out  from  the  shoulder  with  the  utmost 
straightness,  while  his  radiant  features  teemed  with  inno- 
cence, and  soft-hearted  benevolence  beamed  from  his  box- 
ing-gloves. 

It  was  scarcely  breakfast-time  yet,  for  Mrs.  Crisparkle-— 


66o         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

mother,  not  wife,  of  the  Reverend  Septimus — was  only  just 
down,  and  waiting  for  the  urn.  Indeed,  the  Reverend  Septi- 
mus left  off  at  this  very  moment  to  take  the  pretty  old  lady's 
interesting  face  between  his  boxing-gloves  and  kiss  it.  Hav- 
ing done  so  with  tenderness,  the  Reverend  Septimus  turned  to 
again,  countering  with  his  left,  and  putting  in  his  right,  in  a 
tremendous  manner. 

"  I  say  every  morning  of  my  life,  that  you'll  do  it  at  last. 
Sept,"  remarked  the  old  lady,  looking  on  ;  *'  and  so  you 
will." 

"  Do  what,  ma,  dear  !  " 

"  Break  the  pier-glass,  or  burst  a  blood-vessel.** 

"  Neither,  please  God,  ma,  dear.  Here's  wind,  ma.  Look 
at  this  !  " 

In  a  concluding  round  of  great  severity,  the  Reverend 
Septimus  administered  and  escaped  all  sorts  of  punishment, 
and  wound  up  by  getting  the  old  lady's  cap  into  chancery — 
such  is  the  technical  term  used  in  scientific  circles  by  the 
learned  in  the  noble  art — with  a  lightness  of  touch  that 
hardly  stirred  the  lightest  lavender  or  cherry  ribbon  on  it. 
Magnanimously  releasing  the  defeated,  just  in  time  to  get 
his  gloves  into  a  drawer,  and  feign  to  be  looking  out  of 
window  in  a  contemplative  state  of  mind  when  a  servant  en- 
tered, the  Reverend  Septimus  then  gave  place  to  the  urn 
and  other  preparatinns  for  breakfast.  These  completed, 
and  the  two  alone  again,  it  was  pleasant  to  see  (or  would 
have  been,  if  tliere  had  been  any  one  to  see  it,  which  there 
never  was)  the  old  lady  standing  to  say  the  Lord's  Prayer 
aloud,  and  her  son,  minor  canon  nevertheless,  standing 
with  head  bent  to  hear  it,  he  being  within  five  years  of 
forty  ;  much  as  he  had  stood  to  hear  the  same  words  from 
the  same  lips  when  he  was  within  five  months  of  four. 

What  is  prettier  than  an  old  lady — except  a  young  lady — 
when  her  eyes  are  bright,  when  her  figure  is  trim  and  com- 
pact, when  her  face  is  cheerful  and  calm,  when  her  dress  is 
as  the  dress  of  a  china  shepherdess  :  so  dainty  its  colors,  so 
individually  assorted  to  herself,  so  neatly  molded  on  her  ? 
Nothing  is  prettier,  thought  the  good  minor  canon  fre- 
quently, when  taking  his  seat  at  table  opposite  his  long- 
widowed  mother.  Her  thought  at  such  times  may  be  con- 
densed into  the  two  words  that  oftenest  did  duty  together 
in  all  her  conversations  :  "  My  Sept !  '* 

They  were  a  good  pair  to  sit  breakfasting  together  in 
Minor  Canon  Corner,  Cloisterham.    For  Minor  Canon  Corner 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIx^  DROOD.        66r 

was  a  quiet  place  in  the  shadow  of  the  cathedral,  which  the 
cawing  of  the  rooks,  the  echoing  footsteps  of  rare  passers, 
the  sound  of  the  cathedral  bell,  or  the  roll  of  the  cathedral 
organ,  seemed  to  render  more  quiet  than  absolute  silence. 
Swaggering  fighting  men  had  had  their  centuries  of  ramping 
and  raving  about  Minor  Canon  Corner,  and  beaten  serfs 
had  had  their  centuries  of  drudging  and  dying  there,  and 
powerful  monks  had  had  their  centuries  of  being  sometimes 
useful  and  sometimes  harmful  there,  and,  behold  !  they  were 
all  gone  out  of  Minor  Canon  Corner,  and  so  much  the  better. 
Perhaps  one  of  the  highest  uses  of  their  ever  having  been 
there,  was,  that  there  might  be  left  behind  that  blessed  air 
of  tranquillity  which  pervaded  Minor  Canon  Corner,  and 
that  serenely  romantic  state  of  the  mind — productive  for  the 
most  part  of  pity  and  forbearance — which  is  engendered  by 
a  sorrowful  story  that  is  all  told,  or  a  pathetic  play  that  is 
played  out. 

Red-brick  walls  harmoniously  toned  down  in  color  by  time, 
strong-rooted  ivy,  latticed  windows,  paneled  rooms,  big 
oaken  beams  in  little  places,  and  stone-walled  gardens  where 
annual  fruit  yet  ripened  upon  monkish  trees,  were  the  prin- 
cipal surroundings  of  pretty  old  Mrs.  Crisparkle  and  the  Rev. 
Septimus  as  they  sat  at  breakfast. 

"And  what,  ma,  dear,"  inquired  the  minor  canon,  giving 
proof  of  a  wholesome  and  vigorous  appetite,  "  does  the  letter 
say  ?  " 

The  pretty  old  lady,  after  reading  it,  had  just  laid  it  down 
upon  the  breakfast-cloth.     She  handed  it  over  to  her  son. 

Now,  the  old  lady  was  exceedingly  proud  of  her  bright  eyes 
being  so  clear  that  she  could  read  writing  without  spectacles. 
Her  son  was  also  so  proud  of  the  circumstance,  and  so  duti- 
fully bent  on  her  deriving  the  utmost  possible  gratification 
from  it,  that  he  had  invented  the  pretense  that  he  himself 
could  not  read  writing  without  spectacles.  Therefore  he 
now  assumed  a  pair,  of  grave  and  prodigious  proportions, 
which  not  only  seriously  inconvenienced  his  nose  and  his 
breakfast,  but  seriously  impeded  his  perusal  of  the  letter. 
For  he  had  the  eyes  of  a  microscope  and  a  telescope  com- 
bined, when  they  were  unassisted. 

"  It's  from  Mr.  Honeythunder,  of  course,"  said  the  old 
lady,  folding  her  arms. 

"  Of  course,"  assented  her  son.     He  then  lamely  read  on  ; 


662         THE  MYS  lERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

•*  Haven  of  Philanthropv,  Chief  OFt^icH?,  London,  WednesJav 

"'Dear  Madam — 

"  *  I  write  in  the—'  In  the  what's  this  >  What  does  he 
write  in  ?  " 

**In  the  chair,"  said  the  old  lady. 

The  Reverend  Septimus  took  off  his  spectacles,  that  be 
might  see  her  face,  as  he  exclaimed 

*'  Why,  what  should  he  write  in  ?  '* 

"  Bless  me,  bless  me,  Sept,"  returned  the  old  lady,  *''  you 
don't  see  the  context  !     Give  it  back  to  me,  my  dear." . 

Glad  to  get  his  spectacles  off  (for  they  always  made  his 
eyes  water),  her  son  obeyed,  murmuring  that  his  sight  for 
reading  manuscript  got  worse  and  worse  daily, 

"  *  I  write,' "  his  mother  went  on,  reading  very  perspicuously 
and  precisely,  " '  from  the  chair  to  which  I  shall  probably 
be  confined  for  some  hours.' " 

Septimus  looked  at  the  row  of  chairs  against  the  wall 
with  a  half-protesting  and  half-appealing  countenance. 

"  *  We  have,'  "  the  old  lady  read  on,  with  a  little  extra  em- 
phasis, "  *  a  meeting  of  our  Convened  Chief  Composite  Com- 
mittee of  Central  and  District  Philanthropists,  at  our  Head 
Haven  as  above  ;  and  it  is  their  unanimous  pleasure  that  I 
take  the  chair.'" 

Septimus  breathed  more  freely,  and  muttered,  "Oh  !  If 
he  comes  to  that^  let  him." 

"  *  Not  to  lose  a  day's  post,  I  take  the  opportunity  of  a 
long  report  being  read,  denouncing  a  public  miscreant — '  " 

**  It  is  the  most  extraordinary  thing,"  interposed  the  gentle 
minor  canon,  laying  down  his  knife  and  fork  to  rub  his  ear 
in  a  vexed  manner,  "that  these  philanthropists  are  always 
denouncing  somebody.  And  it  is  another  most  extraordi- 
nary thing  that  they  are  always  so  violently  flush  of  miscre- 
ants ! " 

"  *  Denouncing  a  public  miscreant  !  '  " — the  old  lady 
resumed,  "*  to  get  our  little  affair  of  business  off  my  mind.  I 
have  spoken  with  my  two  wards,  Neville  and  Helena 
Landless,  on  the  subject  of  their  defective  education,  and 
they  give  in  to  the  plan  proposed  ,  as  I  should  have  taken 
good  care  they  did,  whether  they  liked  it  or  not.'  " 

"  And  it  is  another  most  extraordinary  thing,"  remarked 
the  minor  canon  in  the  same  tone  as  before,  that  these 
philanthropists  are  so  given  to  seizing  their  fellow-creatures 
by  the  scruff  of  the  neck,  and  (as  one  may   say)  bumping 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        667, 

them  into  the  paths  of  peace. — I  beg  your  pardon,  ma,  dear, 
for  interrupting." 

" '  Therefore,  dear  madam,  you  will  please  prepare  your 
son,  the  Rev.  Mr.  Septimus,  to  expect  Neville,  as  an  inmate  to 
be  read  with,  on  Monday  next.  On  the  same  day  Helena 
will  accompany  him  to  Cloisterham,  to  take  up  her  quarters 
at  the  Nuns'  House,  the  establishment  recommended  by 
yourself  and  son  jointly.  Please  likewise  to  prepare  for  their 
reception  and  tuition  there.  The  terms  in  both  cases  are 
understood  to  be  exactly  as  stated  to  me  in  writing  by  your- 
self, when  I  opened  a  correspondence  with  you  on  this 
subject,  after  the  honor  of  being  introduced  to  you  at  your 
sister's  house  in  town  here.  With  compliments  to  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Septimus,  I  am,  dear  madam,  your  affectionate  brother 
(in   philanthropy), 

*' '  Luke  Honeythunder.'  " 

"  Well,  ma,"  said  Septimus,  after  a  little  more  rubbing  of 
his  ear,  *'we  must  try  it.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  v/e 
have  room  for  an  inmate,  and  that  I  have  time  to  bestow 
upon  him,  and  inclination  too.  I  must  confess  to  feeling 
glad  that  he  rather  is  not  Mr.  Honeythunder  himself.  Though 
that  seems  wretchedly  prejudiced — does  it  not  ? — for  I  never 
saw  him.     Is  he  a  large  man,  ma  ?" 

"  I  should  call  him  a  large  man,  my  dear,"  the  old  lady 
replied,  after  some  hesitation,  "  but  that  his  voice  is  so  much 
larger." 

"Than  himself?" 

*' Than  anybody." 

"  Ha  !  "  said  Septimus.  And  finished  his  breakfast  as  if 
the  flavor  of  the  Superior  Family  Souchong,  and  also  of  the 
ham  and  toast  and  eggs,  were  a  little  on  the  wane., 

Mrs.  Crisparkle's  sister,  another  piece  of  Dresden  china, 
and  matching  her  so  neatly  that  they  would  have  made  a 
delightful  pair  of  ornaments  for  the  two  ends  of  any  capa- 
cious old-fashioned  chimney-piece,  and  by  right  should 
never  have  been  seen  apart,  was  the  childless  wife  of  a  cler- 
gyman holding  corporation  preferment  in  London  City. 
Mr.  Honeythunder,  in  his  public  character  of  Professor  of 
Philanthropy,  had  come  to  know  Mrs.  Crisparkle  during  the 
last  rematching  of  the  china  ornaments  (in  other  words, 
during  her  last  annual  visit  to  her  sister),  after  a  public 
occasion  of  a  philanthropic  nature,  when  certain  devoted 
orphans  of  tender  years  had  been  glutted  with  plum  buns, 


664         'iHE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN   DROOD. 

and  plump  bumptiousness.  These  were  all  the  antecedents 
known  in  Minor  Canon  Corner  of  the  coming  pupils. 

'T  am  sure  you  will  agree  with  me,  ma,"  said  Mr.  Cris- 
parkle,  after  thinking  the  matter  over,  "  that  the  first  thing 
to  be  done,  is,  to  put  these  young  people  as  much  at  their 
ease  as  possible.  There  is  nothing  disinterested  in  the 
notion,  because  we  can  not  be  at  at  our  ease  with  them 
unless  they  are  at  their  ease  with  us.  Now  Jasper's  nephew 
is  down  here  at  present  ;  and  like  takes  to  like,  and  youth 
takes  to  youth.  He  is  a  cordial  young  fellow,  and  we  will 
have  him  to  meet  the  brother  and  sister  at  dinner.  That's 
three.  We  can't  think  of  asking  him,  without  asking  Jasper. 
That's  four.  And  MissTwinkleton  and  the  fairy  bride  that 
is  to  be,  and  that's  six.  Add  our  two  selves,  and  that's 
eight.  Would  eight  at  a  friendly  dinner  at  all  put  you  out, 
ma?" 

'*  Nine  would.  Sept,"  returned  the  old  lady,  visibly  nervous. 

"My  dear  ma,  I  particularize  eight." 

"The  exact  size  of  the  table  and  the  room,  my  dear." 

So  it  was  settled  that  way  ;  and  when  Mr.  Crisparkle 
called  with  his  mother  upon  Miss  Twinkleton  to  arrange  for 
the  reception  of  Miss  Helena  Landless  at  the  Nuns'  House, 
the  two  other  invitations  having  reference  to  that  establish- 
ment were  proffered  and  accepted.  Miss  Twinkleton  did, 
indeed,  glance  at  the  globes,  as  regretting  that  they  were 
not  formed  to  be  taken  out  into  society  ;  but  became  recon- 
ciled to  leave  them  behind.  Instructions  were  then  dis- 
patched to  the  philanthropist  fo,r  the  departure  and  arrival, 
in  good  time  for  dinner,  of  Mr.  Neville  and  Miss  Helena  ; 
and  stock  for  soup  became  fragrant  in  the  air  of  Minor 
Canon  Corner. 

In  those  days  there  was  no  railway  to  Cloisterham,  and 
Mr.  Sapsea  said  there  never  would  be.  Mr.  Sapsea  said 
more  ;  he  said  there  never  should  be.  And  yet,  marvelous 
to  consider,  it  has  come  to  pass,  in  these  days,  that 
express  trains  don't  think  Cloisterham  worth  stopping  at, 
but  yell  and  whirl  through  on  their  larger  errands,  casting  off 
the  dust  of  their  wheels  as  a  testimony  against  its  insignifi- 
cance. Some  remote  fragment  of  main  line  to  somewhere 
else,  there  was,  which  was  going  to  ruin  the  morey  market 
if  it  failed,  and  church  and  state  if  it  succeeded,  and  (not 
of  course)  the  constitution,  whether  or  no  ;  but  even  that 
had  already  so  unsettled  Cloisterham  traffic,  that  the  traffic 
deserted  the  high  road,  came  sneaking  in  from  an  unprece- 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        665 

dented  part  of  the  country  by  a  back  stable-way,  for  many 
years  labeled  at  the  corner  :  "Beware of  the  Dog." 

To  this  ignominious  avenue  of  approach,  Mr.  Crisparkle 
'repaired,  awaiting  the  arrival  of  a  short  squat  omnibus,  with 
a  disproportionate  heap  of  luggage  on  the  roof — like  a  little 
elephant  with  infinitely  too  much  castle — which  was  then 
the  daily  service  between  Cloisterham  and  external  man- 
kind. As  this  vehicle  lumbered  up,  Mr.  Crisparkle  could 
hardly  see  any  thing  else  of  it  for  a  large  outside  passenger 
seated  on  the  box,  with  his  elbows  squared,  and  his  hands 
on  his  knees,  compressing  the  driver  into  a  most  uncom- 
fortably small  compass  and  glowering  about  him  with  a 
strongly  marked  face. 

"  Is  this  Cloisterham  ? "  demanded  the  passenger,  in  a 
tremendous  voice. 

"  It  is,"  replied  the  driver,  rubbing  himself  as  if  he  ached, 
after  throwing  the  reins  to  the  hostler.  "  And  I  was  never 
so  glad  to  see  it." 

"  Tell  your  master  to  make  his  box-seat  wider  then,"  re- 
turned the  passenger.  "  Your  master  is  morally  bound  — 
and  ought  to  be  legally,  under  ruinous  penalties — to  provide 
for  the  comfort  of  his  fellow-man." 

The  driver  instituted,  with  the  palms  of  his  hands,  a  su- 
perficial perquisition  into  the  state  of  his  skeleton  ;  which 
seemed  to  make  him  anxious. 

*'  Have  I  sat  upon  you  ?"  asked  the  passenger. 

"You  have,"  said  the  driver,  as  if  he  didn't  like  it  at  all. 

"  Take  that  card,  my  friend." 

"  I  think  1  won't  deprive  you  on  it,"  returned  the  driver, 
casting  his  eyes  over  it  with  no  great  favor,  without  taking 
it.     "  What's  the  good  of  it  to  me  ?  " 

"  Be  a  member  of  that  society,"  said  the  passenger. 

"  What  shall  I  get  by  it  ? "  asked  the  driver. 

"  Brotherhood,"  returned  the  passenger,  in  a  ferocious 
voice. 

"  Thank'ee,"  said  the  driver,  very  deliberately,  as  he  got 
down  ;  "my  mother  was  contented  with  myself,  and  so  am 
I.     I  don't  want  no  brothers." 

"  But  you  must  have  them,"  replied  the  passenger,  also  de- 
scending. '■  whether  you  like  it  or  not.     I  am  your  brother." 

"  I  say,"  expostulated  the  driver,  becoming  more  chafed 
in  tem;:er  ;  "not  too  fur.     The  worm  ?£////,  when " 

But  here  Mr,  Crisparkle  interposed,  remonstrating  aside, 
in  a  friendly  voice,  "Joe,  Joe   Joe  !     Don't  forget  yourself, 


666         THE  MYS'I  ERY  OF  EDAV-IN  DROOD. 

Joe,  my  good  fellow  !  "  and  then,  when  Joe  peaceably  touched 
his  hat,  accosting  the  passenger  with  "  Mr.  Honeythunder?  " 

"  That  is  my  name,  sir." 

"  My  name  is  Crisparkle." 

"  Reverend  Mr.  Septimus  ?  Glad  to  see  you,  sir.  Neville 
and  Helena  are  inside.  Having  a  little  succumbed  of  late, 
under  the  pressure  of  my  public  labors,  I  thought  I  would 
take  a  mouthful  of  fresh  air,  and  come  down  with  them,  and 
return  at  night.  So  you  are  the  Reverend  Mr.  Septimus,  are 
you  ? "  surveying  him  on  the  whole  with  disappointment, 
and  twisting  a  double  eye-glass  by  its  ribbon,  as  if  he  were 
roasting  it  ;  but  not  otherwise  using  it.  *'  Hah  !  I  expected 
to  see  you  older,  sir." 

"  I  hope  you  will,"  was  the  good-humored  reply. 

"  Eh  ?"  demanded  Mr.  Honeythunder. 

*'  Only  a  poor  little  joke.     Not  worth  repeating.** 

'*  Joke  ?  Ay  ;  I  never  see  a  joke,"  Mr.  Honeythunder 
frowningly  retorted.  "A  joke  is  wasted  upon  me,  sir. 
Where  are  they  ?  Helena  and  Neville,  come  here  !  Mr, 
Crisparkle  has  come  down  to  meet  you." 

An  unusually  handsome  lithe  young  fellow,  and  an  un- 
usually handsome  lithe  girl  ;  much  alike  ;  both  very  dark, 
and  very  rich  in  color  ;  she  of  almost  the  gipsy  type  ;  some- 
thing untamed  about  them  both  ;  a  certain  air  upon  them  of 
hunter  and  huntress  ;  yet  withal  a  certain  air  of  being  the 
objects  of  the  chase,  rather  than  the  followers.  Slender, 
supple,  quick  of  eye  and  limb  ;  half  shy,  half  defiant ;  fierce 
of  look  ;  an  indefinable  kind  of  pause  coming  and  going  on 
their  whole  expression,  both  of  face  and  form,  which  might 
be  equally  likened  to  the  pause  before  a  crouch,  or  a  bound. 
The  rough  mental  notes  made  in  the  first  five  minutes  by 
Mr.  Crisparkle  would  have  read  thus,  verbatim. 

He  invited  Mr.  Honeythunder  to  dinner,  w^ith  a  troubled 
mind  (for  the  discomfiture  of  the  dear  old  china  shepherd- 
ess lay  heavy  on  it),  and  gave  his  arm  to  Helena  Landless. 
Both  she  and  her  brother,  as  they  walked  all  together  through 
the  ancient  streets,  took  great  delight  in  what  he  pointed  out 
of  the  cathedral  and  monastery  ruin,  and  wondered — so  his 
notes  ran  on — much  as  if  they  were  beautiful  barbaric  cap- 
tives brought  from  some  wild  tropical  dominion.  Mr. 
Honeythunder  walked  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  shoulder- 
ing the  natives  out  of  his  w^ay,  and  loudly  developing  a 
scheme  he  had  for  making  a  raid  on  all  the  unemployed 
persons  in   the  United  Kingdom,  laying  them  every  one  by 


THE  An  STERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         667 

the   heels  in  jail,  and   forcing  them,  on  pain  of  prompt  ex- 
termination, to  become  philanthropists. 

Mrs.  Crisparkle  had  need  of  her  own  share  of  philanthropy 
when  she  beheld  this  very  large  and  very  loud  excrescence 
on  the  little  party.     Always  something  in  the  nature  of  a 
boil  upon  the  face  of  society,  Mr.  Honeythunder  expanded 
into  an  inflammatory  wen  in  Minor  Canon  Corner.    Though 
it  was  not  literally  true,  as  was  facetiously  charged  against 
him  by   public    unbelievers,    that    he    called    aloud   to  his 
fellow-creatures,  "  Curse  your  souls  and  bodies,  come  here 
and  be  blessed  ! "  still  his  philanthropy  was   of  that  gun- 
powderous  sort  that  the  difference  between  it  and  animosity 
was  hard  to  determine.     You  were  to  abolish  military  force, 
but  you  were  first  to  bring    all  commanding  officers   who 
had   done   their  duty,  to   trial  by  court-martial  for  that  of- 
fense, and  shoot  them.     You  were  to  abolish  war,  but  were 
to  make  converts  by  making  war  upon  them,  and  charging 
them  with  loving  war  as  the  apple  of  their  eye.     You  were 
to  have  no  capital  punishment,  but  were   first   to  sweep  off 
the  face  of  the  earth,  all  legislators,  jurists,  and  judges  who 
were  of  the  contrary  opinion.     You  were   to  have  universal 
concord,  and  were  to  get   it  by  eliminating  all  the  people 
who  wouldn't,  or  conscientiously  couldn't,  be  concordant. 
You  were  to  love  your  brother  as  yourself,  but  after  an  in- 
definite interval  of 'maligning  him  (very  much  as  if  you  hated 
him),   and    calling   him    all   manner   of  names.     Above   all 
things,  you  were  to  do   nothing  in  private,  or  on  your  own 
account.     You  were  to   go  to  the   offices  of  the  Haven  of 
Philanthropy,  and  put  your  name   down  as  a  member  and  a 
professing  philanthropist.     Then  you  were   to  pay  up  your 
subscription,  get  your  card  of  membership  and  your  ribbon 
and  medal,  and  were  evermore  to  live  upon  a  platform,  and 
evermore   to   say  what  Mr.  Honeythunder  said,  and   what 
the  treasurer  said,  and  what  the  sub-treasurer  said,  and  what 
the  committee  said,  and  what   the  sub-committee  said,  and 
what  the   secretary   said,  and  what  the  vice-secretary  said. 
And  this  was  usually  said  in  the  unanimously  carried  resolu- 
tion under  hand  and  seal,  to  the  effect  :  "  That  this  assem- 
bled   body  of  professing  philanthropists  views,  with  indig- 
nant scorn  and  contempt,  not  unmixed  with  utter  detestation 
and  loathing   abhorrence,"— in  short,  the    baseness   of    all 
those  who  do  not  belong  to  it,  and  pledges  itself  to  make  as 
many  obnoxious  statements  as  possible  about  them,  without 
being  at  all  particular  as  to  facts. 


66S         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

The  dinner  was  a  most  doleful  breakdown.  The  philan- 
thropist deranged  the  symmetry  of  the  table,  sat  himself  in 
the  way  of  the  waiting,  blocked  up  the  thoroughfare,  and 
drove  Mr.  Tope  (who  assisted  the  parlor-maid)  to  the  verge 
of  distraction  by  passing  plates  and  dishes  on,  over  his  own 
head.  Nobody  could  talk  to  any  body,  because  he  held 
forth  to  every  body  at  once,  as  if  the  company  had  no  indi- 
vidual existence,  but  were  a  meeting.  He  impounded  the 
Reverend  Mr.  Septimus,  as  an  official  personage  to  be  ad- 
dressed, or  kind  of  human  peg  to  hang  his  oratorical  hat 
on,  and  fell  into  the  exasperating  habit,  common  among  such 
orators,  of  impersonating  him  as  a  wicked  and  weak  oppo- 
nent. Thus,  he  would  ask,  "  And  will  you,  sir,  *now  stultify 
yourself  by  telling  me" — and  so  forth,  when  the  innocent 
man  had  not  opened  his  lips,  nor  meant  to  open  them.  Or 
he  would  say,  "  Now  see,  sir,  to  what  a  position  you  are 
reduced.  I  will  leave  you  no  escape.  After  exhausting  all 
the  resources  of  fraud  and  falsehood,  during  years  upon 
years  ;  after  exhibiting  a  combination  of  dastardly  mean- 
ness with  ensanguined  daring,  such  as  the  world  has  not 
often  witnessed  ;  you  have  now  the  hypocrisy  to  bend  the 
knee  before  the  most  degraded  of  mankind,  and  to  sue  and 
whine  and  howl  for  mercy  ! "  Whereat  the  unfortunate 
minor  canon  would  look,  in  part  indignant  and  in  part  per- 
plexed ;  while  his  worthy  mother  sat  bridling,  with  tears 
in  her  eyes,  and  the  remainder  of  the  party  lapsed  into  a 
sort  of  gelatinous  state,  in  which  there  was  no  flavor  or  so- 
lidity, and  very  little  resistance. 

But  the  gush  of  philanthropy  that  burst  forth  when  the 
departure  of  Mr.  Honeythunder  began  to  impend  must  have 
been  highly  gratifying  to  the  feelings  of  that  distinguished 
man.  His  coffee  was  produced,  by  the  special  activity  of 
Mr.  Tope,  a  full  hour  before  he  wanted  it.  Mr.  Crisparkle 
sat  with  his  watch  in  his  hand,  for  about  the  same  period, 
lest  he  should  overstay  his  time.  The  four  young  people 
were  unanimous  in  believing  that  the  cathedral  clock  struck 
three  quarters,  when  it  actually  struck  but  one.  Miss 
Twinkleton  estimated  the  distance  to  the  omnibus  at  five- 
and-twenty  minutes'  walk,  when  it  was  really  five.  The 
affectionate  kindness  of  the  whole  circle  hustled  hira  into 
his  great-coat,  and  shoved  him  out  into  the  moonlight,  as  if 
he  were  a  fugitive  traitor  with  whom  they  sympathized  and 
a  troop  of  horse  were  at  the  back  door.  Mr.  Crisparkle 
and   his  new  charge,  who  took  him  to  the  omnibus,  were  so 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWlN  DROOD.        669 

fervent  in  their  apprehensions  of  hir,  catching  cold,  that 
they  shut  him  up  in  it  instantly  and  left  him,  with  still  half 
an  hour  to  spare. 

CHAPTER    VII. 

MORE   CONFIDENCES    THAN    ONE. 

"I  know  very  little  of  that  gentleman,  sir,"  said  Neville  to 
the  minor  canon  as  they  turned  back. 

"  You  know  very  little  of  your  guardian  ? "  the  minor 
canon  repeated. 

"  Almost  nothing." 

"  How  came  he '* 

"  To  be  my  guardian  ?  I'll  tell  you,  sir.  I  suppose  you 
know  that  we  come  (my  sister  and  I)  from  Ceylon  ?  " 

*'  Indeed,  no." 

**  1  wonder  at  that.  We  lived  with  a  stepfather  there. 
Our  mother  died  there,  when  we  were  little  children.  We 
have  had  a  wretched  existence.  She  made  him  our  guardian, 
and  he  was  a  miserly  wretcli  who  grudged  us  food  to  eat,  and 
clothes  to  wear.  At  his  death,  he  passed  us  over  to  this 
man  ;  for  no  better  reason  that  I  know  of,  than  his  being  a 
friend  or  connection  of  his,  whose  name  was  always  in  print 
and  catching  his  attention." 

"  That  was  lately,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Quite  lately,  sir.  This  stepfather  of  ours  was  a  cruel 
brute  as  well  as  a  grinding  one.  It  was  well  he  died  when 
he  did,  or  I  might  have  killed  him." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  stopped  short  in  the  moonlight  and  looked 
at  his  hopeful  pupil  in  consternation. 

"  I  surprise  you,  sir?  "  he  said,  with  a  quick  change  to  a 
submissive  manner. 

"  You  shock  me  ;  unspeakably  shock  me." 

The  pupil  hung  his  head  for  a  little  while,  as  they  walked 
on,  and  then  said,  "  You  never  saw  him  beat  your  sister,  I 
have  seen  him  beat  mine,  more  than  once  or  twice,  and  I 
never  forgot  it." 

*'  Nothing,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "  not  even  a  beloved  and 
beautiful  sister's  tears  under  dastardly  ill-usage,"  he  became 
less  severe,  in  spite  of  himself,  as  his  indignation  rose,  "  could 
justify  thbse  horrible  expressions  that  you  used." 

"  I  am  sorry  I  used  them,  and  especially  to  you,  sir,  I 
beg  to  recall  them.     I'ut  permit  me  to  s(  t  you  right  on  one 


6-/0         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

point.  You  spoke  of  my  sister's  tears.  My  sister  would 
have  let  him  tear  her  to  pieces,  before  she  would  have  let 
him  believe  that  he  could  make  her  shed  a  tear." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  reviewed  those  mental  notes  of  his,  and 
was  neither  at  all  surprised  to  hear  it,  nor  at  all  disposed  to 
question  it. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  think  it  strange,  sir," — this  was  said  in 
a  hesitating  voice — "  that  I  should  so  soon  ask  you  to  allow 
me  to  confide  in  you,  and  to  have  the  kindness  to  hear  a 
word  or  two  from  me  in  my  defense  ?  " 

"  Defense  ?"  Mr.  Crisparkle  repeated.  "  You  are  not  on 
your  defense,  Mr.  Neville." 

"  I  think  I  am,  sir.  At  least  I  know  I  should  be,  if  you 
were  better  acquainted  with  my  character." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Neville,"  was  the  rejoinder.  "  What  if  you 
leave  me  to  find  it  out  ?  " 

"Since  it  is  your  pleasure,  sir,"  answered  the  young  man, 
with  a  quick  change  in  his  manner  to  sullen  disappointment 
— "  since  it  is  your  pleasure  to  check  me  in  my  impulse,  I 
must  submit." 

There  was  that  in  the  tone  of  this  short  speech  which 
made  the  conscientious  man  to  whom  it  was  addressed  un- 
easy. It  hinted  to  him  that  he  might,  without  meaning  it, 
turn  aside  a  truthfulness  beneficial  to  a  iiiisshappen  young 
mind  and  perhaps  to  his  own  power  of  directing  and  im- 
proving it.  They  were  within  sight  of  the  lights  of  his  win- 
dows, and  he  stopped. 

*'  Let  us  turn  back  and  take  a  turn  or  two  up  and  down, 
Mr.  Neville,  or  you  may  not  have  time  to  finish  what  you 
wish  to  say  to  me.  You  are  hasty  in  thinking  that  I  mean 
to  check  you.  Quite  the  contrary.  I  invite  your  confi- 
dence." 

"  You  have  invited  it,  sir,  without  knowing  it,  ever  since 
I  came^  here.  I  say '  ever  since,'  as  if  I  had  been  here  a 
week  !  The  truth  is,  we  came  here  (my  sister  and  I)  to 
quarrel  with  you,  and  affront  you,  and  break  away  again." 

"Really  ?"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  at  a  dead  loss  for  any 
thing  else  to  say. 

"  You  see,  we  could  not  know  what  you  were  beforehand, 
sir  ;  could  we  ?  " 

"Certainly  not,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle. 

"And  having  liked  no  one  else  with  whom  we  have  ever 
been  brought  into  contact,  we  had  made  up  our  minds  not 
to  like  you." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        671 

'     "  Really  ?  "  said  Mr.  Crisparkle  again. 

"  But  we  do  like  you,  sir,  and  we  see  an  unmistakable  dif- 
ference between  your  house  and  your  reception  of  us,  and 
any  thing  else  we  have  ever  known.  This — and  my  hap- 
pening to  be  alone  with  you — and  every  thing  around  us 
seeming  quiet  and  peaceful  after  Mr.  Honeythunder's  de- 
parture— and  Cloisterham  being  so  old  and  grave  and  beau- 
tiful, with  the  moon  shining  on  it — these  things  inclined 
me  to  open  my  heart." 

"  I  quite  understand,  Mr.  Neville.  And  it  is  salutary  to 
listen  to  such  influences." 

"  In  describing  my  own  imperfections,  sir,  I  must  ask  you 
not  to  suppose  that  I  am  describing  my  sister's.  She  has 
come  out  of  the  disadvantages  of  our  miserable  life  as  much 
better  than  I  am  as  that  cathedral  to\ver  is  higher  tlian  those 
chimneys." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  in  his  o\vii  breast  was  not  so  sure  of  this. 

"  I  have  had,  sir,  from  my  earliest  remembrance,  to  sup- 
press a  deadly  and  bitter  hatred.  This  has  made  me  secret 
and  revengeful.  I  have  been  always  tyrannically  held  down 
by  the  strong  hand.  This  has  driven  me,  in  my  weakness, 
to  the  resource  of  being  false  and  mean.  I  have  been  stinted 
of  education,  liberty,  money,  dress,  the  very  necessaries 
of  life,  the  commonest  pleasures  of  childhood,  the  commoU' 
est  possessions  of  youth.  This  has  caused  me  to  be  utterly 
wanting  in  I  do  not  know  what  emotions,  or  remembrances, 
or  good  instincts — I  have  not  even  a  name  for  the  thing, 
you  see  ! — ^that  you  have  had  to  work  upon  in  other  young 
men  to  whom  you  have  been  accustomed." 

"  This  is  evidently  true.  But  this  is  not  encouraging," 
thought  Mr.  Crisparkle,  as  they  turned  again. 

*'  And  to  finish  with,  sir  :  I  have  beeri  brought  up  among 
abject  and  servile  dependents,  of  an  inferior  race,  and  I  may 
easily  have  contracted  some  affinity  with  them.  Sometimes, 
I  don't  know  but  that  it  may  be  a  drop  of  what  is  tigerish 
in  their  blood," 

"  As  in  the  case  of  that  remark  just  now,**  thought  Mr. 
Crisparkle. 

"  In  a  last  word  of  reference  to  my  sister,  sir  (we  are  twin 
children),  you  ought  to  know,  to  her  honor,  that  nothing  in 
our  misery  ever  subdued  her,  ihough  it  often  cowed  me. 
When  we  ran  away  from  it  (we  ran  away  four  times  in  six 
years,  to  be  soon  brought  back  and  cruelly  punished),  the 
flight  was  always  of  her  planning  and   leading.     Each   time 


672         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

she  dressed  as  a  boy,  and  showed  the  daring  of  a  man. 
I  take  it  we  were  seven  years  old  when  we  first  decamped  ; 
but  I  remember,  when  I  lost  the  pocket-knife  with  which 
she  was  to  have  cut  her  hair  short,  how  desperately  she  tried 
to  tear  it  out,  or  bite  it  off.  I  have  nothing  further  to  say, 
sir,  except  that  I  hope  you  will  bear  with  me,  and  make 
allowance  for  me." 

'' Of  that,  Mr.  Neville,  you  may  be  sure,"  returned  the 
minor  canon.  "  I  don't  preach  more  than  I  can  help,  and 
I  will  not  repay  your  confidence  with  a  sermon.  But  I  en- 
treat you  to  bear  in  mind,  very  seriously  and  steadily,  that  if 
I  am  to  do  you  any  good,  it  can  only  be  with  your  own 
assistance  ;  and  that  you  can  only  render  that  efficiently,  by 
seeking  aid  from  heaven." 

"  I  will  try  to  do  my  part,  sir." 

**  And,  Mr.  Neville,  I  will  try  to  do  mine.  Here  is  my 
hand  on  it.     May  God  bless  our  endeavors  !  " 

They  were  now  standing  at  liis  house-door,  and  a  cheer- 
ful sound  of  voices  and  laughter  was  heard  within. 

"  We  will  take  one  more  turn  before  going  in,"  said  Mr. 
Crisparkle,  "  for  I  want  to  ask  you  a  question.  When  you 
said  you  were  in  a  changed  mind  concerning  me,  you  spoke, 
not  only  for  yourself,  but  for  your  sister  too." 

*'  Undoubtedly  I  did,  sir." 

**  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Neville,  but  I  think  you  have  had  no 
opportunity  of  communicating  with  your  sister  since  I  met 
you.  Mr.  Honeythunder  was  very  eloquent  ;  but  perhaps 
I  may  venture  to  say,  without  ill-nature,  that  he  rather  mon- 
opolized the  occasion.  May  you  not  have  answered  for  your 
sister  without  sufficient  warrant  ?  " 

Neville  shook  his  head  with  a  proud  smile. 

"  You  don't  know,  sir,  yet,  what  a  complete  understanding 
can  exist  between  my  sister  and  me,  though  no  spoken  word 
— perhaps  hardly  as  much  as  a  look — may  have  passed  be- 
tween us.  She  not  only  feels  as  I  have  described,  but  she 
very  well  knows  that  I  am  taking  this  opportunity  of  speak- 
ing to  you,  both  for  her  and  myself." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  looked  in  his  face,  with  some  incredulity  ; 
but  his  face  expressed  such  absolute  and  firm  conviction  of 
the  truth  of  what  he  said,  that  Mr.  Crisparkle  looked  at 
the  pavement,  and  mused,  until  they  came  to  his  door 
again. 

"  I  will  ask  for  one  more  turn  sir,  this  time,"  said  the 
young  man,  with  a  rather  heightened  color  rising  in  his  face. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWiN  DROQD.        673 

"  But  for   Mr.   Honeythunder's — I   think   you  ( ailed  it  elo- 
quence, sir?"   (somewhat  slyly). 

*'  I — yes,  I  called  it  eloquence,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle. 

"But   for   Mr.  Honeythunder's  eloquence,  I   might   have 
had  no  need  to  ask  you  what  I  am  going  to  ask  you.     This 
Mr.  Edwin  Drood,  sir — I  think  that's  the  name  ? " 
.   "  Quite  correct,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle.     "  D-r-double  o-d." 

**  Does  he — or  did  he — read  with  you,  sir  ?  " 

"  Never,  Mr.  Neville.  He  comes  here  visiting  his  rela- 
tion, Mr.  Jasper." 

*'  Is  Miss  Bud  his  relation  too,  sir  ?  '* 

("  Now,  why  should  he  ask  that,  with  sudden  supercilious- 
ness ?  "  thought  Mr.  Crisparkle.)  Then  he  explained,  aloud, 
what  he  knew  of  the  little  story  of  their  betrothal. 

**  Oh  !  7/iafs  it,  is  it  ?  "  said  the  young  man.  **  I  under- 
stand his  air  of  proprietorship  now  !  " 

This  was  said  so  evidently  to  himself,  or  to  any  body 
rather  than  Mr.  Crisparkle,  that  the  latter  instinctively  felt 
as  if  to  notice  it  would  be  almost  tantamount  to  noticing  a 
passage  in  a  letter  which  he  had  read  by  chance  over  the 
writer's  shoulder.  A  moment  afterward  they  re-entered  the 
house. 

Mr.  Jasper  was  seated  at  the  piano  as  they  came  into  his 
drawing-room,  and  was  accompanying  Miss  Rosebud  while 
she  sung.  It  was  a  consequence  of  his  playing  the  accom- 
paniment with  notes,  and  of  her  being  a  heedless  little  creat- 
ure, very  apt  to  go  wrong,  that  he  followed  her  lips  most' 
attentively,  with  his  eyes  as  well  as  hands,  carefully  and 
softly  hinting  the  key-note  from  time  to  time.  Standing 
with  an  arm  drawn  round  her,  but  with  a  face  far  more 
intent  on  Mr.  Jasper  than  on  her  singing,  stood  Helena,  be- 
tween whom  and  her  brother  an  instantaneous  recognition 
passed,  in  which  Mr.  Crisparkle  saw,  or  thought  he  saw,  the 
understanding  that  had  been  spoken  of  flash  out.  Mr.  Ne- 
ville then  took  his  admiring  station,  leaning  against  the 
piano,  opposite  the  singer  ;  Mr.  Crisparkle  sat  down  by  the 
china  shepherdess  ;  Edwin  Drood  gallantly  furled  and  un- 
furled Miss  Twinkleton's  fan  ;  and  that  lady  passively 
claimed  that  sort  of  exhibitor's  proprietorship  in  the  accom- 
plishment on  view,  which  Mr.  Tope,  the  verger,  daily 
claimed  in  the  cathedral  service. 

The  song  went  on.  It  was  a  sorrowful  strain  of  parting, 
and  the  fresh  young  voice  was  very  plaintive  and  tender. 
As  Jasper  watched  the  pretty  lips,  and  ever  and  again  hinted 


674        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOiJ. 

the  one  note,  as  though  it  were  a  low  whisper  from  himself, 
the  voice  became  less  steady,  until  all  at  once  the  singer 
broke  into  a  burst  of  tears,  and  shrieked  out,  with  her  hands 
over  her  eyes,  "  I  can't  bear  this  !  I  am  frightened  1  Take 
me  away  !  " 

With  one  swift  turn  of  her  lithe  figure,  Helena  laid  the 
little  beauty  on  a  sofa,  as  if  she  had  never  caught  her  up. 
Then,  on  one  knee  beside  her,  and  with  one  hand  upon  her 
rosy  mouth,  while  with  the  other  she  appealed  to  all  the  rest, 
Helena  said  to  them,  "  It's  nothing  ;  it's  all  over  ;  don't 
speak  to  her  for  one  minute,  and  she  is  well  !  '* 

Jasper's  hands  had,  in  the  same  instant,  lifted  themselves 
from  the  keys,  and  were  now  poised  above  them,  as  though 
he  waited  to  resume.  In  that  attitude  he  yet  sat  quiet,  not 
even  looking  round,  when  all  the  rest  had  changed  their 
places  and  were  reassuring  one  another. 

"  Pussy's  not  used  to  an  audience  ;  that's  the  fact,"  said 
Edwin  Drood.  "  She  got  nervous,  and  couldn't  hold  out. 
Besides,  Jack,  you  are  such  a  conscientious  master,  and  re- 
quire so  much,  that  I  believe  you  make  her  afraid  of  you. 
No  wonder." 

**  No  wonder,"  repeated  Helena. 

"There,  Jack,  you  hear !  You  would  be  afraid  of  him, 
under  similar  circumstances,  wouldn't  you,  Miss  Land- 
less ?  " 

"  Not  under  any  circumstances,"  returned  Helena. 
Jasper  brought  down  his  hands,  looked  over  his  shoulder, 
and  begged  to  thank  Miss  Landless  for  her  vindication  of  his 
character.  Then  he  fell  to  dumbly  playing,  without  striking 
the  notes,  while  his  little  pupil  was  taken  to  an  open  window 
for  air,  and  was  otherwise  petted  and  restored.  When  she 
was  brought  back,  his  place  was  empty.  "  Jack's  gone, 
Pussy,"  Edwin  told  her.  ''I  am  more  than  half  afraid  he 
didn't  like  to  be  charged  with  being  the  monster  who  had 
frightened  you."  But  she  answered  never  a  word,  and  shiv- 
ered, as  if  they  had  made  her  a  little  too  cold. 

Miss  Twinkleton  now^  opining  that  indeed  these  were  late 
hours,  Mrs.  Crisparkle,  for  finding  ourselves  outside  the  walls 
of  the  Nuns'  House,  and  that  we  who  undertook  the  forma- 
tion of  the  future  wives  and  mothers  of  England  (the  last 
words  in  a  lower  voice,  as  requiring  to  be  communicated  in 
confidence)  were  really  bound  (voice  coming  up  again)  to  set 
abetter  example  than  one  of  rakish  habits,  wrappers  were  put 
in  requisition,  and  the  two  young  cavaliers  volunteered  to  see 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         675 

the  ladies  home.  It  was  soon  done,  and  the  gate  of  the 
Nuns'  House  closed  upon  them. 

The  boarders  had  retired,  and  only  Mrs.  Tisher  in  soli- 
tary vigil  awaited  the  new  pupil.  Her  bedroom  being 
within  Rosa's,  very  little  introduction  or  explanation  was 
necessary,  before  she  was  placed  in  charge  of  lier  new  friend, 
and  left  for  the  night. 

"  This  is  a  blessed  relief,  my  dear,"  said  Helena.  *'  I  have 
been  dreading  all  day,  that  I  should  be  brought  to  bay  at  this 
time." 

*'  There  are  not  many  of  us,"  returned  Rosa,  "  and  we  are 
good-natured  girls  ;  at  least  the  others  are  ;  I  can  answer  for 
them." 

"  I  can  answer  for  you,"  laughed  Helena,  searching  the 
lovely  little  face  with  her  dark  fiery  eyes,  and  tenderly 
caressing  the  small  figure.  "  You  will  be  a  friend  to  me, 
won't  you  ?  " 

"  1  hope  so.  But  the  idea  of  my  being  a  friend  to  you 
seems  too  absurd,  though." 

*'  Why  ?  " 

"  Oh  1  I  am  such  a  mite  of  a  thing,  and  you  are  so  wom- 
anly and  handsome.  You  seem  to  have  resolution  and 
power  enough  to  crush  me.  I  shrink  into  nothing  by  the 
side  of  your  presence  even." 

"  I  am  a  neglected  creature,  my  dear,  unacquainted  with 
all  accomplishments,  sensitively  conscious  that  I  have  every 
thing  to  learn,  and  deeply  ashamed  to  own  my  ignorance." 

"  And  yet  you  acknowledge  every  thing  to  me  !  "  said 
Rosa. 

"  My  pretty  one,  can  I  help  it  ?  There  is  a  fascination  in 
you." 

"  Oh  !  Is  there,  though  ?"  pouted  Rosa,  half  in  jest  and 
half  in  earnest.  "  What  a  pity  Master  Eddy  doesn't  feel  it 
more  ?  " 

Of  course  her  relations  toward  that  young  gentleman  had 
been  already  imparted,  in  Minor  Canon  Corner. 

*'  Why,  surely  he  must  love  you  with  all  his  heart ! "  cried 
Helena,  with  an  earnestness  that  threatened  to  blaze  into 
ferocity  if  he  didn't. 

"  Eh  ?  Oh,  well,  I  suppose  he  does,"  said  Rosa,  pouting 
again  ;  "  I  am  sure  I  have  no  right  to  say  he  doesn't.  Per- 
haps it's  my  fault.  Perhaps  I  am  not  as  nice  to  him  as  I 
ought  to  be.     I  don't  think  I  am.     But  it  is  so  ridiculous  I  " 

Helena's  eyes  demanded  what  was. 


676         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

*'  We  are,"  said  Rosa,  answering  as  if  she  had  spoker. 
"  We  are  such  a  ridiculous  couple.  And  we  are  always  quar- 
reling." 

"  Why  ?  " 

''  Because  we  both  know  we  are  ridiculous,  my  dear  !  " 
Rosa  gave  that  answer  as  if  it  were  the  most  conclusive 
answer  in  the  world. 

Helena's  masterful  look  was  intent  upon  her  face  for  a 
few  moments,  and  then  she  impulsively  put  out  both  her 
hands  and  said 

"  You  will  be  my  friend  and  help  me  ?" 

"  Indeed,  my  dear,  I  will,"  replied  Rosa,  in  a  tone  of  affec- 
tionate childishness  that  went  straight  and  true  to  her  heart ; 
"  I  will  be  as  good  a  friend  as  such  a  mite  of  a  thing  can  be 
to  such  a  noble  creature  as  you.  And  be  a  friend  to  me, 
please  ;  for  I  don't  understand  myself ;  and  I  want  a  friend 
who  can  understand  me,  very  much  indeed." 

Helena  Landless  kissed  her,  and,  retaining  both  her 
hands,  said 

*'  Who  is  Mr.  Jasper  ?  " 

Rosa  turned  aside  her  head  in  answering,  '*  Eddy's  uncle, 
and  my  music-master." 

*'  You  do  not  love  him  ?  " 

"Ugh  !"  She  put  her  hands  up  to  her  face,  and  shook 
with  fear  or  horror. 

"  You  know  that  he  loves  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  don't,  don't,  don't  !  "  cried  Rosa,  dropping  on  her 
knees,  and  clinging  to  her  new  resource.  *'  Don't  tell  me  of 
it  !  He  terrifies  me.  He  haunts  my  thoughts,  like  a  dread- 
ful ghost.  I  feel  that  I  am  never  safe  from  him.  I  feel  as 
if  he  could  pass  in  though  the  wall  when  he  is  spoken  of." 
She  actually  did  look  round,  as  if  she  dreaded  to  see  him 
standing  in  the  shadow  behind  her. 

"  Try  to  tell  me  more  about  it,  darling." 

"  Yes,  I  will,  I  will.  Because  you  are  so  strong.  But  hold 
me  the  while,  and  stay  with  me  afterward." 

"  My  child  !  You  speak  as  if  he  had  threatened  you  in 
some  dark  way." 

"  He  has  never  spoken  to  me  about — that.     Never." 

"  What  has  he  done  ?  " 

"  He  has  made  a  slave  of  me  with  his  looks.  He  has 
forced  me  to  understand  him,  without  his  saying  a  word  : 
and  he  has  forced  me  to  keep  silence,  without  his  uttering  a 
threat.    When  I  play,  he  never  moves  his  eyes  from  my  liands. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        677 

When  1  sing,  he  never  moves  his  eyes  from  my  lips.  Wheir 
he  corrects  me,  and  strikes  a  note,  or  a  chord,  or  plays  a 
passage,  he  himself  is  in  the  sounds,  whispering  that  he 
pursues  me  as  a  lover,  and  commanding  me  to  keep  his 
secret.  I  avoid  his  eyes,  but  he  forces  me  to  see  them 
without  looking  at  them.  Even  when  a  glaze  comes  over 
them  (which  is  sometimes  the  case),  and  he  seems  to  wander 
away  into  a  frightful  sort  of  dream,  in  which  he  threatens 
most,  he  obliges  me  to  know  it,  and  to  know  that  he  is  sit- 
ting close  at  my  side,  more  terrible  to  me  then  than  ever." 

"  What  is  this  imagined  threatening,  pretty  one  ?  What 
is  threatened  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  have  never  even  dared  to  think  o:^ 
wonder  what  it  is." 

*'  And  was  this  all,  to-night  ?  " 

"  This  was  all  ;  except  that  to-night  when  he  watched  my 
lips  so  closely  as  I  was  singing,  besides  feeling  terrified,  I 
felt  ashamed  and  passionately  hurt.  It  was  as  if  he  kissed 
rne,  and  I  couldn't  bear  it,  but  cried  out.  You  must  never 
breathe  this  to  any  one.  Eddy  is  devoted  to  him.  But  you 
said  to-night  that  you  would  not  be  afraid  of  him,  under  any 
circumstances,  and  that  gives  me — who  am  so  much  afraid 
of  him —  courage  to  tell  only  you.  Hold  me  !  Stay  with 
me  !     I  am  too  frightened  to  be  left  by  myself." 

The  lustrous  gipsy-face  dropped  over  the  clinging  arms 
and  bosom,  and  the  wild  black  hair  fell  down  protectingly 
over  the  childish  form.  There  was  a  slumbering  gleam  of 
fire  in  the  intense  dark  eyes,  though  they  were  then  softened 
with  compassion  and  admiration.  Let  whomsoever  it  most 
concerned  look  well  to  it. 


CHAPTER    VIII. 

DAGGERS      DRAWN. 

The  two  young  men,  having  seen  the  damsels,  their 
charges,  enter  the  court-yard  of  the  Nuns'  House,  and  find- 
ing themselves  coldly  stared  at  by  the  brazen  door-plate,  as 
if  the  battered  old  beau  with  the  glass  in  his  eye  were  inso- 
lent, look  at  one  another,  looked  along  the  perspective  of  the 
moonlit  street,  and  slowly  walked  away  together. 

"  Do  you  stay  here  long,  Mr.  Drood  ?  "  says  Neville. 

*'  Not  this  time,"  is  the  careless  answer.     "  I  leave  for  Lon- 


67S         THE  MYSTERY   OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

don  again  to-morrow.     But  I  shall  be  here,  off  and  on,  until 
next  midsummer  ;  then  I  shall  take  my  leave  of  Cloisterham, 
and  England  too  ;  for  many  a  long  day,  I  expect." 
"  Are  you  going  abroad  .•*  " 

"  Going  to  wake  up  Egypt  a  little,"  is  the  condescending 
answer. 

*'  Are  you  reading  ?  '* 

"  Reading  !  "  repeats  Edwin  Drood,  with  a  touch  of  con- 
tempt. *'  No.  Doing,  workmg,  engineering.  My  small 
patrimony  was  left  a  part  of  the  capital  of  the  firm  1  am 
with,  by  my  father,  a  former  partner  ;  and  I  am  a  charge 
upon  the  firm  until  I  come  of  age  ;  and  then  I  step  into  my 
modest  share  in  the  concern.  Jack — you  met  him  at  dinner 
— is,  until  then,  my  guardian  and  trustee." 

"  I  heard  from  Mr.  Crisparkleof  your  other  good  fortune." 

*'  What  do  you  mean  by  my  other  good  fortune  ?  " 

Neville  has  made   his  remark  in  a  v/atchfully   advancing, 

and    yet  furtive   and  shy  m.anner,  very  expressive  of  that 

peculiar  air  already  noticed,  of  being  at  once  hunter  and 

hunted.     Edwin  has  made  his  retort  with  an  abruptness  not 

at  all  polite.     They  stop  and  interchange  a  rather  heated  look. 

"  I  hope,"  says  Neville,  ''  there  is  no  offense,  Mr.  Drood, 

in  my  innocently  referring  to  your  betrothal  ?  " 

"  By  George  !  "  cries  Edwin,  leading  on  again  at  a  some- 
what quicker  pace.  "  Every  body  in  this  chattering  old 
Cloisterham  refers  to  it.  I  wonder  no  public-house  has  been 
set  up,  with  my  portrait  for  the  sign  of  the  Betrothed's  Head. 
Or  Pussy's  portrait.     One  or  the  other." 

"  I  am  not  accountable  for  Mr.  Crisparkle's  mentioning 
the  matter  to  me,  quite  openly,"  Neville  begins. 

"  No  ;  that's  true  ;  you  are  not,"  Edwin  Drood  assents. 
"But,"  resumes  Neville,  "  I  am  accountable  for  mention- 
ing it  to  you.     And  I  did  so,  on  the  supposition  that  you 
could  not  fail  to  be  highly  proud  of  it." 

Now,  there  are  these  two  curious  touches  of  human  nature 
working  the  secret  springs  of  this  dialogue.  Neville  Land- 
less is  already  enough  impressed  by  little  Rosebud  to  feel 
indignant  that  Edwin  Drood  (far  below  her)  should  hold  his 
prize  so  lightly.  Edwin  Drood  is  already  enough  impressed 
by  Helena,  to  feel  indignant  that  Helena's  brother  (far 
below  her)  should  dispose  of  him  so  coolly,  and  put  him 
out  of  the  way  so  entirely. 

However,  the  last  remark  had  better  be  answered.  So, 
says  Edwin  ; 


The  mystery  of  edwin  drood.      679 

"I  don't  know,  Mr.  Neville"  (adopting  that  mode  of 
address  from  Mr.  Crisparkle),  "  that  what  people  are  proud- 
est of  they  usually  talk  most  about  ;  I  don't  know  either, 
that  what  they  are  proudest  of  they  most  like  other  people 
to  talk  about.  But  I  live  a  busy  life,  and  I  speak  under 
correction  by  you  readers,  who  ought  to  know  every  thing,  I 
dare  say  do." 

By  this  time  they  had  both  become  savage  ;  Mr.  Neville 
out  in  the  open,  Edwin  Drood  under  the  transparent  cover  of 
a  popular  tune,  and  a  stop  now  and  then  to  pretend  to  ad- 
mire picturesque  effects  in  the  moonlight  before  him. 

"  It  does  not  seem  to  me  very  civil  in  you,"  remarks  Ne- 
ville, at  length,  "  to  reflect  upon  a  stranger  who  comes  here, 
not  having  had  your  advantages,  to  try  to  make  up  for  lost 
time.  But,  to  be  sure,  /  was  not  brought  up  in  'busy  life,' 
and  my  ideas  of  civility  were  formed  among  heathens." 

"  Perhaps  the  best  civility,  whatever  kind  of  people  we 
are  brought  up  among,"  retorts  Edwin  Drood,  "is  to  mind 
our  own  business.  If  you  will  set  me  that  example,  I 
promise  to  follow  it." 

**  Do  you  know  that  you  take  a  great  deal  too  much  upon 
yourself,"  is  the  angry  rejoinder  ;  "  and  that  in  the  part  of  the 
world  I  come  from,  you  would  be  called  to  account  for 
it  ?  " 

"  By  whom,  for  instance  ?  "  asks  Edwin  Drood,  coming  to 
a  halt,  and  surveying  the  other  with  a  look  of  disdain. 

But  here  a  startling  right  hand  is  laid  on  Edwin's  shoul- 
der, and  Jasper  stands  between  them.  For  it  would  seem 
that  he,  too,  had  strolled  round  by  the  Nuns'  House,  and  has 
come  up  behind  them  on  the  shadowy  side  of  the  road. 

"  Ned,  Ned,  Ned  !  "  he  says.  "  We  must  have  no  more  of 
this.  I  don't  like  this.  1  have  overheard  high  words  be- 
tween you  two.  Remember,  my  dear  boy,  you  are  almost 
in  the  position  of  host  to-night.  You  belong,  as  it  were,  to 
the  place,  and  in  a  manner  represent  it  toward  a  stranger. 
Mr.  Neville  is  a  stranger,  and  you  should  respect  the  obliga- 
tions of  hospitality.  And,  Mr.  Neville,"  laying  his  left  hand 
on  the  inner  shoulder  of  that  young  gentleman,  and  thus 
walking  on  between  them,  hand  to  fjhoulder  on  either  side, 
"  you  will  pardon  me  ;  but  1  appeal  to  you  to  govern  your 
temper,  too.  Now,  what  is  amiss  ?  But  why  ask  !  Let  there 
be  nothing  amiss,  and  the  question  is  superfluous.  We  are 
all  three  on  a  good  understanding,  are  we  not  ?  " 

After  a  silent  struggle  between  the  two  young  men  who 


68o         T'HE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

shall  speak  last,  Edwin  Drood  strikes  in  with,  "  So    far  as  I 
am  concerned,  Jack,  there  is  no  anger  in  me." 

"  Nor  in  me,"  says  Neville  Landless,  though  not  so  freely, 
or  perhaps  so  carelessly.  "  But  if  Mr.  Drood  knew  all  that 
lies  behind  me,  far  away  from  here,  he  might  know  better 
how  it  is  that  sharp-edged  words  have  sharp  edges  to  wound 
me." 

"  Perhaps,"  says  Jasper,  in  a  smoothing  manner,  "  we  had 
better  not  qualify  our  good  understanding.  We  had  better 
not  say  any  thing  having  the  appearance  of  a  remonstrance 
or  condition  ;  it  might  not  seem  generous.  Frankly  and 
freely,  you  see  there  is  no  anger  in  Ned.  Frankly  and  freely, 
there  is  no  anger  in  you,  Mr.  Neville  ?  " 

"  None  at  all,  Mr.  Jasper."  Still,  not  quite  so  frankly  or 
so  freely  ;  or,  be  it  said  once  again,  not  quite  so  carelessly, 
perhaps. 

"  All  over  then  !  Now,  my  bachelor  gate  house  is  a  few 
yards  from  here,  and  the  heater  is  on  the  fire,  and  the  wine 
and  glasses  are  on  the  table,  and  it  is  not  a  stone's-throw 
from  Minor  Canon  Corner.  Ned,  you  are  up  and  away  to- 
morrow. We  will  carry  Mr.  Neville  in  with  us,  to  take  a 
stirrup-cup." 

"  With  all  my  heart,  Jack." 
And  with  all  mine,  Mr.  Jasper."  Neville  feels  it  impos- 
sible to  say  less,  but  would  rather  not  go.  He  has  an  im- 
pression upon  him  that  he  has  lost  hold  of  his  temper  ;  feels 
that  Edwin  Drood's  coolness,  so  far  from  being  infectious, 
makes  him  red-hot. 

Mr.  Jasper,  still  walking  in  the  center,  hand  to  shoulder 
on  either  side,  beautifully  turns  the  refrain  of  a  drinking- 
song,  and  they  all  go  up  to  his  rooms.  There  the  first  ob- 
ject visible,  when  he  adds  the  light  of  a  lamp  to  that  of  the 
fire,  is  the  portrait  over  the  chimney-piece.  It  is  not  an  ob- 
ject calculated  to  improve  the  understanding  between  the 
two  young  men,  as  rather  awkwardly  reviving  the  subject  of 
their  difference.  Accordingly  they  both  glance  at  it  con- 
sciously, but  say  nothing.  Jasper,  however  (who  would  ap- 
pear from  his  conduct  to  have  gained  but  an  imperfect  clew 
to  the  cause  of  their  late  high  words),  directly  calls  atten- 
tion to  it. 

"  You  recognize  that  picture,  Mr.  Neville  ?"  shading  the 
lamp  to  throw  the  light  upon  it. 

"  I  recognize  it,  but  it  is   far   from    flattering   the   origi 
nal." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIK  DROOD.        68i 

"  Oh,  you  are  hard  upon  it  !  It  was  done  by  Ned,  who 
made  me  a  present  of  it." 

*'  I  am  sorry  for  that,  Mr.  Drood."  Neville  apologizes, 
with  a  real  intention  to  apologize  ;  "  if  I  had  known  I  was 
in  the  artist's  presence " 

"Oh,  a  joke,  sir,  a  mere  joke,"  Edwin  cuts  in,  with  a  pro- 
voking yawn.  '' A  little  humoring  of  Pussy's  points  !  I'm 
going  to  paint  her  gravely,  one  of  these  days,  if  she's  good." 

The  air  of  leisurely  patronage  and  indifference  with  which 
this  is  said,  as  the  speaker  throws  himself  back  in  a  chair 
and  clasps  his  hands  at  the  back  of  his  head,  as  a  rest  for  it, 
is  very  exasperating  to  the  excitable  and  excited  Neville. 
Jasper  looks  observantly  from  the  one  to  the  other,  slightly 
smiles,  and  turns  his  back  to  mix  a  jug  of  mulled  wine  at 
the  fire.  It  seems  to  require  much  mixing  and  compound- 
ing. 

'*  I  suppose,  Mr.  Neville,"  says  Edwin,  quick  to  resent 
the  indignant  protest  against  himself  in  the  face  of  young 
Landless,  which  is  fully  as  visible  as  the  portrait,  or  the  fire, 
or  the  lamp, — "  1  suppose  that  if  you  painted  the  picture  of 
your  lady-love '* 

"  1  can't  paint,"  is  the  hasty  interruption. 

"  That's  your  misfortune,  and  not  your  fault.  You  would 
if  you  could.  But  if  you  could,  I  suppose  you  would  make 
her  (no  matter  what  she  was  in  reality)  Juno,  Minerva,  Diana, 
and  Venus,  all  in  one.     Eh  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  lady-love,  and  I  can't  say." 

"  If  I  were  to  try  my  hand,"  says  Edwin,  with  a  boyish 
boastfulness  getting  up  in  him,  "  on  a  portrait  of  Miss  Land- 
less— in  earnest,  mind  you  ;  in  earnest — you  should  see 
what  I  could  do  !  " 

*'  My  sister's  consent  to  sit  for  it  being  first  got,  I  suppose  ? 
As  it  never  will  be  got,  I  am  afraid  I  shall  never  see  what 
you  can  do.     I  must  bear  the  loss." 

Jasper  turns  round  from  the  fire,  fills  a  large  goblet  glass 
for  Neville,  fills  a  large  goblet  glass  for  Edwm,  and  hands 
each  his  own  ;  then  fills  for  himself,  saying  : — 

"  Come,  Mr.  Neville,  we  are  to  drink  to  my  nephew,  Ned. 
As  it  is  his  foot  that  is  in  the  stirrup — metaphorically — our 
stirrup-cup  is  to  be  devoted  to  him  Ned,  my  dearest  fellow, 
my  love  !  " 

Jasper  sets  the  example  of  nearly  emptying  his  glass,  and 
Neville  follows  it.  Edwin  Drood  says,  "  Thank  you  boih 
very  much,"  and  follows  the  double  example. 


682         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"Look  at  him!"  cries  Jasper,  stretching  out  his  hand 
admiringly  and  tenderly,  though  rallyingly  too.  *'  See  where 
he  lounges  so  easily,  Mr.  Neville  !  The  world  is  all  before 
him  where  to  choose.  A  life  of  stirring  work  and  interest,  a 
life  of  change  and  excitement,  a  life  of  domestic  ease  and 
love  !     Look  at  him  !  " 

Edwin  Drood's  face  has  become  quickly  and  remarkably 
flushed  by  the  wine  ;  so  has  the  face  of  Neville  Landless. 
Edwin  still  sits  thrown  back  in  his  chair,  making  that  rest  of 
clasped  hands  for  his  head. 

"  See  how  little  he  heeds  it  all !  "  Jasper  proceeds,  in  a 
bantering  vein.  "It  is  hardly  worth  his  while  to  pluck  the 
golden  fruit  that  hangs  ripe  on  the  tree  for  him.  And  yet 
consider  the  contrast,  Mr.  Neville.  You  and  I  have  no 
prospect  of  stirring  work  and  interest,  or  of  change  and 
excitement,  or  of  domestic  ease  and  love.  You  and  I  have 
no  prospect  (unless  you  are  more  fortunate  than  I  am,  which 
may  easily  be)  but  the  tedious  unchanging  round  of  this  dull 
place." 

**  Upon  my  soul,  Jack,"  says  Edwin,  complacently,  ''  I 
feel  quite  apologetic  for  having  my  way  smoothed  as  you 
describe.  But  you  know  what  I  know,  and  it  may  not  be  so 
very  easy  as  it  seems,  after  all.  May  it,  Pussy  ?  "  To  the 
portrait,  with  a  snap  of  his  thumb  and  finger.  "  We  have 
got  to  hit  it  off  yet  ;  haven't  we.  Pussy  ?  You  know  what  1 
mean.  Jack." 

His  speech  has  become  thick  and  indistinct.  Jaspc*, 
quiet  and  self-possessed,  looks  to  Neville,  as  expecting  his 
answer  or  comment.  When  Neville  speaks,  his  speech  is 
also  thick  and  indistinct. 

**  It  might  have  been  better  for  Mr.  Drood  to  have  known 
some  hardships,"  he  says,  defiantly. 

''  Pray,"  retorts  Edwin,  turning  merely  his  eyes  in  that 
direction — "  Pray  why  might  it  have  been  better  for  Mr. 
Drood  to  have  known  some  hardships.'* " 

"  Ay,"  Jasper  assents,  with  an  air  of  interest  ;  ''  let  us 
know  why  ? " 

"  Because  they  might  have  made  him  more  sensible," 
says  Neville,  "  of  good  fortune,  that  is  not  by  any  means 
necessarily  the  result  of  his  own  merits." 

Mr.  Jasper  quickly  looks  to  his  nephew  for  his  rejoinder. 

"Havejiw/  known  hardships,  may  I  ask?"  says  Edwin 
Drood,  sitting  upright. 

Mr.  Jasper  quickly  looks  to  the  other  for  his  retort. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        683 

"I  have." 

"And  what  have  they  ma.de you  sensible  of?" 

Mr.  Jasper's  play  of  eyes,  between  the  two,  holds  good 
throughout  the  dialogue   to  the  end. 

"  I  have  told  you  once  before  to  night." 

"  You  have  done  nothing  of  the  sort." 

"  I  tell  you  I  have.  That  you  take  a  great  deal  too  much 
upon  yourself." 

"  You  added  something  else  to  that,  if  I  remember?" 

''  Yes,  I  did  say  something  else." 

*'  S'ay  it  again." 

**  I  said  that  in  the  part  of  the  world  I  come  from,  you 
would  be  called  to  account  for  it." 

"  Only  there  ?  "  cries  Edwin  Drood,  with  a  contemptuous 
laugh.  "  A  long  way  off,  I  believe  ?  Yes  ;  I  see  !  That 
part  of  the  world  is  at  a  safe  distance." 

"  Say  here,  then,"  rejoins  the  other,  rising  in  a  fury. 
"  Say  anywhere  !  Your  vanity  is  intolerable,  your  conceit 
is  beyond  endurance,  you  talk  as  if  you  were  some  rare  and 
precious  prize,  instead  of  a  common  boaster.  You  are  a 
common  fellow,  and  a  common  boaster." 

"  Pooh,  pooh,"  says  Edwin  Drood,  equally  furious,  but 
more  collected  ;  ''  how  should  you  know  ?  You  may  know 
a  black  common  fellow,  or  a  black  common  boaster,  when 
you  see  him  (and  no  doubt  you  have  a  large  acquaintance 
that  way)  ;  but  you  are  no  judge  of  white  men." 

This  insulting  allusion  to  his  dark  skin  infuriates  Neville 
to  that  violent  degree  that  he  flings  the  dregs  of  his  wine  at 
Edwin  Drood,  and  is  in  the  act  of  flinging  the  goblet 
after  it  when  his  arm  is  caught  in  the  nick  of  time  by  Jas- 
per. 

*'  Ned,  my  dear  fellow  !  "  he  cries  in  a  loud  voice  ;  "  I  en- 
treat you,  I  command  you  to  be  still !  "  There  has  been  a 
rush  of  all  the  three,  and  a  clattering  of  glasses  and  over- 
turning of  chairs.  "  Mr.  Neville,  for  shame  !  Give  this 
glass  to  me.     Open  your  hand,  sir.     I  will  have  it  !  " 

But  Neville  throws  him  off,  and  pauses  for  an  instant,  in  a 
raging  passion,  with  the  goblet  yet^  in  his  uplifted  hand. 
Then  he  dashes  it  down  under  the  grate  with  such  force 
that  the  broken  splinters  fly  out  again  in  a  shower  ;  and  he 
leaves  the  house. 

When  he  first  emerges  into  the  night  air,  nothing  around 
him  is  still  or  steady  ;  nothing  around  him  shows  like  what 
it  is ;  he  only  knows  that  he  stands  with  a  bare  head  in  th« 


./ 


684         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

midst  of  a  blood-red  whirl,  waiting  to  be  struggled  with,  and 
to  struggle  to  the  death. 

But  nothing  happening,  and  the  moon  looking  down  upon 
him  as  if  he  were  dead  after  a  fit  of  wrath,  he  holds  his 
steam-hammer  beating  head  and  heart,  and  staggers  away. 
Then  he  becomes  half  conscious  of  having  heard  himself 
bolted  and  barred  out,  like  a  dangerous  animal  ;  and  thinks 
what  shall  he  do  ? 

Some  wildly  passionate  ideas  of  the  river  dissolved  under 
the  spell  of  the  moonlight  on  the  cathedral  and  the  graves, 
and  the  remembrance  of  his  sister,  and  the  thought  of  what 
he  owes  to  the  good  man  who  has  but  that  very  day  won  his 
confidence  and  given  him  his  pledge.  He  repairs  to  Minor 
Canon  Corner,  and  knocks  softly  at  the  door. 

It  is  Mr.  Crisparkle's  custom  to  sit  up  last  of  the  early 
household,  very  softly  touching  his  piano  and  practicing  his 
favorite  parts  in  concerted  vocal  music.  The  south  wind 
that  goes  where  it  lists,  by  way  of  Minor  Canon  Corner  on  a 
still  night,  is  not  more  subdued  than  Mr.  Crisparkle  at  such 
times,  regardful  of  the  slumbers  of  the  china  shepherdess. 

His  knock  is  immediately  answered  by  Mr.  Crisparkle 
himself.  When  he  opens  the  door,  candle  in  hand,  his 
cheerful  face  falls,  and  disappointed  amazement  is  in  it. 

"  Mr.  Neville  !  In  this  disorder  !  Where  have  you 
been  ?  " 

"  I  have  been  to  Mr.  Jasper's,  sir.     With  his  nephew." 

**  Come  in." 

The  minor  canon  props  him  by  the  elbow  with  a  strong 
hand  (in  a  strictly  scientific  manner,  worthy  of  his  morning 
trainings),  and  turns  him  into  his  own  little  book-room,  and 
shuts  the  door. 

*'  I  have  begun  ill,  sir.     I  have  begun  dreadfully  ill." 

"  Too  true.     You  are  not  sober,  Mr.  Neville." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  not,  sir,  though  I  can  satisfy  you  at 
any  other  time  that  I  have  had  very  little  indeed  to  drink, 
and  that  it  overcame  me  in  the  strangest  and  most  sudden 
manner." 

*'  Mr.  Neville,  Mr.  Neville,"  says  the  minor  canon,  shak- 
ing his  head  with  a  sorrowful  smile,  **  I  have  heard  that  said 
before." 

"  I  think — my  mind  is  much  confused,  but  I  think — it  is 
equally  true  of  Mr.  Jasper's  nephew,  sir." 

'■  Very  likely,"  is  the  dry  rejoinder. 

*'  Ws  (Quarreled,  sir.     He  insulted  mc  most  grossly.     H§ 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         685 

had  heated  that  tigerish  blood  I  told  you  of  to-day,  before 
then." 

**  Mr.  Neville,"  rejoins  the  minor  canon,  mildly,  but 
firmly,  "  I  request  you  not  to  speak  to  me  with  that  clenched 
right  hand.     Unclench  it,  if  you  please." 

"  He  goaded  me,  sir,"  pursues  the  young  man,  instantly 
obeying,  "  beyond  my  power  of  endurance.  I  can  not  say 
whether  or  not  he  meant  it  at  first,  but  he  did  it.  He  cer- 
tainly meant  it  at  last.  In  short,  sir,"  with  an  irrepressible 
outburst,  **  in  the  passion  into  which  he  lashed  me,  I  would 
have  cut  him  down  if  I  could,  and  I  tried  to  do  it." 

'*  You  have  clenched  that  hand  again,"  is  Mr.  Crisparkle's 
quiet  commentary. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir." 

*'  You  know  your  room,  for  I  showed  it  to  you  before  din- 
ner ;  but  I  will  accompany  you  to  it  once  more.  Your  arm, 
if  you  please.     Softly,  for  the  house  is  all  abed." 

Scooping  his  hand  into  the  same  scientific  elbow-rest  as  be- 
fore, and  backing  it  up  with  the  inert  strength  of  his  arm,  as 
skillfully  as  a  police  expert,  and  with  an  apparent  repose  quite 
unattainable  by  novices,  Mr,  Crisparkle  conducts  his  pupil  to 
the  pleasant  and  orderly  old  room  prepared  for  him.  Ar- 
rived there  the  young  man  throws  himself  into  a  chair,  and, 
flinging  his  arms  upon  the  reading  table,  rests  his  head  upon 
them  with  an  air  of  wretched  self-reproach. 

The  gentle  minor  canon  has  had  it  in  his  thoughts  to  leave 
the  room,  without  a  word.  But,  looking  round  at  the  door, 
and  seeing  this  dejected  figure,  he  turns  back  to  it,  touches  it 
with  a  mild  hand,  and  says,  "  Good-night  !  "  A  sob  is  his 
only  acknowledgment.  He  might  have  had  many  a  worse  ; 
perhaps  could  have  had  few  better. 

Another  soft  knock  at  the  outer  door  attracts  his  attention 
as  he  goes  down  stairs.  He  opens  it  to  Mr.  Jasper,  holding 
in  his  hand  the  pupil's  hat. 

"  We  have  had  an  awful  scene  with  him,"  said  Jasper,  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  Has  it  been  so  bad  as  that  ?  " 

"  Murderous  !  " 

Mr.  Crisparkle  remonstrates,  "  No,  no,  no.  Do  not  use 
such  strong  words." 

'*  He  might  have  laid  my  dear  boy  dead  at  my  feet.  It  is 
no  fault  of  his  that  he  did  not.  But  that  I  was,  through  the 
mercy  of  God,  swift  and  strong  with  him,  he  would  have  .cut 
him  down  on  my  hearth," 


686         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

The  phrase  smites  home. 

"  Ah  !  "  thinks  Mr.  Crisparkle.     **  His  own  words  !  " 

*'  Seeing  what  I  have  seen  to-night,  and  hearing  what  I 
have  heard,"  adds  Jasper,  with  great  earnestness,  "  I  shall 
never  know  peace  of  mind  when  there  is  danger  of  these  two 
coming  together  with  no  one  else  to  interfere.  It  was  hor- 
rible.    There  is  something  of  the  tiger  in  his  dark  blood." 

"  Ah  !  "  thinks  Mr.  Crisparkle.     ''  So  he  said." 

"  You,  my  dear  sir,"  pursues  Jasper,  taking  his  hand,  ''even 
you  have  accepted  a  dangerous  charge." 

"  You  need  have  no  fear  for  me,  Jasper,"  returns  Mr.  Cris- 
parkle, with  a  quiet  smile.     "  I  have  none  for  myself." 

**  I  have  none  for  myself,"  returns  Jasper,  with  an  emphasis 
on  the  last  pronoun,  "  because  I  am  not,  nor  am  I  in  the  way 
of  being,  the  object  of  his  hostility.  But  you  may  be,  and 
my  dear  boy  has  been.     Good-night  !  " 

Mr.  Crisparkle  goes  in,  with  the  hat  that  has  so  easily,  so 
almost  imperceptibly,  acquired  the  right  to  be  hung  up  in  his 
hall,  hangs  it  up,  and  goes  thoughtfully  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

BIRDS     IN     THE     BUSH. 

Rosa,  having  no  relation  that  she  knew  of  in  the  world, 
had,  from  the  seventh  year  of  her  age,  known  no  home  but 
the  Nuns'  House,  and  no  other  mother  but  Miss  IVinkleton. 
Her  remembrance  of  her  mother  was  of  a  pretty  little  creat- 
ure like  herself  (not  much  older  than  herself  it  seemed  to 
her),  who  had  been  brought  home  in  her  father's  arms, 
drowned.  The  fatal  accident  had  happened  at  a  party  of 
pleasure.  Every  fold  and  color  in  the  pretty  summer  dress, 
and  even  the  long  wet  hair,  with  scattered  petals  of  ruined 
flowers  still  clinging  to  it,  as  the  dead  young  figure  in  its  sad, 
sad  beauty  lay  upon  the  bed,  were  fixed  indelibly  in  Rosa's 
recollection.  So  were  the  wild  despair  and  the  subsequent 
bowed-down  grief  of  her  poor  young  father,  who  died  broken- 
hearted on  the  first  anniversary  of  that  hard  day. 

'I'he  betrothal  of  Rosa  grew  out  of  the  soothing  of  his 
year  of  mental  distress  by  his  fast  friend  and  old  college 
companion,  Drood  :  who  likewise  had  been  left  a  widower 
in  his  youth.     But  he,  too,  went   the  &ileDt  road  into  which 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         687 

all  earthly  pilgrimages  merge,  some  sooner  and  some  later  ; 
and  thus  the  young  couple  had  come  to  be  as  they  were. 

The  atmosphere  of  pity  surrounding  the  little  orphan  girl 
when  she  first  came  to  Cloisterham  had  never  cleared  away. 
It  had  taken  brighter  hues  as  she  grew  older,  happier,  pret- 
tier ;  now  it  had  been  golden,  now  roseate,  and  now  azure  ; 
but  it  always  adorned  her  with  some  soft  light  of  its  own. 
The  general  desire  to  console  and  caress  her  had  caused  her 
to  be  treated  in  the  beginning  as  a  child  much  younger  than 
her  years  ;  the  same  desire  had  caused  her  to  be  still  petted 
when  she  was  a  child  no  longer.  Who  should  be  her  favor- 
ite ?  who  should  anticipate  this  or  that  small  present,  or  do 
her  this  or  that  small  service  ?  who  should  take  her  home  for 
the  holidays  ?  who  should  write  to  her  the  oftenest  when  they 
are  separated  ?  and  whom  she  would  most  rejoice  to  see  again 
when  they  were  reunited  ; — even  these  gentle  rivalries  were 
not  without  their  slight  dashes  of  bitterness  in  the  Nuns' 
House.  Well  for  the  poor  nuns  in  their  day,  if  they  hid  no 
harder  strife  under  their  veils  and  rosaries. 

Thus  Rosa  had  grown  to  be  an  amiable,  giddy,  willful, 
winning  little  creature  ;  spoiled,  in  the  sense  of  counting 
upon  kindness  from  all  around  her  ;  but  not  in  the  sense  of 
repaying  it  with  indifference.  Possessing  an  exhaustless 
well  of  affection  in  her  nature,  its  sparkling  waters  had 
freshened  and  brightened  the  Nuns'  House  for  years,  and 
yet  its  depths  had  never  yet  been  moved  ;  what  might  betide 
when  that  came  to  pass  ;  what  developing  changes  might 
fall  upon  the  heedless  head  and  light  heart  then,  remained 
to  be  seen. 

By  what  means  the  news  that  there  had  been  a  quarrel 
between  the  two  young  men  over-night,  involving  even  some 
kind  of  onslaught  by  Mr.  Neville  upon  Edwin  Drood,  got 
into  Miss  Twinkleton's  establishment  before  breakfast,  it  is 
impossible  to  say.  Whether  it  was  brought  in  by  the  birds 
of  the  air,  or  came  blowing  in  with  the  very  air  itself,  when 
the  casement  windows  were  set  open  ;  whether  the  baker 
brought  it  kneaded  into  the  bread,  or  the  milkman  delivered 
it  as  part  of  the  adulteration  of  his  milk  ;  or  the  housemaids, 
beating  the  dust  out  of  their  mats  against  the  gate-posts, 
received  it  in  exchange  deposited  on  the  mats  by  the  town 
atmosphere  ;  certain  it  is  that  the  news  permeated  every 
gable  of  the  old  building  before  Miss  Twinkleton  was  down, 
and  that  Miss  Twinkleton  herself  received  it  through  Mrs. 
Tisher,  while  yet  in  the  act  of  dressing  ;  or  (as  she  might 


688         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

have  expressed  the  phrase  to  a  parent  or  guardian  of  a 
mythological  turn)  of  sacrificing  to  the  Graces, 

Miss  Landless's  brother  had  thrown  a  bottle  at  Mr.  Edwin 
Drood. 

Miss  Landless's  brother  had  thrown  a  knife  at  Mr.  Edwin 
Drood. 

A  knife  became  suggestive  of  a  fork,  and  Miss  Landless's 
brother  had  thrown  a  fork  at  Mr.  Edwin  Drood. 

As  in  the  governing  precedent  of  Peter  Piper,  alleged  to 
have  picked  the  peck  of  pickled  pepper,  it  was  held  physi- 
cally desirable  to  have  evidence  of  the  existence  of  the  peck 
of  pickled  pepper  which  Peter  Piper  was  alleged  to  have 
picked  ;  so,  in  this  case,  it  was  held  psychologically  import- 
ant to  know  why  Miss  Landless's  brother  threw  a  bottle, 
knife,  or  fork — or  bottle,  knife,  and  fork — for  the  cook  had 
been  given  to  understand  it  was  all  three — at  Mr.  Edwin 
Drood  ? 

Well,  then.  Miss  Landless's  brother  had  said  he  admired 
Miss  Bud.  Mr.  Edwin  Drood  had  said  to  Miss  Landless's 
brother  that  he  had  no  business  to  admire  Miss  Bud.  Miss 
Landless's  brother  had  then  ''up'd"  (this  was  the  cook's 
exact  information)  with  the  bottle,  knife,  fork,  and  decanter 
(the  decanter  now  coolly  flying  at  every  body's  head,  with- 
out the  least  introduction),  and  thrown  them  all  at  Mr 
Edwin  Drood. 

Poor  Little  Rosa  put  a  forefinger  into  each  of  her  ears 
when  these  rumors  began  to  circulate,  and  retired  into  a 
corner,  beseeching  not  to  be  told  any  more  ;  but  Miss  Land- 
less, begging  permission  of  Miss  Twinkleton  to  go  and  speak 
with  her  brother,  and  pretty  plainly  showing  that  she  would 
take  it  if  it  were  not  given,  struck  out  the  more  definite 
course  of  going  to  Mr.  Crisparkle's  for  accurate  intelli- 
gence. 

When  she  came  back  (being  first  closeted  with  Miss 
Twinkleton,  in  order  that  any  thing  objectionable  in  her 
tidings  might  be  retained  by  that  discreet  filter),  she  im- 
parted to  Rosa  only  what  had  taken  place  ;  dweUing  with  a 
flushed  cheek  on  the  provocation  her  brother  had  received, 
but  almost  limiting  it  to  that  last  gross  affront  as  crowning 
'*  some  other  words  between  them,"  and,  out  of  consideration 
for  her  new  friend,  passing  lightly  over  the  fact  that  the 
other  words  had  originated  in  her  lover's  taking  things  in 
general  so  very  easily.  To  Rosa  direct,  she  brought  a 
petition  from  her  brother  that  she  would  forgive  him  ;  and, 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         689 

having  delivered  it  with  sisterly  earnestness,  made  an  end 
of  the  subject. 

It  was  reserved  for  Miss  Twinkleton  to  tone  down  the 
public  mind  of  the  Nuns'  House.  That  lady,  therefore, 
entering  in  a  stately  manner  what  plebeians  might  have 
called  the  school-room,  but  what,  in  the  patrician  language 
of  the  head  of  the  Nuns'  House,  was  euphuistically,  not  to 
say  roundaboutedly,  denominated  "  the  apartment  allotted 
to  study,"  and  saying  with  a  forensic  air,  "  Ladies  !  "  all 
rose.  Mrs.  Tisher  at  the  same  time  grouped  herself  behind 
her  chief,  as  representing  Queen  Elizabeth's  first  historical 
female  friend  at  Tilbury  Fort.  Miss  Twinkleton  then  pro- 
ceeded to  remark  that  Rumor,  ladies,  had  been  represented 
by  the  Bard  of  Avon — needless  were  it  to  mention  the  im- 
mortal Shakespeare,  also  called  the  Swan  of  his  native  river, 
not  improbably  with  some  reference  to  the  ancient  super- 
stition that  that  bird  of  graceful  plumage  (Miss  Jennings  will 
please  stand  upright)  sung  sweetly  on  the  approach  of  death, 
for  which  we  have  no  ornithological  authority — Rumor, 
ladies,     had     been     represented    by   that    bard — hem ! — 

'*  who  drew 
The  celebrated  Jew," 

as  painted  full  of  tongues.  Rumor  in  Cloisterham  (Miss  Fer- 
dinand will  honor  me  with  her  attention)  was  no  exception  to 
the  great  limner's  portrait  of  Rumor  elsewhere.  A  slight/ra- 
cas  between  two  young  gentlemen  occurring  last  night  within 
a  hundred  miles  of  these  peaceful  walls  (Miss  Ferdinand, 
being  apparently  incorrigible,  will  have  the  kindness  to  write 
out  this  evening,  in  the  original  language,  the  first  four  fa- 
bles of  our  vivacious  neighbor,  Monsieur  La  Fontaine)  had 
been  very  grossly  exaggerated  by  rumor's  voice.  In  the 
first  alarm  and  anxiety  arising  from  our  sympathy  with  a 
sweet  young  friend,  not  wholly  to  be  dissociated  from  one 
of  the  gladiators  in  the  bloodless  arena  in  question  (the  im- 
propriety of  Miss  Reynolds's  appearing  to  stab  herself  in 
the  band  with  a  pin,  is  far  too  obvious,  and  too  glaringly 
unladylike  to  be  pointed  out),  we  descended  from  our 
maiden  elevation  to  discuss  this  uncongenial  and  this  unfit 
theme.  Responsible  inquiries  having  assured  us  that  it  was 
but  one  of  those  "  airy  nothings"  pointed  at  by  the  poet 
(whose  name  and  date  of  birth  Miss  Giggles  will  supply 
within  half  an  hour),  we  would  now  discard  the  subject,  and 
concentrate  our  minds  upon  the  grateful  labors  of  the  day. 


690         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

But  the  subject  so  survived  all  day,  nevertheless,  that 
Miss  Ferdinand  got  into  new  trouble  by  surreptitiously 
clapping  on  a  paper  mustache  at  dinner-time,  and  going 
through  the  motions  of  aiming  a  water-bottle  at  Miss  Gig- 
gles, who  drew  a  table-spoon  in  defense. 

Now,  Rosa  thought  of  this  unlucky  quarrel  a  great  deal, 
and  thought  of  it  with  an  uncomfortable  feeling  that  she 
was  involved  in  it,  as  cause,  or  consequence,  or  what  not, 
through  being  in  a  false  position  altogether  as  to  her  mar- 
riage engagement.  Never  free  from  such  uneasiness  when 
she  was  with  her  affianced  husband,  it  was  not  likely  that 
she  would  be  free  from  it  when  they  were  apart.  To-day, 
too,  she  was  cast  in  upon  herself,  and  deprived  of  the  relief 
of  talking  freely  with  her  new  friend,  because  the  quarrel 
had  been  with  Helena's  brother,  and  Helena  undisguisedly 
avoided  the  subject  as  a  delicate  and  difficult  one  to  herself. 
At  this  critical  time,  of  all  times,  Rosa's  guardian  was  an- 
nounced as  having  come  to  see  her, 

Mr.  Grewgious  had  been  well  selected  for  his  trust,  as  a 
man  of  incorruptible  integrity,  but  certainly  for  no  other 
appropriate  quality  discernible  on  the  surface.  He  was  an 
arid,  sandy  man,  who,  if  he  had  been  put  into  a  grinding-mill, 
looked  as  if  he  would  have  ground  immediately  into  high- 
dried  snuff.  He  had  a  scanty  fiat  crop  of  hair,  in  color  and 
consistency  like  some  very  mangy  yellow  fur  tippet  ;  it  was 
so  unlike  hair,  that  it  must  have  been  a  wig,  but  for  the  stu- 
pendous improbability  of  any  body's  voluntarily  sporting 
such  a  head.  The  little  play  of  feature  that  his  face  pre- 
sented was  cut  deep  into  it,  in  a  few  hard  curves  that  made 
it  more  like  work  ;  and  he  had  certain  notches  in  his  fore- 
head, which  looked  as  though  nature  had  been  about  to 
touch  them  into  sensibility  or  refinement,  when  she  had  im- 
patiently thrown  away  the  chisel,  and  said,  *'  I  really  can 
not  be  worried  to  finish  off  this  man  ;  let  him  go  as  he  is." 

With  too  great  length  of  throat  at  his  upper  end,  and  too 
much  ankle-bone  and  heel  at  his  lower  ;  with  an  awkward 
and  hesitating  manner  ;  with  a  shambling  walk,  and  with 
what  is  called  a  near  sight — which  perhaps  prevented  his 
observing  how  much  white  cotton  stocking  he  displayed  to 
the  public  eye,  in  contrast  with  his  black  suit — Mr.  Grew- 
gious still  had  some  strange  capacity  in  him  "of  making  on 
the  whole  an  agreeable  impression, 

Mr.  Grewgious  was  discovered  by  his  ward,  much  dis- 
comfited by    being   in   Miss  Twinkleton's   company  in   Mis? 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         691 

Twlnkleton's  own  sacred  room.  Dim  forebodings  of  being 
examined  in  something,  and  not  coming  well  out  of  it,  seemed 
to  oppress  the  poor  gentleman  when  found  in  these  circum- 
stances. 

"  My  dear,  how  do  you  do?  I  am  glad  to  see  you.  My 
dear,  how  much  improved  you  are.  Permit  me  to  hand  you 
a  chair,  my  dear." 

Miss  Twinkleton  rose  at  her  little  writing-table,  saying, 
with  general  sweetness,  as  to  the  polite  universe,  *'  Will  you 
permit  me  to  retire  ?  " 

"  By  no  means,  madam,  on  my  account.  I  beg  that  you 
will  not  move." 

"I  must  entreat  permission  to  movcy'  returned  Miss 
Twinkleton,  repeating  the  word  with  a  charming  grace  ; 
'^  but  I  will  not  withdraw,  since  you  are  so  obliging.  If  I 
wheel  my  desk  to  this  corner  window,  shall  I  be  in  the 
way  ?  " 

"  Madam  !     In  the  way  !  " 

"  You  are  very  kind.  Rosa,  my  dear,  you  will  be  under 
no  restraint,  I  am  sure." 

Here  Mr.  Grewgious,  left  by  the  fire  with  Rosa,  said  again, 
"  My  dear,  how  do  you  do  ?  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  my 
dear."  And  having  waited  for  her  to  sit  down,  sat  down 
himself. 

*'  My  visits,"  says  Mr,  Grewgious,  "  are,  like  those  of  the 
angels — not  that  I  compare  myself  to  an  angel." 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Rosa. 

"  Not  by  any  means,"  assented  Mr.  Grewgious.  "  I  merely 
refer  to  my  visits,  which  are  few  and  far  between.  The 
angels  are,  we  know  very  well,  up-stairs." 

Miss  Twinkleton  looked  round  with   a  kind  of  stiff  stare. 

*'  I  refer,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  laying  his  hand 
on  Rosa's,  as  the  possibility  thrilled  through  his  frame  of  his 
otherwise  seeming  to  take  the  awful  liberty  of  calling  Miss 
Twinkleton  my  dear — "  I   refer  to  the  other  young  ladies.' 

Miss  Twinkleton  resumed  her  writing. 

Mr.  Grewgious,  with  a  sense  of  not  having  managed  his 
opening  point  quite  as  neatly  as  he  might  have  desired, 
smoothed  his  head  from  back  to  front  as  if  he  had  just 
dived,  and  were  pressing  the  water  out — this  smoothing  ac- 
tion, however  supcTfluous,  was  habitual  with  him — and  took 
a  pocket-book  from  his  coat-pocket,  and  a  stump  of  black- 
lead  pencil  from  his  waistcoat-pocket, 

'*  I  made,"  he  said,  turning  the  leaves—"  I  made  a  guid* 


692        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

ing  memorandum  or  so — as  I  usually  do,  for  I  have  no  con* 
versational  powers  whatever — to  which  I  will,  with  your  per* 
mission,  my  dear,  refer.  *  Well  and  happy.'  Truly.  You 
are  well  and  happy,  my  dear  ?     You  look  so." 

**  Yes,  indeed,  sir,"  answered  Rosa. 

"  For  which,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  with  a  bend  of  his 
head  toward  the  corner  of  the  window,  "  our  warmest  ac- 
knowledgments are  due,  and  I  am  sure  are  rendered,  to  the 
maternal  kindness  and  the  constant  care  and  consideration 
of  the  lady  whom  I  have  now  the  honor  to  see  before  me." 

This  point,  again,  made  but  a  lame  departure  from  Mr. 
Grewgious,  and  never  got  to  its  destination  ;  for  Miss  Twink- 
leton,  feeling  that  the  courtesies  required  her  to  be  by  this 
time  quite  outside  the  conversation,  was  biting  the  end  of 
her  pen,  and  looking  upward,  as  waiting  for  the  descent  of 
an  idea  from  any  member  of  the  Celestial  Nine  who  might 
have  one  to  spare. 

Mr.  Grewgious  smoothed  his  smooth  head  again,  and  then 
made  another  reference  to  his  pocket-book  ;  lining  out  "  well 
and  happy  "  as  disposed  of. 

"  '  Pounds,  shillings,  and  pence '  is  my  next  note.  A  dry 
subject  for  a  young  lady,  but  an  important  subject  too.  Life 
is  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence.  Death  is — "  A  sudden 
recollection  of  the  death  of  her  two  parents  seemed  to  stop 
him,  and  he  said  in  a  softer  tone,  and  evidently  inserting  the 
negative  as  an  afterthought,  "  Death  is  not  pounds,  shillings, 
and  pence." 

His  voice  was  as  hard  and  dry  as  himself,  and  fancy 
might  have  ground  it  straight  like  himself,  into  high-dried 
snuff.  And  yet,  through  the  very  limited  means  of  expres- 
sion that  he  possessed,  he  seemed  to  express  kindness.  If 
nature  had  but  finished  him  off,  kindness  might  have  been 
recognized  in  his  face  at  this  moment.  But  if  the  notches 
in  his  forehead  wouldn't  fuse  together,  and  if  his  face  would 
work  and  couldn't  play,  what  could  he  do,  poor  man  ! 

"  *  Pounds,  shillings,  and  pence.'  You  find  your  allow- 
ance always  sufficient  for  your  wants,  my  dear  ?  " 

Rosa  wanted  for  nothing,  and  therefore  it  was  ample. 

**  And  you  are  not  in  debt  ?  " 

Rosa  laughed  at  the  idea  of  being  in  debt.  It  seemed,  to 
her  inexperience,  a  comical  vagary  of  the  imagination.  Mr. 
Grewgious  stretched  his  near  slight  to  be  sure  that  this  was 
her  view  of  the  case.  "  Ah  !  "  he  said,  as  comment,  with 
a  furtive  glance  toward    Miss  Twinkleton,   and  lining  cm 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DRuOD.        693 

"pounds,   shillings,  and   pence;"  "  I  spoke  of  having  got 
among  the  angels  !     So  I  did  !  '* 

Rosa  felt  what  his  next  memorandum  would  prove  to  be, 
and  was  blushing  and  folding  a  crease  in  her  dress  with  one 
embarrassed  hand  long  before  he  found  it. 

'* '  Marriage.'  Hem  !  "  Mr.  Grewgious  carried  his  smooth- 
ing hand  down  over  his  eyes  aiid  nose,  and  even  chin,  before 
drawing  his  chair  a  little  nearer,  and  speaking  a  little  more 
confidentially  :  "  I  now  touch,  my  dear,  upon  the  point  that 
is  the  direct  cause  of  my  troubling  you  with  the  present  visit. 
Otherwise,  being  a  particularly  angular  man,  1  should  not 
have  intruded  here.  I  am  the  last  man  to  intrude  into  a 
sphere  for  which  I  am  so  entirely  unfitted.  I  feel,  on  these 
premises,  as  if  I  was  a  bear— with  the  cramp— in  a  youthful 
cotillon."  ^  ... 

His  ungainliness  gave  him  enough  of  the  air  of  his  simile 
to  set  Rosa  off  laughing  heartily. 

''  It   strikes   you   in  the  same  light,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious 
with  perfect  calmness.     "  Just  so.     To  return  to  my  memo- 
randum.    Mr.  Edwin   has  been  to  and  fro  here,  as  was  ar- 
ranged.    You  have  mentioned  that  in  your  quarterly  letters 
to  me.     And  you  like  him,  and  he  likes  you." 
"  I  like  him  very  much,  sir,"  rejoined  Rosa. 
"  So  I  said,  my  dear,"  returned  her  guardian,  for  whose 
ear   the  timid  emphasis  was  much  too  fine.     **  Good.     And 
you  correspond  ? " 

''  We  write  to  one  another,"  said  Rosa,  pouting,  as  she  re- 
called their  epistolary  differences. 

''  Such  is  the  meaning  that  I  attach  to  the  word  '  corre- 
spond,' in  this  application,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious. 
"  Good.  All  goes  well,  time  works  on,  and  at  this  next 
Christmas-time  it  will  become  necessary,  as  a  matter  of 
form,  to  give  the  exemplary  lady  in  the  corner  window, 
to  whom  we  are  so  much  indebted,  business  notice 
of  your  departure  in  the  ensuing  half  year.  Your  re- 
lations with  her  are  far  more  than  business  relations, 
no  doubt  ;  but  a  residue  of  business  remains  in  them,  and 
business  is  business  ever.  I  am  a  particularly  angular 
man,"  proceeded  Mr.  Grewgious,  as  if  it  suddenly  occurred 
to  him  to  mention  it,  "  and  I  am  not  used  to  give  any  thing 
away.  If,  for  these  two  reasons,  some  competent  proxy 
would  give  you  away,  I  should  take  it  very  kindly." 

Rosa  intimated,  with  her  eyes  on  the  ground,  that  shp 
thought  a  substitute  might  be  found,  if  required. 


694        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  Surely,  surely,"  said  ^Mr.  Grewgious.  "  For  instance, 
the  gentleman  who  teaches  dancing  here — he  would  know 
how  to  do  it  with  graceful  propriety.  He  would  advance  and 
retire  in  a  manner  satisfactory  to  the  feelings  of  the  officiating 
clergyman,  and  of  yourself,  and  the  bridegroom,  and  all 
parties  concerned.  I  am — I  am  a  particularly  angular  man," 
said  Mr.  Grewgious,  as  if  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  screw 
it  out  at  last,  ''and  should  only  blunder." 

Rosa  sat  still  and  silent.  Perhaps  her  mind  had  not  got 
quite  so  far  as  the  ceremony  yet,  but  was  lagging  on  the  way 
there. 

"  Memorandum,  *  Will.'  Now,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Grew- 
gious, referring  to  his  notes,  disposing  of  marriage  with 
his  pencil,  and  taking  a  paper  from  his  pocket,  "  although  I 
have  before  possessed  you  with  the  contents  of  your  father's 
v/ill,  I  think  it  right  at  this  time  to  leave  a  certified  copy  of 
it  in  your  hands.  And  although  Mr.  Edwin  is  also  aware  of 
its  contents,  I  think  it  right  at  this  time  likewise  to  place  a 
certified  copy  of  it  in  Mr.  Jasper's  hands " 

"  Not  in  his  own  ?  "  asked  Rosa,  looking  up  quickly. 
"  Can  not  the  copy  go  to  Eddy  himself  .?" 

"  Why,  yes,  my  dear,  if  you  particularly  wish  it  ;  but  I 
spoke  of  Mr.  Jasper  as  being  his  trustee." 

*'  I  do  particularly  wish  it,  if  you  please,"  said  Rosa,  hur- 
riedly and  earnestly  ;  ''  I  don't  like  Mr.  Jasper  to  come  be- 
tween us,  in  any  way. 

*'  It  is  natural,  I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  *'  that  your 
young  husband  should  be  all  in  all.  Yes.  You  observe  that 
I  say,  I  suppose.  The  fact  is,  I  am  a  particularly  unnatural 
man,  and  I  don't  know  from  my  own  knowledge." 

Rosa  looked  at  him  with  some  wonder. 

"I  mean,"  he  explained,  "that  young  ways  were  never  my 
ways.  I  was  the  only  offspring  of  parents  far  advanced  in 
life,  and  I  half  believe  I  was  born  advanced  in  lite  myself 
No  personality  is  intended  toward  the  name  you  will  so  soon 
change,  when  I  remark  that  while  the  general  growth  of 
people  seem  to  have  come  into  existence  buds,  I  seem  to 
have  come  into  existence  a  chip.  I  was  a  chip — and  a  very 
dry  one — when  I  first  became  aware  of  myself.  Respecting 
the  other  certified  copy,  your  wish  shall  be  complied  with. 
Respecting  your  inheritance,  I  think  you  know  all.  It  is  an 
annuity  of  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds.  The  savings  upon 
that  annuity,  and  some  other  items  to  your  credit,  all  duly 
[tarried  to  account,  with  vouchers,  will  place  you  in  possession 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         695 

of  a  lump-suir  of  money,  rather  exceeding  seventeen  hun- 
dred pounds.  I  am  empowered  to  advance  the  cost  of  your 
preparations  lor  your  marriage  out  of  that  fund.  All  is 
told." 

'*  Will  you  please  tell  me,"  said  Rosa,  taking  the  paper 
with  a  prettily  knitted  brow,  but  not  opening  it,  ''  whether  I 
am  right  in  what  I  am  going  to  say  .?  I  can  understand 
what  you  tell  me  so  very  much  better  than  what  I  read  in 
law-writings.  My  poor  papa  and  Eddy's  father  made  their 
agreement  together,  as  very  dear  and  firm  and  fast  friends, 
in  order  that  we  too  might  be  very  dear  and  firm  and  fast 
friends  after  them  ?  " 

"  Just  so." 

"  For  the  lasting  good  of  both  of  us,  and  the  lasting  hap- 
piness of  both  of  us  .'' " 

"Just  so." 

*'  That  we  might  be  to  one  another  even  much  more  than 
they  had  been  to  one  another  ?  " 

''  Just  so." 

"  It  was  not  bound  upon  Eddy,  and  it  was  not  bound  upon 
me,  by  any  forfeit,  in  case " 

"  Don't  be  agitated,  my  dear.  In  the  case  that  it  brings 
tears  into  your  affectionate  eyes  even  to  picture  to  yourself, 
— in  the  case  of  your  not  marrying  one  another — no,  no  for- 
feiture on  either  side.  You  would  then  have  been  my  ward 
until  you  were  of  age.  No  worse  would  have  befallen  you. 
Bad  enough,  perhaps  ?  " 

"And  Eddy?" 

"  He  would  have  come  into  his  partnership  derived  from 
his  father,  and  into  its  arrears  to  his  credit  (if  any),  on  at- 
taining his  majority,  just  as  now." 

Rosa,  with  her  perplexed  face  and  knitted  brow,  bit  the 
corner  of  her  attested  copy,  as  she  sat  with  her  head  on  one 
side,  looking  abstractedly  on  the  floor,  and  smoothing  it  with 
her  foot. 

"  In  short,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "  this  betrothal  is  a  wish, 
a  sentiment,  a  friendly  project,  tenderly  expressed  on  both 
sides.  That  it  was  strongly  felt,  and  that  there  was  a  lively 
hope  that  it  would  prosper,  there  can  be  no  doubt.  When  you 
were  both  children,  you  began  to  be  accustomed  to  it,  and 
it  /las  prospered.  But  circumstances  alter  cases  ;  and  I 
made  this  vibit  to-day  partly,  indeed  principally,  to  discharge 
myself  of  the  duty  of  telling  you,  my  dear,  that  two  young 
people  can  only  be  betrothed  in  marriage  (except  as  a  mat* 


696         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

ter  of  convenience,  and  therefore  mockery  and  misery)  of 
their  own  free  will,  their  own  attachment,  and  their  own  as- 
surance (it  may  or  may  not  prove  a  mistaken  one,  but  we 
must  take  our  chances  of  that)  that  they  are  suited  to  each 
other  and  will  make  each  other  happy.  Is  it  to  be  supposed, 
for  example,  that  if  either  of  your  fathers  were  living  now, 
and  had  any  mistrust  on  that  subject,  his  mind  would  not  be 
changed  by  the  change  of  circumstances  involved  in  the 
change  of  your  years?  Untenable,  unreasonable,  inconclu- 
sive, and  preposterous  !  " 

Mr.  Grewgious  said  all  this  as  if  he  were  reading  it  aloud  ; 
or,  still  more,  as  if  he  were  repeating  a  lesson.  So  expres- 
sionless of  any  approach  to  spontaneity  were  his  face  and 
manner. 

"  I  have  now,  my  dear,"  he  added,  blurring  out  "  Will  " 
with  his  pencil,  "  discharged  myself  of  what  is  doubtless  a 
formal  duty  in  this  case,  but  still  a  duty  in  such  a  case. 
Memorandum  :  'Wishes.'  My  dear,  is  there  any  wish  of 
yours  that  I  can  further  ?  " 

Rosa  shook  her  head,  with  an  almost  plaintive  air  of  hesi- 
tation in  want  of  help. 

"  Is  there  any  instruction  that  I  can  take  from  you  with 
reference  to  your  affairs  ?  " 

"  I — I  should  like  to  settle  them  with  Eddy  first,  if  you 
please,"  said  Rosa,  plaiting  the  crease  in  her  dress. 

''Surely.  Surely,"  returned  Mr.  Grewgious.  "You  two 
should  be  of  one  mind  in  all  things.  Is  the  young  gentle- 
man expected  shortly  ?" 

*'  He  has  gone  away  only  this  morning.  He  will  be  back 
at  Christmas." 

"  Nothing  could  happen  better.  You  will,  on  his  return 
at  Christmas,  arrange  all  matters  of  details  with  him  ;  you 
will  then  communicate  with  me,  and  I  will  discharge  myself 
(as  a  mere  business  acquaintance)  of  my  business  responsi- 
bilities toward  the  accomplished  lady  in  the  corner  window. 
T^xJy  will  accrue  at  that  season."  Blurring  pencil  once  again. 
"  Memorandum  :  '  Leave.'  Yes.  I  will  now,  my  dear,  take 
my  leave." 

"Could  I,"  said  Ros  .,  rising,  as  he  jerked  out  of  his 
chair  in  his  ungainly  way — "  could  I  ask  you  most  kindly 
to  come  to  me  at  Christmas,  if  I  had  any  thing  particular  to 
say  to  you  ? " 

*'  Why,  certainly,  certainly,"  he  rejoined,  apparently — if 
such  a  word  can  be  used  of  one  who  had  no  apparent  lights 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        697 

or  shadows  about  him — complmiented  by  the  question.  "As 
a  particularly  angular  man,  I  do  not  fit  smoothly  into  the 
social  circle,  and  consequently  I  have  no  other  engage- 
ment at  Christmas-time  than  to  partake,  on  the  twenty-fifth, 
of  a  boiled  turkey  and  celery  sauce  with  a— with  a  particu- 
larly angular  clerk  I  have  the  good  fortune  to  possess, 
whose  father  being  a  Norfolk  farmer,  sends  him  up  (the  tur- 
key up),  as  a  present  to  me,  from  the  neighborhood  of 
Norwich.  I  should  be  quite  proud  of  your  wishing  to  see 
me,  my  dear.  As  a  professional  receiver  of  rents,  so  very 
few  people  do  wish  to  see  me,  that  the  novelty  would  be 
bracing." 

For  his  ready  acquiescence,  the  grateful  Rosa  put  her 
hands  upon  his  shoulders,  stood  on  tiptoe,  and  instantly 
kissed  him. 

*'  Lord  bless  me,"  cried  Mr.  Grewgious.  "  Thank  you,  my 
dear.  The  honor  is  almost  equal  to  the  pleasure.  Miss 
Twinkleton,  madam,  I  have  had  a  most  satisfactory  conver- 
sation with  my  ward,  and  I  will  now  release  you  from  the 
incumbrance  of  my  presence." 

"  Nay,  sir,"  rejoined  Miss  Twinkleton,  rising  with  a  gra- 
cious condescension  ;  "  say  not  incumbrance.  Not  so,  by  any 
means.     I  can  not  permit  you  to  say  so." 

"  Thank  you,  madam.  I  have  read  in  the  newspapers," 
said  Mr.  Grewgious,  stammering  a  little,  "  that  when  ^  a 
distinguished  visitor  (not  that  I  am  one  :  far  from  it) 
goes  to  a  school  (not  that  this  is  one  ;  far  from  it),  he 
asks  for  a  holiday,  or  some  sort  of  grace.  It  being  now 
the  afternoon  in  the— college— of  which  you  are  the  emi- 
nent head,  the  young  ladies  might  gain  nothing  except  m 
name,  by  having  the  rest  of  the  day  allowed  them.  But 
if  there  is  any  young  lady  at  all  under  a  cloud,  might  I 
solicit — " 

**Ah,  Mr.  Grewgious,  Mr.  Grewgious!"  cried  Miss 
Twinkleton,  with  a  chastely  rallying  forefinger.  "  Oh,  you 
gentlemen,  you  gentlemen  !  Fie  for  shame,  that  you  are  so 
hard  upon  us  poor  maligned  disciplinarians  of  our  sex,  for 
your  sakes  !  But  as  Miss  Ferdinand  is  at  present  weighed 
down  by  an  incubus,"— iVIiss  Twinkleton  might  have  said  a 
pen-and-ink-ubus  of  writing  out  Monsieur  La  Fontaine— 
"  go  to  her,  Rosa,  my  dear,  and  tell  her  the  penalty  is  re- 
mitted, in  deference  to  the  intercession  of  your  guardian,  Mr. 
Grewgious." 

Miss  Twinkleton  here  achieved  a  courtesy,   suggestive  ot 


698        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

marvels  happening  to  her  respected  legs^  and  which  she 
came  out  of  nobly,  three  yards  behind  her  starting  point. 

As  he  held  it  incumbent  upon  him  to  call  on  Mr.  Jasper 
before  leaving  Cloisterham,  Mr.  Grewgious  went  to  the  Gate 
House,  and  climbed  its  postern  stair.  But  Mr.  Jasper's 
door  being  closed,  and  presenting  on  a  slip  of  paper  the  word 
"  Catliedral,"  the  fact  of  its  being  service-time  was  borne 
into  the  mind  of  Mr.  Grewgious.  So,  he  descended  the  stair 
again,  and,  crossing  the  close,  paused  at  the  great  western 
folding-door  of  the  cathedral,  which  stood  open  on  the  fine 
and  bright,  though  short-lived,  afternoon,  for  the  airing  of 
the  place. 

"  Dear  me,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  peeping  in,  "  it's  like 
looking  down  the  throat  of  old  Time." 

Old  Time  heaved  a  moldy  sigh  from  tomb  and  arch  and 
vault  ;  and  gloomy  shadows  began  to  deepen  in  corners  ; 
and  damps  began  to  rise  from  green  patches  of  stone  ;  and 
jewels,  cast  upon  the  pavement  of  the  nave  from  stained 
glass  by  the  declining  sun,  began  to  perish.  Within  the 
grill-gate  of  the  chancel,  up  the  steps  surmounted  loomingly 
by  the  fast-darkening  organ,  white  robes  could  be  dimly 
seen,  and  one  feeble  voice,  rising  and  falling  in  a  cracked 
monotonous  mutter,  could  at  intervals  be  faintly  heard.  In 
the  free  outer  air,  the  river,  the  green  pastures,  and  the 
brown  arable  lands,  the  teeming  hills  and  dales,  were  red- 
dened by  the  sunset :  while  the  distant  little  windows  in 
windmills  and  farm  homesteads,  shone,  patches  of  bright 
beaten  gold.  In  the  cathedral,  all  became  gray,  murky  and 
sepulchral,  and  the  cracked,  monotonous  mutter  went  on  like 
a  dying  voice,  until  the  organ  and  the  choir  burst  forth,  and 
drowned  it  in  a  sea  of  music.  Then  the  sea  fell,  and  the 
dying  voice  made  another  feeble  effort,  and  then  the  sea  rose 
high,  and  beat  its  life  out,  and  laslied  the  roof,  and  surged 
among  the  arches,  and  pierced  the  heights  of  the  great 
tower  ;  and  then  the  sea  was  dry,  and  all  was  still. 

Mr.  Grewgious  had  by  that  time  walked  to  the  chancel- 
steps,  where  he  met  the  living  waters  coming  out. 

"  Nothing  is  the  matter  ?  "  Thus  Jasper  accosted  him, 
rather  quickly.     "  You  have  not  been  sent  for  ? " 

"  Not  at  all,  not  at  all,  I  came  down  of  my  own  accord. 
I  have  been  to  my  pretty  ward's,  and  I  am  now  homeward- 
bound  again." 

"  You  found  her  thriving  ?  " 

"  Blooming  indeed.     Most  blooming.     I  merely  came  to 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        699 

tell  her,  seriously,  what  a  betrothal  by  deceased  parent's 
is." 

"  And  what  is  it — according  to  your  judgment  ?  " 

Mr.  Grewgious  noticed  the  whiteness  of  the  lips  that  asked 
the  question,  and  put  it  down  to  the  chilling  account  of  the 
cathedral. 

''  I  merely  came  to  tell  her  that  it  could  not  be  considered 
binding,  against  any  such  reason  for  its  dissolution  as  a  want 
of  affection,  or  want  of  disposition  to  carry  it  into  effect,  on 
the  side  of  either  party." 

"  May  I  ask,  ha  you  any  special  reason  for  telling  her 
that?" 

Mr.  Grewgious  answered  somewhat  sharply,  "  The  espe- 
cial reason  of  doing  my  duty,  sir.  Simply  that."  Then  he 
added,  "  Come,  Mr.  Jasper  ;  1  know  your  affection  for  your 
nephew,  and  that  you  are  quick  to  feel  on  his  behalf.  I  as- 
sure you  that  thi:  implies  not  the  least  doubt  of,  or  disrespect 
to,  your  nephew." 

"  You  could  not,"  returned  Jasper,  with  a  friendly  pres- 
sure on  his  arm,  as  they  walked  on  side  by  side,  "  speak 
more  handsomely." 

Mr,  Grewgious  pulled  off  his  hat  to  smooth  his  head,  and, 
having  smoothed  it,  nodded  it  contentedly,  and  put  his  hat 
on  again. 

"  1  will  wager,"  said  Jasper,  smiling — his  lips  were  still  so 
white  that  he  was  conscious  of  it,  and  bit  and  moistened 
them  while  speaking — '*  I  will  wager  that  she  hinted  no  wish 
to  be  released  from  Ned." 

"And  you  will  win  your  wager,  if  I  do,"  retorted  Mr. 
Grewgious.  "  We  should  allow  som.e  margin  for  little  maid- 
enly delicacies  in  a  young  motherless  creature,  under  such 
circumstances,  I  suppose  ;  it  is  not  in  my  line  ;  what  do  you 
think  ?  " 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  it." 

"I  am  glad  you  say  so.  Because,"  proceeded  Mr.  Grew- 
gious, who  had  all  this  time  very  knowingly  felt  his  way 
round  to  action  on  his  remembrance  of  what  she  had  said  of 
Jasper  himself — "  because  she  seems  to  have  some  little 
delicate  instinct  that  all  preliminary  arrangements  had  best 
be  made  between  Mr.  Edwin  Drood  and  herself,  don't  you 
see  ?     She  don't  want  us,  don't  you  know  ?  " 

Jasper  touched  himself  on  the  breast,  and  said,  somewhat 
indistinctly,  "You  mean  me." 

yir.  Grewgious  touched  himself  on  the  breast,  and  said, 
"  I  mean  us.     Therefore,  let  them  have  their  little  discus* 


700        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

sions  and  councils  together,  when  Mr.  Edward  Drood  comes 
back  here  at  Christmas,  and  then  you  and  I  will  step  in,  and 
put  the  final  touches  to  the  business." 

"  So  you  settled  with  her  that  you  would  come  back  at 
Christmas  ?  "  observed  Jasper.  ''  I  see  !  Mr.  Grewgious, 
as  you  quite  fairly  said  just  now,  there  is  such  an  exceptional 
attachment  between  my  nephew  and  me,  that  I  am  more 
sensitive  for  the  dear,  fortunate  happy,  happy  fellow  than 
for  myself.  But  it  is  only  right  that  the  young  lady  should 
be  considered,  as  you  have  pointed  out,  and  that  I  should 
accept  my  cue  from  you.  I  accept  it.  I  understand  that  at 
Christm.as  they  will  complete  their  preparations  for  May, 
and  that  their  marriage  will  be  put  in  final  train  by  them- 
selves, and  that  nothing  will  remain  for  us  but  to  put  our- 
selves in  train  also,  and  have  every  thing  ready  for  our 
formal  release  from  our  trusts  on  Edwin's  birthday." 

"That  is  my  understanding,"  assented  Mr.  Grewgious, 
as  they  shook  hands  to  part.     "  God  bless  them  both  !  " 

"  God  save  them  both  !  "  cried  Jasper. 

"  I  said,  bless  them,"  remarked  the  former,  looking  back 
over  his  shoulder. 

"  I  said,  save  them,"  returned  the  latter.  "  Is  there  any 
difference  ?  " 


CHAPTER    X. 

SMOOTHING    THE    WAY. 

It  has  been  often  enough  remarked  that  women  have 
a  curious  power  of  divining  the  characters  of  men,  which 
would  seem  to  be  innate  and  instinctive  ;  seeing  that  it  is 
arrived  at  through  no  patient  process  of  reasoning,  that  it 
can  give  no  satisfactory  or  sufficient  account  of  itself,  and 
that  it  pronounces  in  the  most  confident  manner  even  against 
accumulated  observation  on  the  part  of  the  other  sex.  But 
it  has  not  been  quite  so  often  remarked  that  this  power 
(fallible,  like  every  other  human  attribute)  is  for  the  most 
parJ;  absolutely  incapable  of  self-revision  ;  and  that  when 
it  had  delivered  an  adverse  opinion  which  by  all  human 
lights  is  subsequently  proved  to  have  failed,  it  is  undistin- 
guishable  from  prejudice,  in  respect  of  its  determination  not 
to  be  corrected.  Nay,  the  very  possibility  of  contradiction 
or  disproof,  however  remote,  communicates  to  this  femi- 
nine judgment  from  the  first,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  the 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        7^1 

weakness  attendant  on  the  testimony  of  an  interested  wit- 
ness ;  so  personally  and  strongly  does  the  fair  diviner  con- 
nect herself  with  her  divination. 

"  Now,  don't  you  think,  ma,  dear,"  said  the  minor  canon 
to  his  mother,  one  day  as  she  sat  at  her  knitting  in  his  little 
book-room,  ''  that  you  are  rather  hard  on  Mr.  Neville  ?  " 

"  No,  I  do  not.  Sept,"  returned  the  old  lady. 

"  Let  us  discuss  it,  ma." 

"  I  have  no  objection  to  discuss  it,  Sept.  I  trust,  my  dear, 
I  am  always  open  to  discussion."  There  was  a  vibration  in 
the  old  lady's  cap,  as  though  she  internally  added,  "  And  \ 
should  like  to  see  the  discussion  that  would  change  my 
mind  !  " 

"  Very  good,  ma,"  said  her  conciliatory  son.  "  There  is 
nothing  like  being  open  to  discussion." 

"  I  hope  not,  my  dear,  returned  the  old  lady,  evidently 
shut  to  it. 

"Well  !  Mr.  Neville,  on  that  unfortunate  occasion,  com- 
mits himself  under  provocation." 

"  And  under  mulled  wine,"  added  the  old  lady. 

"  I  must  admit  the  wine.  Though  I  believe  the  two  young 
men  were  much  alike  in  that  regard." 

"  I  don't  !  "  said  the  old  lady. 

"  Why  not,  ma  t  " 

"  Because  I  (/o;i'/,"  said  the  old  lady.  "  Still,  I  am  quite 
open  to  discussion." 

"But,  my  dear  ma,  I  can  not  see  how  we  are  to  discuss, 
if  you  take  that  line." 

"  Blame  Mr.  Neville  for  it,  Sept,  and  not  me,"  said  the 
old  lady,  with  stately  severity. 

"  My  dear  ma    "    Why  Mr.  Neville  ?  " 

"Because,"  said  Mi3o  Crisparkle,  retiring  on  first  princi- 
ples, "  he  came  home  intoxicated,  and  did  great  discredit  to 
this  house,  and  showed  gr  at  disrespect  to  this  family." 

"That  is  not  to  b-  denied,  ma.  He  was  then,  and  he  is 
now,  very  sorry  tor  it.' 

"  But  for  Mr.  Jasper's  well-bred  consideration  in  coming 
up  to  me  next  day,  after  service,  in  the  nave  itself,  with  his 
gown  still  on,  and  expressing  his  hope  that  I  had  not  been 
greatly  alarmed  or  had  my  rest  violently  broken,  I  believe  I 
might  never  have  heard  of  that  disgraceful  transaction,"  said 
the  old  lady. 

"  To  be  candid,  ma,  I  think  I  should  have  kept  it  from 
you  if  1  could,  though  I  had   not  decidedly  made  up  my 


702         THE  LIVGTLIIY  CF  EDWIN  DROCD. 

mind.  I  was  following  Jacpcr  out  to  confer  v/i.h  him  on  the 
subject,  and  to  consider  the  expediency  of  his  and  my  jointly 
hushing  the  thing  up  on  all  accounts,  when  I  found  him 
speaking  to  you.     Then  it  was  too  late." 

'*  Too  late,  indeed,  Sept.  He  was  still  as  pale  as  gentle- 
manly ashes  at  what  had  taken  place  in  his  rooms  over 
night." 

"  If  I  hai  kept  it  from  you,  ma,  you  may  be  suie  it  would 
have  been  for  your  peace  and  quiet,  and  for  the  good  of  the 
young  men,  and  in  my  best  discharge  of  my  duty  according 
to  my  lights," 

The  old  lady  immediately  walked  across  the  room  and 
kissed  him,  saying,  "  Of  course,  my  dear  Sept,  1  am  sure  of 
that." 

*'  However,  it  became  the  town-talk,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle, 
rubbing  his  ear,  as  his  mother  resumed  her  seat  and  her 
knitting,  "and  passed  out  of  my  powe  \" 

"  And  I  said  then,  Sept,"  returned  the  old  lady,  "  that  I 
thought  ill  of  Mr.  Neville.  And  I  say  now,  that  1  think  ill 
of  Mn  Neville.  And  I  said  then,  and  1  say  now,  that  I 
iiope  Mr.  Neville  may  come  to  good,  but  I  don't  believe  he 
will"     Here  the  cap  vibrated  again,  considerably. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  say  so,  ma — " 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  so,  my  dear,"  interposed  the  old  lady, 
knitting  on  firmly,  "  but  I  can't  help  it." 

" — For,"  pursued  the  minor  canon,  "it  is  undeniable 
that  Mr.  Neville  is  exceedingly  industrious  and  attentive, 
and  that  he  improves  apace,  and  that  he  has — 1  hope  I  may 
say — an  attachment  to  me." 

"  There  is  no  merit  in  the  last  article,  my  dear,"  said  the 
old  lady,  quickly,  "  and  if  he  says  there  is,  1  think  the  worse 
of  him  for  the  boast." 

"  But,  my  dear  ma,  he  never  said  there  was." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  returned  the  old  lady  ;  "  still,  I  don't  see 
that  it  greatly  signifies." 

There  was  no  impatience  in  the  pleasant  look  with  which 
Mr.  Crisparkle  contemplated  the  pretty  old  piece  of  china 
as  it  knitted  ;  but  there  was,  certainly,  a  humorous  sense  of 
its  not  being  a  piece  of  china  to  argue  with  very  closely. 

"  Besides,  Sept.  Ask  yourself  what  he  would  be  without 
his  sister.  You  know  what  an  influence  she  has  over  him  ; 
you  know  what  a  capacity  she  has  ;  you  know  whatever  he 
reads  with  you,  he  reads  with  l^er.  Give  her  her  fair  share 
of  your  prai.e,  and  how  much  do  you  leave  for  him  ?  " 


THE  MVSrERV  OF  KDWTN   DROOD.         703 

At  these  words  Mr.  Crisparkle  fell  into  a  little  reverie,  in 
which  he  thought  of  several  things.  He  thought  of  the 
times  he  had  seen  the  brother  and  sister  togeth-r  in  deep 
converse  over  one  of  his  own  old  college  books  ;  now,  in 
the  rimy  mornings,  when  he  made  those  sharpening  pil- 
grimages to  Cloisterham  Weir  ;  now,  in  the  somber  evenings, 
when  he  faced  the  wind  at  sunset,  having  climbed  his 
favorite  outlook — a  beetling  fragment  of  monastery  ruin; 
and  the  two  studious  figures  passed  below  him  along  the 
margin  of  the  river,  in  which  the  town  fires  and  lights  already 
shone,  making  the  landscape  bleaker.  He  thought  how  the 
consciousness  had  stolen  upon  him  that,  in  teaching  one,  he 
was  teaching  two  •  and  how  he  had  almost  insensibly  adapted 
his  explanations  t:  bodi  minds — that  v.-ith  which  his  own  was 
daily  in  contact,  and  that  which  he  only  approached  throug!^ 
it.  He  thought  of  the  gossip  that  had  reached  him  from  the 
Nuns'  House,  to  the  effect  that  Helena,  whom  he  had  mis- 
trusted as  so  proud  and  fierce,  submitted  herself  to  the  fairy- 
bride  (as  he  called  her),  and  learned  from  her  what  she  kn^-v/. 
He  thought  of  the  picturesque  alliance  between  those  two, 
externally  so  very  different.  He  thought — perhaps  most  of 
all — could  it  be  that  these  things  were  yet  but  so  many  weeks 
old,  and  had  become  an  integral  part  of  his  life  ? 

As,  whenever  the  Reverend  Septimus  fell  a-musing,  his 
good  mother  took  it  to  be  an  infallible  sign  that  he  "  wantea 
support,"  the  blooming  old  lady  made  all  haste  to  the  dining- 
room  closet,  to  produce  from  it  the  support  embodied  in  a 
glass  of  Constantia  and  a  home-made  biscuit.  It  was  a 
most  wonderful  closet,  worthy  of  Cloisterham  and  of  Minor 
Canon  Corner.  Above  it,  a  portrait  of  Handel  in  a  flowing 
wig  beamed  down  at  the  spectator  with  a  knowing  air  of 
being  up  to  the  contents  of  the  closet,  and  a  musical  air  of 
intending  to  combine  all  its  harmonies  in  one  delicious  fugue. 
No  common  closet  with  a  vulgar  door  on  hinges,  openable 
all  at  once,  and  leaving  nothing  to  be  disclosed  by  degrees, 
this  rare  closet  had  a  lock  in  mid-air,  where  two  perpendicu- 
lar slides  met ;  the  one  falling  down,  and  the  other  pushing 
up.  The  upper  slide,  on  being  pulled  down  (leaving  the 
lower  a  double  mystery),  revealed  deep  shelves  of  pickle- 
jars,  jam-pots,  tin-canisters,  spice-boxes,  and  agreeably  out- 
landish vessels  of  blue  and  vv'hite,  the  luscious  lodgings  of 
preserved  tamarinds  and  ginge.\  Every  benevolent  inhabi- 
tant of  this  retreat  had  his  name  mscribed  upon  his  stomach. 
The  pickles,  in  a  uniform  of  rich   brown,  double-breasted, 


704       THE  MYSTERY  OF  EUVVIxN   DROOD. 

buttoned  coat,  and  yellow  or  somber  drab  continuatic^is,  an- 
nounced their  portly  forms,  in  printed  capitals,  as  Walnut, 
Gherkin,  Onion,  (Cabbage, Cauliflower,  Mixed,  and  other  mem- 
bers of  that  noble  family.  The  jams,  as  being  of  a  less  mascu- 
line temperament,  and  as  wearing  curl  papers,  announced 
themselves  in  feminine  caligraphy,  like  a  soft  whisper,  to  be 
Raspberry,  Gooseberry,  Apricot,  Plum,  Damson,  Apple,  and 
Peach.  The  scene  closing  on  these  charmers  and  the  lower 
slide  ascendmg,  oranges  were  revealed,  attended  by  a  mighty 
japanned  sugar-box,  to  temper  their  acerbity  if  unripe. 
Home-made  biscuits  waited  at  the  court  of  these  powers, 
accompanied  by  a  goodly  fragment  of  plum-cake,  and  vari- 
ous slender  ladies'  fingers,  to  be  dipped  in  sweet  wine  and 
kissed.  Lowest  of  ail,  a  compact  leaden  vault  enshrined 
the  sweet  wine  and  a  stock  of  cordials  :  whence  issued 
whispers  of  Seville  Orange,  Lemon,  Almond,  and  Caraway- 
seed.  There  was  a  crowning  air  upon  this  closet  of  closets, 
of  having  been  for  ages  hummed  through  by  the  cathedral 
bell  and  organ,  until  those  venerable  bees  had  made  sublima- 
ted honey  of  every  thing  in  store  :  and  it  was  always  ob- 
served that  every  dipper  among  the  shelves  (deep,  as  has 
been  noticed,  and  swallowing  up  head,  shoulders,  and  elbows) 
came  forth  again  mello\v-faced,^and  seeming  to  have  under- 
gone a  saccharine  transfiguration. 

The  Reverend  Septimus  yielded  himself  up  quite  as 
willing  a  victim  to  a  nauseous  medicinal  herb-closet,  also 
presided  over  by  the  china  shepherdess,  as  to  this  glorious 
cupboard.  To  what  amazing  infusions  of  gentian,  pepper- 
mint, gillyflower,  sage,  parsley,  thyme,  rue,  rosemary,  and 
dandelion,  did  his  courageous  stomach  submit  itself  !  In 
what  wonderful  wrappers  inclosing  layers  of  dried  leaves, 
would  he  swathe  his  rosy  and  contented  face,  if  his  mother 
suspected  him  of  a  toothache  !  What  botanical  blotches 
wpuld  he  cheerfully  stick  upon  his  cheek  or  forehead,  if  the 
dear  old  lady  convicted  him  of  an  imperceptible  pimple 
there  !  Into  this  herbaceous  penitentiary,  situated  on  an 
upper  staircase  landing — alow  and  narrow  whitewashed  cell, 
where  bunches  of  dried  leaves  hung  from  rusty  hooks  in  the 
ceiling,  and  were  spread  out  upon  shelves,  in  company  with 
portentous  bottles — would  the  Reverend  S.ptimus  submis- 
sively be  led,  like  the  highly  popular  lamb  who  has  so  long 
and  unresistingly  been  led  to  the  slaughter,  and  there  would 
he,  unlike  that  lamb,  bore  nobody  but  himself.  Not  even 
doing  tliat  much,  so  that  the  old  'ady  were  busy  and  pleased, 


THE  MYSIKRV  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         705 

he  would  quietly  swallow  what  was  given  him,  merely  taking 
a  corrective  dip  of  hands  and  face  into  the  great  bowl  of 
dried  rose-leaves,  and  into  the  other  great  bowl  of  dried 
lavender,  and  then  would  go  out,  as  confident  in  the 
sweetening  powers  of  Cloisterham  Weir  and  a  wholesome 
mind  as  Lady  Macbeth  was  hopeless  of  those  of  all  the  seas 
that  roll. 

In  the  present  instance  the  good  minor  canon  took  his 
glass  of  Constantia  wdth  an  excellent  grace  and,  so  supported, 
to  his  mother's  satisfaction,  applied  himself  to  the  remain- 
ing duties  of  the  day.  In  their  orderly  and  punctual  prog- 
ress they  brought  round  vesper  service  and  twilight.  The 
cathedral  being  very  cold,  he  set  off  for  a  brisk  trot  after 
service  ;  the  trot  to  end  in  a  charge  at  his  favorite  fragment 
of  ruin,  which  was  to  be  carried  by  storm,  without  a  pause 
^or  breath. 

He  carried  it  in  a  masterly  manner,  and,  not  breathed  even 
then,  stood  looking  down  upon  the  river.  The  river  at  Clois- 
terham is  sufficiently  near  the  sea  to  throw  up  oftentimes  a 
quantity  of  sea-weed.  An  unusual  quantity  had  come  in  with 
the  last  tide,  and  this,  and  the  confusion  of  the  water,  and 
the  restless  dipping  and  flapping  of  the  noisy  gulls,  and  an 
angry  light  out  seaward  beyond  the  brown-sailed  barges 
that  were  turning  black,  foreshadowed  a  stormy  night.  In 
his  mind  he  was  contrasting  the  wild  and  noisy  sea  with  the 
quiet  harbor  of  Minor  Canon  Corner,  when  Helena  and 
Neville  Landless  passed  below  him.  He  had  had  the  two 
together  in  his  thoughts  all  day,  and  at  once  climbed  down  to 
speak  to  them  together.  The  footmg  was  rough  in  an  un- 
certain light  for  any  tread  save  that  of  a  good  climber  ;  but 
the  minor  canon  was  as  good  a  climber  as  most  men,  and 
stood  beside  them  before  many  good  climbers  v\ould  have 
been  half-w^ay  down. 

"A  wild  evening.  Miss  Landless  !  Do  you  not  find  your 
usual  walk  with  your  brother  too  exposed  and  cold  for  the 
time  of  year  ?  Or  at  all  events  when  the  sun  is  down,  and 
the  weather  is  driving  in  from  the  sea  ?  " 

Helena  thought  not.  It  was  their  favorite  walk.  It  was 
very  retired. 

"  It  is  very  retired,"  assented  Mr.  Crisparkle,  laying  hold  of 
his  opportunity  straightway,  and  walking  on  v.-ith  them,  '*  It 
is  a  place  of  all  others  where  one  can  speak  without  inter- 
ruption, as  1  wish  to  do.  Mr.  Neville,  I  believe  you  tell 
your  sister  every  thing  that  passes  between  us  ? " 


7o6        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  Every  thing,  sir." 

"  Consequently,"  said  Mr.  Crisparklc,  *'  your  sister  is  aware 
that  I  have  repeatedly  urged  you  to  make  some  kind  of 
apology  for  that  unfortunate  occurrence  which  befell  on 
the  night  of  your  arrival  here." 

In  saying  it  he  looked  to  her,  and  not  to  him  ;  therefore 
it  was  she,  and  not  he,  who  replied 

"  Yes." 

"  I  call  it  unfortunate,  Miss  Helena,"  resumed  Mr.  Cris- 
parkle,  "forasmuch  as  it  certainly  has  engendered  a  prej- 
udice against  Neville.  There  is  a  notion  about  that  he 
is  a  dangerously  passionate  fellow,  of  an  uncontrollable 
and  furious  temper  ;  he  is  really  avoided  as  such." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  he  is,  poor  fellow,"  said  Helena,  with 
a  look  of  proud  compassion  at  her  brother,  expressing  c 
deep  sense  of  his  being  ungenerously  treated.  ''  1  should  be 
quite  sure  of  it,  from  your  saying  so  ;  but  what  you  tell  me 
is  confirmed  by  suppressed  hints  and  references  that  I  meet 
wdth  every  day." 

*' Now,"  Mr.  Crisparkle  again  resumed,  in  a  tone  of  mild 
though  firm  persuasion,  '*  is  not  this  to  be  regretted,  and 
ought  it  not  to  be  amended  ?  These  are  early  days  of  Ne- 
ville's in  Cloisterham,  and  1  have  no  fear  of  his  not  outliving 
such  a  prejudice,  and  proving  himself  to  have  been  misun- 
derstood. But  how  much  wiser  to  take  action  at  once  than 
to  trust  to  uncertain  time  !  Besides,  apart  from  its  being 
politic,  it  is  right.  For  there  can  be  no  question  that  Neville 
w^as  wrong." 

"  He  was  provoked,"  Helena  submitted. 

''  He  was  the  assailant,"  Mr.  Crisparkle  submitted. 

They  walked  on  in  silence,  until  Hekna  raised  her 
eyes  to  the  minor  canon's  face,  and  said,  almost  reproach- 
fully, "Oh,  Mr.  Crisparkle,  would  you  have  Neville  throw 
himself  at  young  Drood's  fee:-,  or  at  Mr.  Jasper's,  who 
maligns  him  every  day  ?  In  your  heart  you  can  not  mean 
it.  From  your  heart  you  could  not  do  it,  if  his  case  were 
yours." 

"  I  have  represented  to  Mr.  Crisparkle,  Helena,"  said 
Neville,  with  a  glance  of  deference  toward  hie  tutor, 
"  that  if  I  could  do  it  from  my  hear;  I  would.  But  I  can 
not,  and  I  revolt  from  the  pretense.  You  forget,  how- 
ever, that  to  put  ihc  cacc  to  Mr.  Crisparkle  as  his  own, 
is  to  suppose  Mr.  Crisparkle  to  have  done  what  I  did," 
"  1  ask  his  pardon,"  said  Helena. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN   DROOD.        707 

"  You  see,"  remarked  Mr.  Crisparkle,  again  laying  hold 
of  his  opportunity,  though  with  a  moderate  and  delicate 
touch,  "  you  both  instinctively  acknowledge  that  Neville 
did  wrong  !  Then  why  stop  short,  and  not  otherwise  ac- 
knowledge it  ?" 

"  Is  there  no  difference,"  asked  Helena,  with  a  little  fal- 
tering in  her  manner,  "  between  submission  to  a  generous 
spirit,  and  submission  to  a  base  or  trivial  one  ? " 

Before  the  worthy  Minor  Canon  was  quite  ready  with  his 
argument  in  reference  to  this  nice  distinction,  Neville  struck 
in — 

"  Help  me  to  clear  myself  with  Mr.  Crisparkle,  Helena. 
»Help  me  to  convince  him  that  I  can  not  be  the  first  to  make 
concessions  without  mockery  and  falsehood.  My  nature  must 
be  changed  before  I  can  do  so,  and  it  is  not  changed.  I  am 
sensible  of  inexpressible  affront,  and  deliberate  aggravation 
of  inexpressible  affront,  and  I  am  angry.  The  plain  truth 
is,  I  am  still  as  angry  when  I  recall  that  night  as  I  was  that 
night." 

"  Neville,"  hinted  the  minor  canon,  with  a  steady  counte- 
nance, "  you  have  repeated  that  former  action  of  your  hands, 
wliich  I  so  much  dislike." 

''  I  am  sorry  for  it,  sir,  but  it  was  involuntary.  I  con- 
fessed that  I  was  still  as  angry." 

"  And  I  confess,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "  that  I  hoped  for 
better  things." 

*'  I  am  sorry  to  disappoint  you,  sir,  but  it  would  be  far 
worse  to  deceive  you,  and  I  should  deceive  you  grossly  if  I 
pretended  that  you  had  softened  me  in  this  respect.  The 
time  may  come  when  your  powerful  influence  will  do  even 
that  with  the  difTficult  pupil  whose  antecedents  you  know  ; 
but  it  has  not  come  yet.  Is  this  so,  and  in  spite  of  my 
struggles  against  myself,  Helena  ?" 

She,  whose  dark  eyes  were  watching  the  effect  of  what  he 
said  on  Mr.  Crisparkle's  face,  replied — to  Mr.  Crisparkle, 
not  to  him,  '*  It  is  so."  After  a  short  pause,  she  answered 
the  slightest  look  of  inquiry  conceivable,  in  her  brother's 
eyes,  with  as  slight  an  affirmative  bend  of  her  own  head  ; 
and  he  went  on  : 

"  I  have  never  yet  had  the  courage  to  say  to  you,  sir,  what 
in  full  openness  I  ought  to  have  said  when  you  first  talked 
with  me  on  this  subject.  It  is  not  easy  to  say,  and  I  have 
been  withheld  by  a  fear  of  its  seeming  ridiculous,  which  is 
very  strong  upon  me  down  to  this  last  moment,  and  might. 


7o8         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

but  for  my  sister,  prevent  my  being  quite  open  with  you 
even  now.  I  admire  Miss  Bud,  sir,  so  very  much,  that  1  can 
not  bear  her  being  treated  with  conceit  or  indifference  ;  and 
even  if  I  did  not  feel  that  I  had  an  injury  against  young 
Drood  on  my  own  account,  I  should  feel  that  I  had  an  in- 
jury against  him  on  hers." 

Mr.  Crisparkle,  in  utter  amazement,  looked  at  Helena  for 
corroboration,  and  met  in  her  expressive  face  full  corrob- 
oration, and  a  plea  for  advice. 

"  The  young  lady  of  whom  you  speak  is,  as  you  know, 
Mr.  Neville,  shortly  to  be  married,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle, 
gravely  ;  ''  therefore  your  admiration,  if  it  be  of  that  special 
nature  which  you  seem  to  indicate,  is  outrageously  mis- 
placed. Moreover,  it  is  monstrous  that  you  should  take  upon 
yourself  to  be  the  young  lady's  champion  against  her  chosen 
husband.  Besides,  you  have  seen  them  only  once.  The 
young  lady  has  become  your  sister's  friend  ;  and  I  wonder 
that  your  sister,  even  on  her  behalf,  has  not  checked  you  in 
this  irrational  and  culpable  fancy." 

"  She  has  tried,  sir,  but  uselessly.  Husband  or  no  hus- 
band, that  fellow  is  incapable  of  the  feeling  with  which  I 
am  inspired  toward  the  beautiful  young  creature  whom  he 
treats  like  a  doll.  I  say  he  is  incapable  of  it  as  he  is 
unworthy  of  her.  I  say  she  is  sacrificed  in  being  bestowed 
upon  him  !  I  say  that  I  love  her,  and  despise  and  hate 
him  !  "  This  with  a  face  so  flushed,  and  a  gesture  so  vio- 
lent, that  his  sister  crossed  to  his  side  and  caught  his  arm, 
remonstrating,  "  Neville,  Neville  !  " 

Thus  recalled  to  himself,  he  quickly  became  sensible  of 
having  lost  the  guard  he  had  set  upon  his  passionate  ten- 
dency, and  covered  his  face  with  his  hand,  as  one  repentant 
and  wretched. 

Mr.  Crisparkle,  watching  him  attentively,  and  at  the  same 
time  meditating  how  to  proceed,  walked  on  for  some  paces 
in  silence.     Then  he  spoke  : 

"  Mr.  Neville,  Mr.  Neville,  I  am  sorely  grieved  to  see  in 
you  more  traces  of  a  character  as  sullen,  angry,  and  wild,  as 
the  night  now  closing  in.  They  are  of  too  serious  an  aspect 
to  leave  me  to  the  resource  of  treating  the  infatuation  you 
have  disclosed  as  undeserving  serious  consideration.  I  give 
it  very  serious  consideration,  and  I  speak  to  you  accordingly. 
This  feud  between  you  and  young  Drood  must  not  go  on.  I 
can  not  permit  it  to  go  any  longer,  knowing  what  I  now  know 
from  you,  and  you  living  under  my  roof.     Whatever  preju- 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         709 

diced  and  unauthorized  constructions  your  blind  and 
envious  wrath  may  put  upon  liis  character,  it  is  a  frank, 
good-natured  character.  [  know  I  can  trust  to  it  for  that. 
Now,  pray  observe  what  I  am  about  to  say.  On  reflection, 
and  on  your  sister's  representation,  I  am  willing  to  admit 
that,  in  making  peace  with  young  Drood,  you  have  a  right 
to  be  met  half-way.  I  will  engage  that  you  shall  be,  and 
even  that  young  Drood  shall  make  the  first  advance.  This 
condition  fulfilled,  you  will  pledge  me  the  honor  of  a  Chris- 
tian gentleman  that  the  quarrel  is  forever  at  an  end  on  your 
side.  What  may  be  in  your  heart  when  you  give  him  your 
hand,  can  only  be  known  to  the  Searcher  of  all  hearts  ;  but 
it  will  never  go  well  with  you  if  there  be  any  treachery 
there.  So  far,  as  to  that ;  next  as  to  what  I  must  again 
speak  of  as  your  infatuation.  I  understand  it  to  have  been 
confided  to  me,  and  to  be  known  to  no  other  person  save 
your  sister  and  yourself.     Do  I  understand  aright  ?  '* 

Helena  answered  in  a  low  voice,  "  It  is  only  known  to 
us  tliree  who  are  here  together." 

"  It  is  not  at  all  known  to  the  young  lady,  your  friend  ?  " 

"  On  my  soul,  no  !  " 

"  I  require  you,  then,  co  give  me  your  similar  and  solemn 
pledge,  Mr.  Neville,  that  it  shall  remain  the  secret  it  is,  and 
that  you  will  take  no  othei  action  whatsoever  upon  it  than 
endeavoring  (and  that  most  earnestly)  to  erase  it  from  your 
mind.  I  will  not  tell  you  that  it  will  soon  pass  ;  I  will  not 
tell  you  that  it  is  the  fancy  of  the  moment  ;  I  will  not  tell 
you  that  such  caprices  have  their  rise  and  fall  among  the 
young  and  ardent  every  hour  ;  I  will  leave  you  undisturbed 
in  the  belief  that  it  has  few  parallels  or  none,  that  it  will  abide 
with  you  a  long  time,  and  that  it  will  be  very  difficult  to 
conquer.  So  much  the  more  weight  shall  I  attach  to 
the  pledge  I  require  from  you,  when  it  is  unreservedly 
given." 

The  young  man  twice  or  thrice  essayed  to  speak,  but 
failed, 

"  Let  me  leave  you  with  your  sister,  whom  it  is  time  you 
took  home,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle.  "  You  will  find  me  alone  in 
my  room  by  and  by." 

"  Pray  do  not  leave  us  yet,"  Helena  implored  him.  "  An- 
other minute." 

"  I  should  not,"  said  Neville,  pressing  his  hand  upon  his 
face, "have  needed  so  much  as  another  minute,  if  you  had  been 
less  patient  with  me,  Mr.  Crisparkle,  less  considerate  of   me. 


710         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

and  less  unpretendingly  good  and  true.  Oh,  if  in  my  child- 
hood I  had  known  such  a  guide  !  " 

''  Follow  your  guide  now,  Neville,"  murmured  Helena, 
"and  follow  him  to  heaven." 

There  was  that  in  her  tone  which  broke  the  good  minor 
canon's  voice,  or  it  w^ould  have  repudiated  her  exaltation  of 
him.  As  it  was,  he  laid  a  finger  on  his  lips,  and  looked 
toward  her  brother. 

*'  To  say  that  I  give  both  pledges,  Mr.  Crisparkle,  out  of 
my  innermost  heart,  and  to  say  that  there  is  no  treachery  in 
it,  is  to  say  nothing  !  "  Thus  Neville,  greatly  moved.  "  I 
beg  your  forgiveness  for  my  miserable  lapse  into  a  burst  of 
passion." 

*'  Not  mine,  Neville,  not  mine.  You  know  with  whom 
forgiveness  lies  as  the  highest  attribute  conceivable.  Miss 
Helena,  you  and  your  brother  are  twin  children.  You  came 
into  this  world  with  the  same  dispositions,  and  you  passed 
your  younger  days  together  surrounded  by  the  same  adverse 
circumstances.  What  you  have  overcome  in  yourself,  can 
you  not  overcome  in  him  ?  You  see  the  rock  that  lies  in  his 
course.     Who  but  you  can  keep  him  clear  of  it  ?" 

"Who  but  you,  sir?"  replied  Helena,  "  What  is  my  in- 
fluence, or  my  weak  wisdom,  compared  with  yours  !  " 

"  You  have  the  wisdom  of  love,"  returned  the  minor 
canon,  "and  it  was  the  highest  wisdom  ever  known  upon 
this  earth,  remember.  As  to  mine — but  the  less  said  of  that 
commonplace  commodity  the  better.     Good-night." 

She  took  the  hand  he  offered  her,  and  gratefully  and 
almost  reverently  raised  it  to  her  lips. 

"  Tut  !  "  said  the  minor  canon,  softly,  "  I  am  much  over- 
paid !  "     And  turned  away. 

Retracing  his  steps  toward  the  cathedral  close,  he  tried, 
as  he  went  along  in  the  dark,  to  think  out  the  best  means  of 
bringing  to  pass  what  he  had  promised  to  effect,  and  what 
must  somehow  be  done.  "I  shall  probably  be  asked  to 
marry  them,"  he  reflected,  "  and  I  would  they  were  married 
and  gone  !  But  this  presses  first."  He  debated  principally^ 
whether  he  should  write  to  young  Drood,  or  whether  he 
should  speak  to  Jasper.  The  consciousness  of  being  popu- 
lar with  the  whole  cathedral  establishment  inclined  him  to 
the  latter  course,  and  the  well-timed  sight  of  the  Gate  House 
decided  him  to  take  it.  "  I  will  strike  while  the  iron  is  hot," 
he  said,  "  and  see  him  now." 

Jasper  was  lying  asleep  on  a  couch  before  the  fire,  when. 


IHE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN   DROOD.        711 

having  ascended  the  postern-stair,  and  received  no  answer  to 
his  knock  at  the  door,  Mr.  Crisparkle  gently  turned  the  han- 
dle and  looked  in.  Long  afterward  he  had  cause  to  remem- 
ber how  Jasper  sprung  from  the  couch  in  a  delirious  state  be- 
tween sleeping  and  waking,  crying  out,  "  What  is  the  mat- 
ter ?     Who  did  it  ?  " 

"  It  is  only  I,  Jasper.     I  am  sorry  to  have  disturbed  you." 

The  glare  of  his  eyes  settled  down  into  a  look  of  recogni- 
tion, and  he  moved  a  chair  or  two,  to  make  a  way  to  the  fire- 
side. 

"  I  was  dreaming  at  a  great  rate,  and  am  glad  to  be  dis- 
turbed from  an  indigestive  after-dinner  sleep.  Not  to  men- 
tion that  you  are  always  welcome." 

"  Thank  you.  I  am  not  confident,"  returned  Mr.  Cris- 
parkle, as  he  sat  himself  down  in  the  easy-chair  placed  for 
him,  "  that  my  subject  will  at  first  sight  be  quite  as  welcome 
as  myself ;  but  I  am  a  minister  of  peace,  and  I  pursue  my 
subject  in  the  interests  of  peace.  In  a  word,  Jasper,  I  want 
to  establish  peace  between  these  two  young  fellows." 

A  very  perplexed  expression  took  hold  of  Mr.  Jasper" l, 
face  ;  a  very  perplexing  expression  too,  for  Mr,  Crisparkle 
could  make  nothing  of  it. 

"  How  ? "  was  Jasper's  inquiry,  in  a  low  and  slow  voice, 
•  after  a  silence. 

"  For  the  *  how  '  I  come  to  you.  I  want  to  ask  you  to  do 
me  the  great  favor  and  service  of  interposing  with  your 
nephew  (I  have  already  interposed  with  Mr.  Neville),  and 
getting  him  to  write  you  a  short  note,  in  his  lively  way,  say- 
ing that  he  is  willing  to  shake  hands.  I  know  what  a  good- 
natured  fellow  he  is,  and  what  influence  you  have  with  him. 
And  without  in  the  least  defending  Mr.  Neville,  we  must  all 
admit  that  he  was  b'tterly  stung." 

Jasper  turned  that  perplexed  face  toward  the  fire.  Mr. 
Crisparkle,  continuing  to  observe  it,  found  it  even  more  per- 
plexing than  before,  inasmuch  as  it  seemed  to  denote  (which 
could  hardly  be)  some  close  internal  calculation. 

"  I  know  that  you  are  not  prepossessed  in  Mr.  Neville's 
favor"  the  minor  canon  was  going  on,  when  Jasper  stopped 
him  • — 

"  You  have  cause  to  say  so.     I  am  not,  indeed." 

"  Undoubtedly,  and  I  admit  his  lamentable  violence  of 
temper,  though  I  hope  he  and  I  will  get  the  better  of  it  be- 
tween us.  But  I  have  exacted  a  very  solemn  promise  from 
him  as  to  his  future  demeanor  toward  your  nephew,  if  you  do 
kindlv  interpose  ;  and  I  am  sure  he  will  keep  it." 


712         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  You  are  always  responsible  and  trustworthy,  Mr,  Cris- 
parkle.  Do  you  really  feel  sure  that  you  can  answer  for  him 
so  confidently  ?" 

''I  do." 

The  perplexed  and  perplexing  look  vanished. 

"  Then  you  relieve  my  mind  of  a  great  dread  and  a  heavy 
weight,"  said  Jasper  ;  "  I  will  do  it." 

Mr,  Crisparkle,  delighted  by  the  swiftness  and  complete- 
ness of  his  success,  acknowledged  it  in  the  handsomest 
terms, 

*' I  will  do  it,"  repeated  Jasper,  ''for  the  comfort  of  hav- 
ing your  guarantee  against  my  vague  and  unfounded  fears. 
You  will  laugh — but  do  you  keep  a  diary  ?  " 

"  A  line  for  a  day  ;  not  more." 

"  A  line  for  a  day  would  be  quite  as  much  as  my  unevent- 
ful life  would  need,  heaven  knows,"  said  Jasper,  taking  a 
book  from  a  desk  ;  "  but  that  my  diary  is,  in  fact,  a  diary  of 
Ned's  life  too.  You  will  laugh  at  this  entry  ;  you  will  guess 
when  it  was  made  : 

"'Past  midnight.  After  what  I  have  just  now  seen,  I 
have  a  morbid  dread  upon  me  of  some  horrible  consequences 
resulting  to  my  dear  boy,  that  I  can  not  reason  with  or  in  any 
way  contend  against.  All  my  efforts  are  vain.  The  demo- 
niacal passion  of  this  Neville  Landless,  his  strength  in  his 
fury,  and  his  savage  rage  for  the  destruction  of  its  object, 
appall  me.  So  profound  is  the  impression,  that  twice  since 
I  have  gone  into  my  dear  boy's  room,  to  assure  myself  of  his 
sleeping  safely,  and  not  lying  dead  in  his  blood,* 

"  Here  is  another  entry  next  miorning  : — 

" '  Ned  up  and  away.  Light-hearted  and  unsuspicious  as 
ever.  He  laughed  when  I  cautioned  him,  and  said  he  was 
as  good  a  man  as  Neville  Landless  any  day,  I  told  him 
that  might  be,  but  he  was  not  as  bad  a  man.  He  continued 
to  make  light  of  it,  but  I  traveled  with  him  as  far  as  I  could 
and  left  him  most  unwillingly,  I  am  unable  to  shake  off 
these  dark  intangible  presentiments  of  evil — if  feelings 
founded  upon  startling  facts  are  to  be  so  called.' 

"'  Again  and  again,"  said  Jasper,  in  conclusion,  twirling 
the  leaves  of  the  book  before  putting  it  by,  "  I  have  relapsed 
into  these  moods,  as  other  entries  show.  But  I  have  now 
your  assurance  at  my  back,  and  i^hall  put  it  in  my  book,  and 
make  it  an  antidote  to  mv  black  humors," 


TEiE   MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN   DROOD.         713 

"  Such  an  antidote,  I  hope,"  returned  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "  as 
will  induce  you  before  long  to  consign  the  black  humors  to 
the  flames.  1  ought  to  be  the  last  to  find  any  fault  with  you 
this  evening,  when  you  have  met  my  wishes  so  freely  ;  but  I 
must  say,  Jasper,  that  your  devotion  to  your  nephew  has 
made  you  exaggerative  here." 

"  You  are  my  witness,"  said  Jasper,  shrugging  his  shoul- 
ders, "  what  my  state  of  mind  honestly  was,  that  night,  before 
I  sat  down  to  write,  and  in  what  words  I  expressed  it.  You 
remember  objecting  to  a  word  I  used  as  being  too  strong  ? 
It  was  a  stronger  word  than  any  in  my  diary." 

"  Well,  well,  try  the  antidote,"  rejoined  Mr.  Crisparkle, 
"  and  may  it  give  you  a  brighter  and  better  view  of  the  case  ! 
We  will  discuss  it  no  more,  now.  I  have  to  thank  you  for 
myself,  and  I  thank  you  sincerely." 

"  You  shall  find,"  said  Jasper,  as  they  shook  hands, "  that 
I  will  not  do  the  thing  you  wish  me  to  do  by  halves.  •  I  will 
take  care  that  Ned,  giving  way  at  all,  shall  give  way 
thoroughly." 

On  the  third  day  after  this  conversation,  he  called  on  Mr. 
Crisparkle  with  the  following  letter  • — 

*'  My  Dear  Jack, — 

"  I  am  touched  by  your  account  of  your  interview  with 
Mr.  Crisparkle,  whom  I  much  respect  and  esteem.  At  once 
I  openly  say  that  I  forgot  myself  on  that  occasion  quite  as 
much  as  Mr.  Landless  did,  and  that  I  wish  that  by-gone  to 
be  a  by-gone,  and  all  to  be  right  again. 

'*  Look  here,  dear  old  boy.     Ask  Mr.  Landless  to  dinner 
on  Christmas-eve  (the  better  the  day  the  better  the  deed), 
and  let  there  be  only  we  three,  and  let  us  shake   hands  all 
round  there  and  then,  and  say  no  more  about  it. 
*'  My  dear  Jack, 

**  Ever  your  most  affectionate, 

"  Edwin  Drood. 
"  P.S. — Love  to  Miss  Pussy  at  the  next  music  lesson." 

"  You  expect  Mr.  Neville,  then  ?"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle. 
"  I  count  upon  his  coming,"  said  Mr.  Jasper. 


714         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN   DROOD. 
CHAPTER   XL 

A    PICTURE    AND    A    RINGo 

Behind  the  most  ancient  part  of  Holborn,  London,  where 
certain  gabled  houses  some  centuries  of  age  still  stand  look- 
ing on  the  public  way,  as  if  disconsolately  looking  for  the 
Old  Bourne  that  has  long  run  dry,  is  a  little  nook  composed 
of  two  irregular  quadrangles,  called  Staple  Inn.  It  is  one  of 
those  nooks,  the  turning  into  which  out  of  the  clashing 
streets  imparts  to  the  relieved  pedestrian  the  sensation  of 
having  put  cotton  in  his  ears  and  velvet  soles  on  his  boots. 
It  is  one  of  those  nooks  wliere  a  few  smoky  sparrows  twit- 
ter in  smoky  trees,  as  though  they  called  to  one  another, 
**  Let  us  play  at  country,"  and  where  a  few  feet  of  garden 
mold  and  a  few  yards  of  gravel  enable  them  to  do  that  re- 
freshing violence  to  their  tiny  understandings.  Moreover,  it 
is  one  of  those  nooks  which  are  legal  nooks  ;  and  it  contains 
a  little  hall,  with  a  little  lantern  in  its  roof  ;  to  what  obstruct- 
ive purposes  devoted,  and  at  whose  expense,  this  history 
knoweth  not. 

In  the  days  when  Cloisterham  took  offense  at  the  existence 
of  a  railroad  afar  off,  as  menacing  that  sensitive  constitution 
the  property  of  us  Britons  ;  the  odd  fortune  of  which  sacred 
institution  it  is  to  be  in  exactly  equal  degrees  croaked  about, 
trembled  for,  and  boasted  of,  whatever  happens  to  any  thing, 
anywhere  in  the  world  ;  in  those  days  no  neighboring  archi- 
tecture of  lofty  proportions  had  arisen  to  overshadow  Staple 
Inn.  The  westering  sun  bestowed  bright  glances  on  it,  and 
the  south-west  wind  blew  into  it  unimpeded. 

Neither  wind  nor  sun,  however,  favored  Staple  Inn,  one 
December  afternoon  toward  six  o'clock,  when  it  was  filled 
with  fog,  and  candles  shed  murky  and  blurred  rays  through 
the  windows  of  all  its  then- occupied  sets  of  chambers  ;  nota- 
bly, from  a  set  of  chambers  in  a  corner  house  in  the  little 
inner  quadrangle,  presenting  in  black  and  white  over  its  uglv 
portal  the  mysterious  inscription  : — 

P 
J  T 

^747- 

In  which  set  of  chambers,  never  having  troubled  his  head 
about  the  inscription,  unless  to  bethink  himself  at  odd  times 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         715 

on  glancing  up  at  it,  that  haply  it  might  mean  Perhaps  John 
Thomas,  or  Perhaps  Joe  Tyler,  sat  Mr.  Grewgious  writing 
byhis  fire. 

Who  could  have  told,  by  looking  at  Mr.  Grewgious,  whether 
he  had  ever  known  ambition  or  disappointment  ?  He  had 
been  bred  to  the  bar,  and  had  laid  himself  out  for  chamber 
practice  ;  to  draw  deeds  ;  "  convey  the  wise  it  call,"  as  Pistol 
says.  But  conveyancing  and  he  had  made  such  a  very  in- 
different marriage  of  it  that  they  had  separated  by  consent 
— if  there  can  be  said  to  be  separation  where  there  has  never 
been  coming  together. 

No.  Coy  conveyancing  would  not  come  to  Mr.  Grewgious. 
She  was  wooed,  not  won,  and  they  went  their  several  v/ays. 
But  an  arbitration  being  blown  toward  him  by  some  unac- 
countable wind,  and  he  gaining  great  credit  in  it  as  one  inde- 
fatigable in  seeking  out  right  and  doing  right,  a  pretty  fat  re- 
ceivership was  next  blown  into  his  pocket  by  a  wind  more 
traceable  to  its  source.  So,  by  chance,  he  had  found  his 
niche.  Receiver  and  agent  now,  to  two  rich  estates,  and  de- 
puting their  legal  business,  in  an  amount  worth  having,  to  a 
firm  of  solicitors  on  the  floor  below,  he  had  snuffed  out  his 
ambition  (supposing  him  to  have  ever  lighted  it)  and  had 
settled  down  with  his  snuffers  for  the  rest  of  his  life  under 
the  dry  vine  and  fig-tree  of  P.  J.  T.,  who  planted  in  seven- 
teen-forty-seven. 

Many  accounts  and  account-books,  many  files  of  corre- 
spondence, and  several  strong  boxes,  garnished  Mr.  Grew- 
gious's  room.  They  can  scarcely  be  represented  as  having 
lumbered  it,  so  conscientious  and  precise  w^as  their  orderly 
arrangement.  The  apprehension  of  dying  suddenly  and  leav- 
ing one  fact  or  one  figure  with  any  incompleteness  or  obscur- 
ity attaching  to  it,  would  have  stretched  Mr.  Grewgious  stone 
dead  any  day.  The  largest  fidelity  to  a  trust  was  the  life- 
blood  of  the  man.  There  are  sorts  of  life-blood  that  course 
more  quickly,  more  gayly,  more  attractively  ;  but  there  is  no 
better  sort  in  circulation. 

There  was  no  luxury  in  his  room.  Even  its  comforts  were 
limited  to  its  being  dry  and  warm,  and  having  a  snug  though 
faded  fireside.  What  may  be  called  its  private  life  was  con- 
fined to  the  hearth  and  an  easy-chair,  and  an  old-fashioned 
occasional  round  table  that  was  brought  out  upon  the  rug 
after  business  hours,  from  a  corner  where  it  elsewise  remained 
turned  up  like  a  shining  mahogany  shield.  Behind  it,  when 
standing  thus  on  the  defensive,  was  a  clcoOt  usur^ly  contain' 


7i6         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

ing  something  good  to  drink  An  outer  room  was  the  clerk's 
room  ;  Mr.  Grewgious's  sleeping-room  v/as  across  the  com- 
mon stair  ;  and  he  held  some  not  empty  cellarage  at  the 
bottom  of  the  common  stair.  Three  hundred  days  in  the 
year,  at  least,  he  crossed  over  to  the  hotel  in  Furnival's  Inn 
for  his  dinner,  and  after  dinner  crossed  back  again,  to  make 
the  most  of  these  simplicities  until  it  should  become  broad 
business  day  once  more,  with  P.  J.  T.,  date  seventeen-forty- 
seven. 

As  Mr.  Grewgious  sat  and  wrote  by  his  fire  that  afternoon, 
so  did  the  clerk  of  Mr.  Grewgious  sit  and  write  by  his  fire. 
A  pale,  puffy-faced,  dark-haired  person  of  thirty,  with  big 
dark  eyes  that  wholly  wanted  luster,  and  a  dissatisfied  doughy 
complexion,  that  seemed  to  ask  to  be  sent  to  the  baker's, 
this  attendant  was  a  mysterious  being,  possessed  of  some 
strange  power  over  Mr.  Grewgious.  As  though  he  had  been 
called  into  existence,  like  a  fabulous  familiar,  by  a  magic 
spell  which  had  failed  when  required  to  dismiss  him,  he  stuck 
tight  to  Mr.  Grewgious's  stool,  although  Mr.  Grewgious's 
comfort  and  convenience  would  manifestly  have  been  ad- 
vanced by  dispossessing  him.  A  gloomy  person  with  tangled 
locks,  and  a  general  air  of  having  been  reared  under  the 
shadow  of  that  baleful  tree  of  Java  which  has  given  shelter 
to  more  lies  than  the  whole  botanical  kingdom,  Mr.  Grew- 
gious, nevertheless,  treated  him  with  unaccountable  consider- 
ation. 

"Now,  Bazzard,'"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  on  the  entrance  of 
his  clerk,  looking  up  from  his  papers  as  he  arranged  them 
for  the  night,  "  what  is  in  the  wind  besides  fog  .?  " 

"  Mr.  Drood,"  said  Bazzard. 

"What  of  him?" 

"  Has  called,"  said  Bazzard. 

"  You  might  have  shown  him  in.'" 

"  I  am  doing  it,"  said  Bazzard. 

The  visitor  came  in  accordingly. 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  looking  round  his 
pair  of  office  candles.  "  I  thought  you  had  called  and 
merely  left  your  name,  and  gone.  How  do  you  do,  Mr. 
Edwin  ?     Dear  me,  you're  choking  !  " 

"  It's  this  fog,"  returned  Edwin,  *'  and  it  makes  my  eyes 
smart  like  cayenne  pepper." 

**  Is  it  really  so  bad  as  that  ?  Pray  undo  your  v/rappers. 
It's  fortunate  I  have  a  good  fire  ;  but  Mr.  Bazzard  has  taken 
care  of  me/" 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        717 

"  No,  I  haven't,"  said  Mr.  Bazzard  at  the  door„ 

"  Ah  !  Then  it  follows  that  I  must  have  taken  care  of 
myself  without  observing  it,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  "  Pray 
be  seated  in  my  chair.  No.  1  beg  !  Coming  out  of  such 
an  atmosphere,  in  my  chair." 

Edwin  took  the  easy-chair  in  the  corner  ;  and  the  fog  he 
had  brought  in  with  him,  and  the  fog  he  took  off  with  his 
great-coat  and  neck- shawl  was  speedily  licked  up  by  the 
eager  fire, 

'^  I  look,"  said  Edwin,  smiling,  "  as  if  I  had  come  to  stop." 

" — By  the  by,"  cried  Mr.  Grewgious,  "excuse  my  inter- 
rupting you  ;  do  stop.  The  fog  may  clear  in  an  hour  or 
two.  We  can  have  dinner  in  from  just  across  Holborn. 
You  had  better  take  your  cayenne  pepper  here  than  outside  ; 
pray  stop  and  dine." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Edwin,  glancing  about  him,  as 
though  attracted  by  the  notion  of  a  new  and  relishing  sort 
of  gipsy-party. 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious  ;  ''you  are  very  kind  to 
join  issue  with  a  bachelor  in  chambers,  and  take  pot-luck. 
And  I'll  ask,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  dropping  his  voice,  and 
speaking  with  a  twinkling  eye,  as  if  inspired  with  a  bright 
thought,—"  I'll  ask  Bazzard.  He  mightn't  like  it  else. 
Bazzard  !  " 

Bazzard  reappeared. 

"  Dine  presently  with  Mr.  Drood  and  me." 

"  If  I  am  ordered  to  dine,  of  course  I  will,  sir,"  was  the 
gloomy  answer. 

"  Save  the  man  !"  cried  Mr.  Grewgious.  "  You're  not 
ordered  ;  you're  invited." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Bazzard  ;  "in  that  case  I  don't 
care  if  do." 

"  That's  arranged.  And  perhaps  you  wouldn't  mind," 
said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "  stepping  up  to  the  hotel  in  Furnival's, 
and  asking  them  to  send  in  materials  for  laying  the  cloth. 
For  dinner  we'll  have  a  tureen  of  the  hottest  and  strongest 
soup  available,  and  we'll  have  the  best  made-dish  that  can 
be  recommended,  and  we'll  have  a  joint  (such  as  a  haunch 
of  mutton),  and  we'll  have  a  goose,  or  a  turkey,  or  any  little 
stuffed  thing  of  that  sort  that  may  happen  to  be  in  the 
bill  of  fare— in  short,  we'll  have  whatever  there  is  on 
hand."  .       ^ . 

These  liberal  directions  Mr.  Grewgious  issued  with  his 
usual  air  of  reading   an  inventory,  or  repeating  a  lesson,  or 


7i8         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWJN  DROOD. 

doing  any  thing  else  by  rote.  Bazzard,  after  drawing  out 
the  round  table,  withdrew  to  execute  them. 

"  I  was  a  little  delicate,  you  see,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious  in 
a  lower  tone,  after  his  clerk's  departure,  "about  employing 
him  in  the  foraging  or  commissariat  department.  Because 
he  mightn't  like  it." 

"  He  seems  to  have  his  own  way,  sir,"  remarked  Edwin. 

"  His  own  way  ?  "  returned  Mr.  Grewgious.  ''  Oh,  dear, 
no !  Poor  fellow,  you  quite  mistake  him.  If  he  had  his 
own  way,  he  wouldn't  be  here." 

"  I  wonder  where  he  would  be  !  "  Edwin  thought.  But 
he  only  thought  it,  because  Mr.  Grewgious  came  and  stood 
himself  with  his  back  to  the  other  corner  of  the  fire,  and 
his  shoulder-blades  against  the  chimney-piece,  and  collected 
his  skirts  for  easy  conversation. 

"  I  take  it  without  having  the  gift  of  prophecy,  that  you 
have  done  me  the  favor  of  looking  in  to  mention  that  you 
are  going  down  yonder — where  I  can  tell  you,  you  are  ex- 
pected— and  to  offer  to  execute  any  little  commission  from 
me  to  my  charming  ward,  and  perhaps  to  sharpen  me  up  a 
bit  in  any  proceedings  ?     Eh,  Edwin  ?  " 

"I  called,  sir,  before  going  down,  as  an  act  of  attention." 

*' Of  attention  !"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  "Ah  !  of  course, 
not  of  impatience  ?  " 

"  Impatience,  sir  ?  " 

Mr.  Grewgious  had  meant  to  be  arch — not  that  he  in  the 
remotest  degree  expressed  that  meaning — and  had  brought 
himself  into  scarcely  supportable  proximity  with  the  fire,  as 
if  to  burn  the  fullest  effect  of  his  archness  into  himself,  as 
other  subtle  impressions  are  burned  into  hard  metals.  But 
his  archness  suddenly  flying  before  the  composed  face  and 
manner  of  his  visitor,  and  only  the  fire  remaining,  he  started 
and  rubbed  himself. 

*'  I  have  lately  been  down  yonder,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious, 
rearranging  his  skirts  ;  ''  and  that  was  what  I  referred  to 
when  I  said  I  could  tell  you  you  are  expected." 

"  Indeed,  sir  !  Yes,  I  knew  that  Pussy  was  looking  out 
for  me." 

*' Do  you  keep  a  cat  down  there  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Grewgious. 

Edwin  colored  a  little  as  he  explained,  *'  I  call  Rosa 
Pussy." 

"  Oh,  really,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  smootliing  down  his 
head,  ''that's  very  affable." 

Edwin  glanced  at  his  face,  uncertain   whether   or  no  he 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         719 

seriously  objected  to  the  appellation.     But  Edwin  might  as 
well  have  glanced  at  the  face  of  a  clock. 

**  A  pet  name,  sir,"  he  explained  again. 

"  Umps,"  said  Mr,  Grewgious,  with  a  nod.  But  with 
such  an  extraordinary  compromise  between  an  unqualified 
assent  and  a  qualified  dissent,  that  his  visitor  was  much 
disconcerted. 

"  Did  PRosa — "  Edwin  began,  by  way  of  recovering  him- 
self. 

"  PRosa  ?  "  repeated  Mr.  Grewgious. 

"  I  was  going  to  say  Pussy,  and  changed  my  mind  ; — did 
she  tell  you  any  thing  about  the  Landlesses  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  ''  What  is  the  Landlesses  ? 
An  estate  ?     A  villa  ?     A  farm  ?  " 

"  A  brother  and  sister.  The  sister  is  at  the  Nuns'  House, 
and  has  become  a  great  friend  of  P " 

"  PRosa's,"  Mr.  Grewgious  struck  in,  with  a  fixed  face. 

"  She  is  a  strikingly  handsome  girl,  sir,  and  I  thought  she 
might  have  been  described  to  you,  or  presented  to  you,  per- 
haps." 

"  Neither,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.     "  But  here  is  Bazzard." 

Bazzard  returned,  accompanied  by  two  waiters — an  im- 
movable waiter  and  a  flying  waiter  ;  and  the  three  brought 
in  with  them  as  much  fog  as  gave  a  new  roar  to  the  fire. 
The  flying  waiter,  who  had  brought  every  thing  on  his 
shoulders,  laid  the  cloth  with  amazing  rapidity  and  dex- 
terity ;  while  the  immovable  waiter,  who  had  brought  noth- 
ing, found  fault  with  him.  The  flying  waiter  then  highly 
polished  all  the  glasses  he  had  brought,  and  the  immovable 
waiter  looked  through  them.  The  flying  waiter  then  flew 
across  Holborn  for  the  soup,  and  flew  back  again,  and  then 
took  another  flight  for  the  made-dish  and  flew  back  again, 
and  then  took  another  flight  for  the  joint  and  poultry  and 
flew  back  again,  and  between  whiles  took  supplementary 
flights  for  a  great  variety  of  articles,  as  it  was  discovered 
from  time  to  time  that  the  immovable  waiter  had  forgotten 
them  all.  But  let  the  flying  waiter  cleave  the  air  as  he 
might,  he  was  always  reproached  on  his  return  by  the  im- 
movable waiter  for  bringing  fog  with  him  and  being  out  of 
breath.  At  the  conclusion  of  the  repast,  by  which  time 
the  flying  waiter  was  severely  blown,  the  immovable 
waiter  gathered  up  the  table-cloth  under  his  arm  with  a 
grand  air,  and,  having  sternly  (not  to  say  with  indignation) 
looked  on  at   the   flying  waiter  while  he  set  clean  glasses 


720         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

round,  directed  a  valedictory  glance  toward  Mr.  Grew- 
gious,  conveying,  "  Let  it  be  clearly  understood  between  us 
that  the.  reward  is  mine,  and  that  Nil  is  the  claim  of  this 
slave,"  and  pushed  the  flying  waiter  before  him  out  of  the 
room. 

It  was  like  a  highly  finished  miniature  painting  represent- 
ing My  Lords  of  the  Circumlocutional  Department,  Comi- 
mandership-in-Chief  of  any  sort,  Government.  It  was  quite 
an  edifying  little  picture  to  be  hung  on  the  line  in  the  Na- 
tional Gallery. 

As  the  fog  had  been  '.he  proximate  cause  of  this  sumptu- 
ous repast,  so  the  fog  served  for  its  general  sauce.  To  hear 
the  out-door  clerks  sneezing,  wheezing,  and  beating  their 
feet  on  the  gravel  was  a  zest  far  surpassing  Doctor  Kitch- 
ener's. To  bid,  with  a  shiver,  the  unfortunate  flying  w^aiter 
shut  the  door  before  he  had  opened  it,  was  a  condiment  of 
a  profounder  flavor  than  Harvey.  And  here  let  it  be  noticed 
parenthetically  that  the  leg  of  this  young  man  in  its  applica- 
tion to  the  door  evinced  the  finest  sense  of  touch  ;  always 
preceding  himself  and  tray  (with  something  of  an  angling 
air  about  it)  by  some  seconds,  and  always  lingering  after  he 
and  the  tray  had  disappeared,  like  Macbeth's  leg  when  ac- 
companying him  off  the  stage  with  reluctance  to  the  assas- 
sination of  Duncan 

The  host  had  gone  below  to  the  cellar,  and  had  brought 
up  bottles  of  ruby,  straw-colored,  and  golden  drinks, 
which  had  ripened  long  ago  in  lands  where  no  fogs  are, 
and  had  since  lain  slumbering  in  the  shade.  Sparkling 
and  tingling  after  so  long  a  nap,  they  pushed  at  their 
corks  to  help  the  corkscrew  (like  prisoners  helping  rioters 
to  force  their  gates),  and  danced  out  gayly.  If  P.  J.  T.  in 
seventeen-forty-seven,  or  in  any  other  year  of  his  period, 
drank  such  wines,  then,  for  a  certainty,  P.  J.  T.  was  Pretty 
Jolly  Too. 

Externally,  Mr.  Grewgious  show^ed  no  signs  of  being 
mellowed  by  these  glowing  vintages.  Instead  of  his  drink- 
ing them,  they  might  have  been  poured  over  him  in  his  high- 
dried  snuff  form,  and  run  to  waste,  for  any  lights  and  shades 
they  caused  to  flicker  over  his  face.  Neither  was  his  manner 
influenced.  But,  in  his  wooden  way,  he  had  observant  eyes 
for  Edwin  ;  and  when,  at  the  end  of  dinner,  he  motioned 
Edw^n  Vvack  to  his  own  easy-chair  in  the  fireside  corner,  and 
Edwan  luxuriously  sunk  into  it  after  very  brief  remonstrance. 
Mr.  Grewgious,  as  he  turned  his  seat  round   toward  the  fire 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        721 

too,  and  smoothed  his  head  and  face,  might  have  been  seen 
looking  at  his  visitor  between  his  smoothing  fingers. 

"  Bazzard  !  "  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  suddenly  turning  to 
him. 

"I  follow  you,  sir,'*  returned  Bazzard,  who  had  done  his 
work  of  consuming  meat  and  drink,  in  a  workmanlike  man- 
ner, though  mostly  in  speechlessness. 

"I  drink  to  you,  Bazzard  ;  Mr.  Edwin,  success  to  Mr. 
Bazzard  !  " 

"  Success  to  Mr.  Bazzard  !  "  echoes  Edwin,  with  a  totally 
unfounded  appearance  of  enthusiasm,  and  with  the  unspoken 
addition,  "  What  in,  I  wonder  !  " 

"  And  may  !  "  pursued  Mr.  Grewgious — ''  I  am  not  at  lib- 
erty to  be  definite — may  ! — my  conversational  powers  are  so 
very  lim.ited  that  I  know  I  shall  not  come  well  out  of  this — 
may  ! — it  ought  to  be  put  imaginatively,  but  I  have  no  im- 
agination— may  ! — the  thorn  of  anxiety  is  as  nearly  the  mark 
IS  I  am  likely  to  get — may  it  come  out  at  last  !  " 

Mr.  Bazzard,  with  a  frowning  smile  at  the  fire,  put  a  hand 
into  his  tangled  locks,  as  if  the  thorn  of  anxiety  were  there  ; 
^hen  into  his  waistcoat,  as  if  it  were  there  ;  then  into  his 
pockets,  as  if  it  were  there.  In  all  these  movements  he  was 
closely  followed  by  the  eyes  of  Edwin,  as  if  that  young  gen- 
deman  expected  to  see  the  thorn  in  action.  It  was  not 
produced,  however,  and  Mr.  Bazzard  merely  said,  "  I  follow 
you,  sir,  and  I  thank  you.'' 

"I  am  going,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  jingling  his  glass  on 
the  table  with  one  hand  and  bending  aside  under  cover  of 
the  other  to  whisper  to  Edwin,  ''  to  drink  to  my  ward.  But 
I  put  Bazzard  first.     He  mightn't  like  it  else." 

This  was  said  with  a  mysterious  wink  ;  or  what  would 
have  been  a  wink  if,  in  Mr.  Grewgious's  hands,  it  could  have 
been  quick  enough.  So  Edwin  winked  responsively  without 
the  least  idea  what  he  meant  by  doing  so. 

"And  nov/,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  '*  I  devote  a  bumper  to 
the  fair  and  fascinating  Miss  Pvosa.  Bazzard,  the  fair  and 
fascinating  Miss  Rosa  !  " 

*'  I  follow  you,  sir,"  said  Bazzard,  "  and  I  pledge  you  !  " 

"  And  so  do  I  !  "  said  Edwin. 

"  Lord  bless  me  !  "  cried  Mr.  Grewgious,  breaking  the 
blank  silence  which  of  course  ensued,  though  why  these 
pauses  should  come  upon  us  when  we  have  performed  any 
small  social  rite  not  directly  inducive  of  self-examination  or 
mental  despondency,  who  can  tell !     ''  I   am   a  particularly 


722         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD, 

angular  man,  and  yet  I  fancy  (if  I  may  use  the  word,  not 
having  a  morsel  of  fancy)  that  I  could  draw  the  picture  of  a 
true  lover's  state  of  mind  to-night." 

^'  Let  us  follow  you,  sir,"  said  Bazzard,  "  and  have  the  pic- 
ture." 

"  Mr.  Edwin  will  correct  it  where  it's  wrong,"  resumed 
Mr.  Grewgious,  "  and  will  throw  in  a  few  touches  from  the 
life.  I  dare  say  it  is  wrong  in  many  particulars,  and  wants 
many  touches  from  the  life,  for  I  was  born  a  chip,  and  have 
neither  soft  sympathies  nor  soft  experiences.  Well  !  I  haz- 
ard the  guess  that  the  true  lover's  mind  is  completely 
permeated  by  the  beloved  object  of  his  affections,  i  hazard 
the  guess  that  her  dear  name  is  precious  to  him,  can  not  be 
heard  or  repeated  without  emotion,  and  is  preserved  sacred. 
If  he  has  any  distinguishing  appellation  of  fondness  for  her, 
it  is  reserved  for  her  and  is  not  for  common  ears.  A  name 
that  it  would  be  a  privilege  to  call  her  by,  being  alone  with 
her  own  bright  self,  it  would  be  a  liberty,  a  coldness,  an  in- 
sensibility, almost  a  breach  of  good  faith,  to  flaunt  else- 
where." 

It  was  wonderful  to  see  Mr.  Grewgious  sitting  bold  up- 
right, with  his  hands  on  his  knees,  continuously  chopping 
this  discourse  out  of  himself,  much  as  a  charity-boy  with  a 
very  good  memory  might  get  his  catechism  said,  and  evinc- 
ing no  correspondent  emotion  whatever,  unless  in  a  certain 
occasional  little  tingling  perceptible  at  the  end  of  his  nose. 

"  My  picture,"  Mr.  Grewgious  proceeded,  "'  goes  on  to 
represent  (under  correction  from  you,  Mr.  Edwin)  the  true 
lover  as  ever  impatient  to  be  in  the  presence  or  vicinity  of 
the  beloved  object  of  his  affections  ;  as  caring  very  little  for 
his  ease  in  any  other  society,  and  as  constantly  seeking  that. 
If  I  was  to  say  seeking  that  as  a  bird  seeks  its  nest,  I  should 
make  an  ass  of  myself,  because  that  would  trench  upon  what 
I  understand  to  be  poetry  ;  and  I  am  so  far  from  trenching 
upon  poetry  at  any  time,  that  I  never,  to  my  knowledge, 
got  within  ten  thousand  miles  of  it.  And  I  am  besides  to- 
tally unacquainted  with  the  habits  of  birds,  except  the  birds 
of  Staple  Inn,  who  seek  their  nests  on  ledges  and  in  gutter- 
pipes  and  chimney-pots  not  constructed  for  them  by  the 
beneficent  hand  of  Nature.  I  beg,  therefore,  to  be  under- 
stood as  foregoing  the  bird's-nest.  But  my  picture  does 
represent  the  true  lover  as  having  no  existence  separable  from 
that  of  the  beloved  object  of  his  affections,  and  as  living  at 
once  a  doubled  life  and  a  halved  life.     And  if  1  do  not 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN   DROOD.        723 

clearly  express  what  I  mean  by  that,  it  is  either  tor  the  rea- 
son that  having  no  conversational  powers,  I  can  r.ot  express 
what  I  mean,  or  that,  having  no  meaning,  I  do  not  mean 
what  I  fail  to  express.  Which,  to  the  best  of  my  belief,  is 
not  the  case." 

Edwin  had  turned  red  and  turned  white  as  certain  points 
of  this  picture  came  into  the  light.  He  now  sat  looking  at 
the  fire,  and  bit  his  lip. 

"  The  speculations  of  an  angular  man,"  resumed  ^  Mr. 
Grew^cious,  still  sitting  and  speaking  exactly  as  before,  "are 
probably  erroneous  on  so  globular  a  topic.  But  I  figure  to 
myself  ^subject  as  before  to  Mr.  Edwin's  correction)  that 
there  can  be  no  coolness,  no  lassitude,  no  doubt,  no  indiffer- 
ence, no  half-fire  and  half-smoke  state  of  mmd  in  a^  real 
lover.     Pray  am  I  at  all  near  the  mark  in  my  picture  ?  " 

As  abrupt  in  his  conclusion  as  in  his  commencement  and 
progress,  he  jerked  this  inquiry  at  Edwin,  and  stopped  when 
one°might  have  supposed  him  in  the  middle  of  his  oration. 
''  I  should  say,  sir,"  stammered  Edwin,  "  as  you  refer  the 

question  to  me " 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "  I  refer  it  to  you  as  an  au- 
thority." 

''  I  should  say  then,  sir,"  Edwin  went  on,  embarrassed, 
''  that  the  picture  you  have  drawn  is  generally  correct  ;  but 
I  submit  that  perhaps  you  may  be  rather  hard  upon  the  un- 
lucky lover." 

''  Likely  so,"  assented  Mr.  Grewgious—"  likely  so.  I  am 
a  hard  man  in  the  grain." 

"  He  may  not   show,"  said   Edwin,  "  all   he   feels  ;  or  he 

may  not " 

There  he  stopped  so  long  to  find  the  rest  of  his  sentence 
that  Mr.  Grewgious  rendered  his  difficulty  a  thousand  tmies 
the  greater  by  unexpectedly  striking  in  with, 
"  No,  to  be  sure  ;  he  miy  not  !  "  ■ 

After  that  they  all  sat  silent  ;  the  silence  of  Mr.  Bazzard 
being  occasioned  by  slumber. 

"  His  responsibility  is  very  great  though,"  said  Mr.  Grew- 
gious, at  length,  with  his  eyes  on  the  fire- 
Edwin  nodded  assent,  with  /lis  eyes  on  the  fire. 
*' And  let  him  be  sure  that   he   trifles  with   no  one,"  said 
Mr.  Grewgious  ;  "  neither  with  himself,  nor  with  any  other." 
Edwin  bit  his  lips    again,   and    still    sat   looking    at    the 
fire. 

"He  must  not  make  a  plaything  of  a  treasure.     Woe  be- 


724         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

tide  him  if  he  does  !  Let  him  take  that  well  to  heart," 
said  Mr.  Grewgious. 

Though  he  said  these  things  in  short  sentences,  much  as 
the  supposititious  charity-boy  just  now  referred  to  might  have 
repeated  a  verse  or  two  from  the  Book  of  Proverbs,  there 
was  something  dreamy  (for  so  literal  a  man)  in  the  way  in 
which  he  now  shook  his  right  forefinger  at  the  live  coals  in 
the  grate,  and  again  fell  silent. 

But  not  for  long.  As  he  sat  upright  and  stiff  in  his  chair, 
he  suddenly  rapped  his  knees,  like  the  carved  image  of 
some  queer  Joss  or  other  coming  out  of  its  reverie,  and  said, 
*'  We  must  finish  this  bottle,  Mr.  Edwin.  Let  me  help  you. 
I'll  help  Bazzard,  too,  though  he  is  asleep.  He  mightn't 
like  it  else." 

He  helped  them  both,  and  helped  himself,  and  drained  his 
glass,  and  stood  it  bottom  upward  on  the  table,  as  though 
he  had  just  caught  a  blue-bottle  in  it. 

''  And  now,  Mr.  Edwin,"  he  proceeded,  wiping  his  mouth 
and  hands  upon  his  handkerchief,  "  to  a  little  piece  of  busi- 
ness. You  received  from  me,  the  other  day,  a  certified 
copy  of  Miss  Rosa's  father's  will.  You  knew  its  contents 
before,  but  you  received  it  from  me  as  a  matter  of  business. 
I  should  have  sent  it  to  Mr.  Jasper,  but  for  Miss  Rosa's 
wishing  it  to  come  straight  to  you,  in  preference.  You  re- 
ceived it  ? " 

"  Quite  safely,  sir." 

*'  You  should  have  acknowledged  its  receipt,"  said  Mr. 
Grewgious,  *'  business  being  business  all  the  world  over. 
However,  you  did  not." 

*'  I  meant  to  have  acknowledged  it  when  I  first  came  in 
this  evening,  sir." 

'*  Not  a  business-like  acknowledgment,"  returned  Mr. 
Grewgious  ;  "  however,  let  that  pass.  Now,  in  that  docu- 
ment you  have  observed  a  few  words  of  kindly  allusion  to 
its  being  left  to  me  to  discharge  a  little  trust,  confided  to  me 
in  conversation,  at  such  a  time  as  I  in  my  discretion  may 
think  best." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Mr.  Edwin,  it  came  into  my  mind  just  now,  when  I  was 
looking  at  the  fire,  that  I  could,  in  my  discretion,  acquit 
myself  of  that  trust  at  no  better  time  than  the  present. 
Favor  me  with  your  attention  half  a  minute." 

He  took  a  bunch  of  keys  from  his  pocket,  singled  out  by 
the  candle-liglit  the  key  he  wanted,  and  then,  with  a  candle 


THE   MYSTEPvY  OF  EUWiN    DRUOD.         725 

in  his  hand,  went  to  a  bureau  or  escritoire,  unlocked  it, 
touched  the  spring  of  a  little  secret  drawer,  and  took  from  it 
an  ordinary  ring-case  made  for  a  single  ring.  With  this  in 
his  hand  he  returned  to  his  chair.  As  he  held  it  up  for  the 
young  man  to  see,  his  hand  trembled. 

"  Mr.  Edwin,  this  rose  of  diamonds  and  rubies,  delicately 
set  in  gold,  was  a  ring  belonging  to  Miss  Rosa's  mother.  It 
was  removed  from  her  dead  hand,  in  my  presence,  with 
such  distracted  grief  as  I  hope  it  may  never  be  my  lot  to 
contemplate  again.  Hard  man  as  I  am,  I  am  not  hard 
enough  for  that.  See  how  bright  these  stones  shine  1 "  open- 
ing the  case.  '*  And  yet  the  eyes  that  were  so  much  brighter, 
and  that  so  often  looked  upon  them  with  a  light  and  proud 
heart,  have  been  ashes  among  ashes,  and  dust  among  dust, 
some  years  !  If  I  had  any  imagination  (which  it  is  needless 
to  say  I  have  not),  I  might  imagine  that  the  lasting  beauty 
of  these  stones  was  almost  cruel." 

He  closed  the  case  again  as  he  spoke. 

"  This  ring  was  given  to  the  young  lady  who  was  drowned 
so  early  in  her  beautiful  and  happy  career,  by  her  husband, 
when  they  first  plighted  their  faith  to  one  another.  It  was 
he  who  removed  it  from  her  unconscious  hand,  and  it  was 
he  who,  when  his  death  drew  very  near,  placed  it  in  mirie. 
The  trust  in  which  I  received  it  was,  that,  you  and  Miss 
Rosa  growing  to  manhood  and  womanhood,  and  your  be- 
trothal prospering  and  coming  to  maturity,  I  should  give  it 
to  you  to  place  upon  her  finger.  Failing  those  desired  re- 
sults, it  was  to  remain  in  my  possession." 

Some  trouble  was  in  the  young  man's  face,  and  some  in- 
decision was  in  the  action  of  his  hands,  as  Mr.  Grewgious, 
looking  steadfastly  at  him,  gave  him  the  ring. 

"  Your  placing  it  on  her  finger,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  ''will 
be  the  solemn  seal  upon  your  strict  fidelity  to  the  living  and 
the  dead.  You  are  going  to  her  to  make  the  last  irrevoca- 
ble preparations  for  your  marriage.     Take  it  with  you." 

The  young  man  took  the  little  case  and  placed  it  in  his 
breast. 

"  If  any  thing  should  be  amiss,  if  any  thing  should  be 
even  slightly  wrong,  between  you,  if  you  should  have  any 
secret  consciousness,  that  you  are  committing  yourself  to 
this  step  for  no  higher  reason  than  because  you  have  long 
been  accustomed  to  look  forward  to  it  ;  then,"  said  Mr. 
Grewgious,  "  I  charge  you  once  more,  by  the  living  and  by 
the  dead,  to  bring  that  ring  back  to  me  ! 


726         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

Here  Bazzard  awoke  himself  by  his  own  snoring  ;  and,  as 
is  usual  in  such  cases,  sat  apoplectically  staring  at  vacancy, 
as  defying  vacancy  to  accuse  him  of  having  been  asleep. 

"  Bazzard  !  "  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  harder  than  ever. 

"I  follow  you,  sir,"  said  Bazzard,  "and  I  have  been  fol- 
lowing you." 

**  In  discharge  of  a  trust,  I  have  handed  Mr.  Edwin  Drood 
a  ring  of  diamonds  and  rubies.     You  see  ? " 

Edwin  reproduced  the  little  case  and  opened  it  ;  and  Baz- 
zard looked  into  it. 

**  I  follow  you  both,  sir,"  returned  Bazzard,  *'  and  I  wit- 
ness the  transaction." 

Evidently  anxious  to  get  away  and  be  alone,  Edwin  Drood 
now  resumed  his  outer  clothing,  muttering  something  about 
time  and  appointments.  The  fog  was  reported  no  clearer 
(by  the  flying  waiter,  Vvho  alighted  from  a  speculative  flight 
in  the  coffee  interest),  but  he  went  out  into  it  ;  and  Baz- 
zard after  his  manner,  "  followed  "  him.. 

]\Ir.  Grewgious,  left  alone,  walked  softly  and  slowly  to  and 
fro  for  an  hour  and  more.  He  was  restless  to-night  and 
seemed  dispirited. 

*'  I  hope  I  have  done  right,"  he  said.  "  The  appeal  to 
him  seemed  necessary.  It  was  hard  to  lose  the  ring,  and 
yet  it  must  have  gone  from  me  very  soon." 

He  closed  the  empty  little  drawer  with  a  i-igh,  and  shut 
and  locked  the  escritoire,  and  came  back  to  the  solitary  fire- 
side. 

"  Her  ring,"  he  went  on.  "Will  it  come  back  to  me? 
My  mind  hangs  about  her  ring  very  uneasily  to-night.  But 
that  is  explainable.  I  have  had  it  so  long,  and  I  have  prized 
it  so  much  !     I  wonder " 

He  was  in  a  wondering  mood  as  well  as  a  restless  ;  for, 
though  he  checked  himself  at  that  point,  and  took  another 
walk,  he  resumed  his  wondering  when  he  sat  down  again. 

"  I  wonder  (for  the  ten  thousandth  time,  and  what  a  weak 
fool  I,  for  what  can  it  signify  now  !)  whether  he  confided  the 
charge  of  their  orphan  child  to  me  because  he  knew — good 
God,  how  like  her  mother  she  has  become  ! 

"  I  wonder  whether  he  ever  so  much  as  suspected  that 
some  one  doted  on  her  at  a  hopeless,  speechless  distance, 
when  he  struck  in  and  won  her  !  I  wonder  vrhether  it  ever 
crept  into  his  mind  who  that  unfortunate  some  one  was  ! 

"  I  wonder  whether  I  sliall  sleep  to-night  !  At  all  events 
J  will  shut  out  the  world  with  the  bedclothes,  and  try." 


THE   MYSTERY  OF   EDWIN   DROOD.         727 

Mr.  Grewgious  crossed  the  staircase  to  his  raw  and  foggy 
bedroom,  and  was  soon  ready  for  bed.  Dimly  catching  sight 
of  his  face  in  the  misty  looking-glass,  he  held  his  candle  to 
it  for  a  moment. 

'*  A  likely  some  one, /<?//,  to  come  into  any  body's  thoughts 
in  such  an  aspect  ?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  There,  there  !  there  ! 
Get  to  bed,  poor  man,  and  cease  to  jabber  !  " 

With  that  he  extinguished  his  light,  put  up  the  bed- 
clothes around  him,  and  with  another  sigh  shut  out  the 
world.  And  yet  there  are  such  unexplored  romantic  nooks 
in  the  unlikeliest  men,  that  even  old  tinderous  and  touch- 
woody  P.  J.  T.  Possibly  Jabbered  Thus,  at  some  odd  times, 
in  or  ibout  seventeen-forty-seven.  • 


CHAPTER  Xn. 

A    NIGHT    WITH    DURDLES. 

When  Mr.  Sapsea  has  nothing  better  to  do,  toward  even- 
ing, and  finds  the  contemplation  of  his  own  profundity  be- 
coming a  little  monotonous  in  spite  of  the  vastness  of  the 
subject,  he  often  takes  an  airing  in  the  cathedral  close  and 
thereabout.  He  likes  to  pass  the  church-yard  with  a  swell- 
ing air  of  proprietorship,  and  to  encourage  in  his  breast  a 
sort  of  benignant-landlord  feeling  in  that  he  has  been  boun- 
tiful toward  that  meritorious  tenant,  Mrs.  Sapsea,  and  has 
publicly  given  her  a  prize.  He  likes  to  see  a  stray  face  or 
two  looking  in  through  the  railings  and  perhaps  reading  his 
inscription.  Should  he  meet  a  stranger  coming  from  the 
church-yard  with  a  quick  step,  he  is  morally  convinced  that 
the  stranger  is  *'  with  a  blush  retiring,"  as  monumentally  di- 
rected. 

Mr.  Sapsea's  importance  has  received  enhancement,  for 
he  has  become  Mayor  of  Cloisterham.  Without  mayors  and 
many  of  them,  it  can  not  be  disputed  that  the  whole  frame- 
work of  society — Mr.  Sapsea  is  confident  that  he  invented 
that  forcible  figure — would  fall  to  pieces.  Mayors  have 
been  knighted  for  '*  going  up  "  with  addresses  ;  explosive 
machines  intrepidly  discharging  shot  and  shell  into  the 
English  Grammar.  Mr.  Sapsea  may  "  go  up  "  with  an  ad- 
dress. Rise,  Sir  Thomas  Sapsea  !  Of  such  is  the  salt  of  the 
earth. 

Mr.  Sapsea  has  improved  the  acquaintance  of  Mr.  Jasper, 


728         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

since  their  first  meeting  to  partake  of  port,  epitaph,  back- 
gammon, beef,  and  salad.  Mr.  Sapsea  has  been  received  at 
the  Gate  House  with  kindred  hospitality  ;  and  on  that 
occasion  Mr.  Jasper  seated  himself  at  the  piano,  and  sung  to 
him,  tickling  his  ears — figuratively,  long  enough  to  present  a 
considerable  area  for  tickling.  What  Mr.  Sapsea  likes  in 
that  young  man  is,  that  he  is  always  ready  to  profit  by  the 
wisdom  of  his  elders,  and  that  he  is  sound,  sir,  at  the  core. 
In  proof  of  which  he  sung  to  Mr.  Sapsea  that  evening  no 
kickshaw  ditties,  favorites  with  national  enemies,  but  gave 
him  the  genuine  George  the  Third  home-brewed,  exhorting 
him  (as  "  my  brave  boys")  to  reduce  to  a  smashed  condition 
all  other  islands  but  this  island,  and  all  continents,  penin- 
sulas, isthmuses,  promontories,  and  other  geographical 
forms  of  land  soever,  besides  sweeping  the  seas  in  all  direc- 
tions. In  short,  he  rendered  it  pretty  clear  that  Providence 
made  a  distinct  mistake  in  originating  so  small  a  nation  of 
hearts  of  oak,  and  so  many  other  verminous  peoples, 

Mr.  Sapsea,  walking  slowly  this  moist  evening  near  the 
church-yard  with  his  hands  behind  him,  on  the  lookout  for  a 
blushing  and  retiring  stranger,  turns  a  corner,  and  comes  in- 
stead into  the  goodly  presence  of  the  dean  conversing  with 
the  verger  and  Mr.  Jasper.  Mr.  Sapsea  makes  his  obeis- 
ance, and  is  instantly  stricken  far  more  ecclesiastical  than 
any  archbishop  of  York  or  Canterbury. 

"You  are  evidently  going  to  write  a  book  about  us,  Mr. 
Jasper,"  quoth  the  dean  ;  "  to  write  a  book  about  us.  Well ! 
We  are  very  ancient,  and  we  ought  to  make  a  good  book. 
We  are  not  so  richly  endowed  in  possessions  as  in  age  ;  but 
perhaps  you  will  put  that  in  your  book,  among  other  things, 
and  call  attention  to  our  wrongs." 

Mr.  Tope,  as  in  duty  bound,  is  greatly  entertained  by 
this. 

"  I  really  have  no  intention  at  all,  sir,"  replies  Jasper,  "  of 
turning  author  or  archaeologist.  It  is  but  a  whim  of  mine. 
And  even  for  my  whim,  Mr.  Sapsea  here  is  more  account- 
able than  I  am." 

"How  so,  Mr.  Mayor?"  says  the  dean,  with  a  nod  of 
good-natured  recognition  of  his  fetch.  "  How  is  that,  Mr. 
Mayor  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  aware,"  Mr.  Sapsea  remarks,  looking  about  him 
for  information,  "  to  what  the  very  reverend  the  dean  does 
me  the  honor  of  referring."  And  then  falls  to  studying  his 
original  in  minute  points  of  detail. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         729 

"  Durdles,"  Mr.  Tope  hints. 

"  Ay  !  "  the  dean  echoes  ;  "  Durdles,  Durdles  !  " 

"  The  truth  is,  sir,"  explains  Jasper,  *'  that  my  curiosity  in 
.  te  man  was  first  really  stimulated  by  Mr.  Sapsea.  Mr. 
bapsea's  knowledge  of  mankind,  and  power  of  drawing  out 
whatever  is  recluse  or  odd  about  him,  first  led  to  my  bestow- 
ing a  second  thought  upon  the  man  :  though  of  course  I  had 
met  him  constantly  about.  You  would  not  be  surprised  by 
this,  Mr.  Dean,  if  you  had  seen  Mr,  Sapsea  deal  with  him  in 
his  own  parlor  as  I  did." 

'*  Oh  !  "  cries  Sapsea,  picking  up  the  ball  thrown  to  him 
with  ineffable  complacency  and  pomposity  ;  "  yes,  yes.  The 
very  reverend  the  dean  refers  to  that  ?  Yes.  I  happened  to 
bring  Durdles  and  Mr.  Jasper  together.  I  regard  Durdles  as 
a  character." 

"  A  character,  Mr.  Sapsea,  that  with  a  few  skillful  touches 
you  turn  inside  out,"  says  Jasper. 

''  Nay,  not  quite  that,"  returns  the  lumbering  auctioneer. 
"  I  may  have  a  little  influence  over  him,  perhaps  ;  and  a  little 
insight  into  his  character,  perhaps.  The  very  reverend  the 
dean  will  please  to  bear  in  mind  that  I  have  seen  the  world." 
Here  Mr.  Sapsea  gets  a  little  behind  the  dean,  to  inspect  his 
coat-buttons. 

"  Well  !  "  says  the  dean,  looking  about  him  to  see  what  has 
become  of  his  copyist  ;  **  I  hope,  Mr.  Mayor,  you  will  use 
your  study  and  knowledge  of  Durdles  to  the  good  purpose  of 
exhorting  him  not  to  break  our  worthy  and  respected  choir- 
master's neck  ;  we  can  not  afford  it  ;  his  head  and  voice  are 
much  too  valuable  to  us." 

Mr.  Tope  is  again  highly  entertained,  and,  having  fallen 
into  respectful  convulsions  of  laughter,  subsides  into  a  defer- 
ential murmur,  importing  that  surely  any  gentleman  would 
deem  it  a  pleasure  and  an  honor  to  have  his  neck  broken  in 
return  for  such  a  compliment  from  such  a  source. 

"  I  will  take  it  upon  myself,  sir,"  observes  Sapsea,  loftily, 
'*  to  answer  for  Mr.  Jasper's  neck.  I  will  tell  Durdles  to  be 
careful  of  it.  He  will  mind  what  /say.  How  is  it  at  pres- 
ent endangered  ?  "  he  inquires,  looking  about  him  with  mag- 
nificent patronage. 

"  Only  by  my  making  a  moonlight  expedition  with  Durdles 
among  the  tombs,  vaults,  towers  and  ruins,''  returns  Jasper. 
"  You  remember  sugoiesting  when  you  brought  us  together, 
fhat,  as  a  lover  of  the  picturesque,  it  might  be  worth  my 
«rhile?" 


730         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

**  /remember  !  "  replies  the  auctioneer.  And  the  solemn 
idiot  really  believes  that  he  does  remember. 

"  Profiting  by  your  hint,"  pursues  Jasper,  *'  I  have  had 
some  day-rambles  with  the  extraordinary  old  fellow,  and 
v/e  are  to  make  a  moonlight  hole-and-corner  exploration 
to-night." 

"And  here  he  is,"  says  the  dean. 

Durdles,  with  his  dinner-bundle  in  his  hand,  is  indeed  be- 
held slouching  toward  them.  Slouching  nearer,  and  per- 
ceiving the  dean,  he  pulls  off  his  hat,  and  is  slouching  away 
with  it  under  his  arm,  when  Mr.  Sapsea  stops  him. 

*'  Mind  you  take  care  of  my  friend,"  is  the  injunction  Mr. 
Sapsea  lays  upon  him. 

''  What  friend  o'  yourn  is  dead  }  "  asks  Durdles.  "  No  or- 
ders has  come  in  for  any  friend  o'  yourn." 

"I  mean  my  live  friend,  there." 

"  Oh  !  Him  ?  "  says  Durdles.  '*  He  can  take  care  of  him- 
self, can  Mister  Jasper  !  " 

"  But  do  you  take  care  of  him  too,"  says  Sapsea. 

Whom  Durdles  (there  being  command  in  his  tone)  surlily 
surveys  from  head  to  foot. 

"  With  submission  to  his  reverence  the  dean,  if  you'll 
mind  what  concerns  you,  Mr.  Sapsea,  Durdles  he'll  mind 
what  concerns  him." 

"  You're  out  of  temper,"  says  Mr.  Sapsea,  winking  to  the 
company  to  observe  how  smoothly  he  will  manage  him.  "  My 
friend  concerns  me,  and  Mr.  Jasper  is  my  friend.  And  you 
are  my  friend." 

"  Don't  you  get  into  a  bad  habit  of  boasting,"  retorts  Dur- 
dles with  a  grave,  cautionary  nod.     "It'll  grow  upon  you." 

"  You  are  out  of  temper,"  says  Sapsea  again,  reddening, 
but  again  winking  to  the  conipany. 

"  I  own  to  it,"  returns  Durdles  ;  "  I  don't  like  liberties." 

Mr.  Sapsea  winks  a  third  wink  to  the  company,  as  who 
should  say,  "  I  think  you  will  agree  with  me  that  I  have  set- 
tled /lis  business  ;  "  and  stalks  out  of  the  controversy. 

Durdles  then  gives  the  dean  a  good-evening,  and  adding, 
as  he  puts  his  hat  on,  "  You'll  find  me  at  home.  Mister  Jars- 
per,  as  agreed,  when  you  want  me  ;  I'm  a-going  home  to 
clean  myself,"  soon  slouches  out  of  sight.  This  going  home 
to  clean  himself  is  one  of  the  man's  incomprehensible  com- 
promises with  inexorable  facts  ;  he,  and  his  hat,  and  his 
boots,  and  his  clothes,  never  showing  any  trace  of  cleaning 
but  being  uniformly  in  one  condition  of  dust  and  grit. 


THE  MVilERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         731 

The  lamp-lighter  now  dotting  the  quiet  close  with  specks 
of  fight,  cand  running  at  a  great  rate  up  and  down  his  little 
ladder  with  that  object — his  little  ladder  under  the  sacred 
shadow  of  whose  inconvenience  generations  had  grown  up, 
and  which  all  Cloisterham  would  have  stood  aghast  at  the 
idea  of  abolishing — the  dean  withdraws  to  his  dinner,  Mr. 
Tope  to  his  tea,  and  Mr.  Jasper  to  his  piano.  There,  with 
no  light  but  that  of  the  fire,  he  sits  chanting  choir  music  in  a 
low  and  beautiful  voice  for  two  or  three  hours  ;  in  shorty 
until  it  has  been  for  some  time  dark,  and  the  moon  is  about 
to  rise. 

Then  he  closes  his  piano  softly,  softly  changes  his  coat  for 
a  pea-jacket  with  a  goodly  wicker-cased  bottle  in  its  largest 
pocket,  and  putting  on  a  low-crowned,  flap-brimmed  hat,  goes 
softly  out.  Why  does  he  move  so  softly  to-night  ?  No  out- 
ward reason  is  apparent  for  it.  Can  there  be  any  sympa- 
thetic reason  crouching  darkly  within  him  ? 

Repairing  to  Durdles's  unfinished  house,  or  hole  in  the  city 
wall,  and  seeing  a  light  within  it,  he  softly  picks  his  course 
among  the  gravestones,  monuments,  and  stony  lumber  of  the 
yard,  already  touched  here  and  there,  sidewise,  by  the  rising 
moon.  The  two  journeymen  have  left  their  two  great  saws 
sticking  in  their  blocks  of  stone  ;  and  two  skeleton  journey- 
men out  of  the  Dance  of  Death  might  be  grinning  in  the 
shadow  of  their  sheltering  sentry-boxes  about  to  slash  away 
at  cutting  out  the  gravestones  of  the  next  two  people  des- 
tined to  die  in  Cloisterham.  Likely  enough  the  two  think 
little  of  that  now,  being  alive,  and  perhaps  merry.  Curious 
to  make  a  guess  at  the  two — or  say,  at  one  of  the  two  !  " 

"Ho!     Du.rdles!" 

The  light  moves,  and  he  appears  with  it  at  the  door. 
He  would  seem  to  have  been  "cleaning  himself"  with  the 
aid  of  a  bottle,  jug,  and  tumbler  ;  for  no  other  cleansing 
instruments  are  visible  in  the  bare  brick  room  with  rafters 
overhead  and  no  plastered  ceiling,  into  which  he  shows  his 
visitor. 

"Are  you  ready  ?  " 

"I  am  ready.  Mister  Jarsper.  Let  the  old  uns  come  out 
if  they  dare  when  we  go  among  their  tombs.  My  spirits  is 
ready  for  'em." 

"Do  you  mean  animal  spirits,  or  ardent?" 

"  The  one's  the  t'other,"  answered  Durdles,  "  and  I  mean 
'em  both." 

He  takes  a  lantern  from  a  hook,  puts  a  match  or  two  in  his 


732         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

pocket  wherewith  to  light  it,  should  there  be  need,  and  they 
go  out  together,  dinner-bundle  and  all. 

Surely  an  unaccountable  sort  of  expedition  !  That  Dur- 
dles  himself,  who  is  always  prowling  among  old  graves  and 
ruins  like  a  ghoul — that  he  should  be  stealing  forth  to  climb 
and  dive  and  wander  without  an  object,  is  nothing  extraor- 
dmary  ;  but  that  the  choirmaster  or  any  one  else  should 
hold  it  worth  his  while  to  be  with  him,  and  to  study  moon- 
light effects  in  such  company,  is  another  affair.  Surely  an 
unaccountable  sort  of  expedition  therefore  ! 

*'  'Ware  that  there  mound  by  the  yard-gate.  Mister  Jars- 
per." 

*'I  see  it.     What  is  it?" 

"  Lime." 

Mr.  Jasper  stops,  and  waits  for  him  to  come  up,  for  he  lags 
behind.     "  What  you  call  quick-lime  ?  " 

"Ay  !"  says  Durdles  ;  "quick  enough  to  eat  your  boots. 
With  a  little  handy  stirring,  quick  enough  to  eat  your 
bones." 

They  go  on,  presently  passing  the  red  windows  of  the 
Travelers'  T\voi)enny  and  emerging  into  the  clear  moon- 
light of  the  Monks'  Vineyard.  This  crossed,  they  come  to 
Minor  Canon  Corner,  of  which  the  greater  part  lies  in  shadow 
until  the  moon  shall  rise  higher  in  the  sky. 

The  sound  of  a  closing  house-door  strikes  their  ears,  and 
two  men  come  out.  These  are  Mr.  Crisparkle  and  Neville. 
Jasper,  with  a  strange  and  sudden  smile  upon  his  face.  Jays  the 
palm  of  his  hand  upon  the  breast  of  Durdles,  stopping  him 
where  he  stands. 

At  that  end  of  Minor  Canon  Corner  the  shadow  is  pro- 
found in  the  existing  state  of  the  light  ;  at  that  end,  too, 
there  is  a  piece  of  old  dwarf  wall,  breast  high,  the  only  re- 
maining boundary  of  what  was  once  a  garden,  but  is  now  the 
thoroughfare.  Jasper  and  Durdles  would  have  turned  tliis 
wall  in  another  instant,  but  stopping  so  short,  stand  behind 
it. 

"  Those  two  are  only  sauntering,"  Jasper  whispers  ;  "  they 
will  go  out  into  the  moonlight  soon.  Let  us  keep  quiet  here, 
or  they  will  detain  us,  or  want  to  join  us,  or  what  not." 

Durdles  nods  assent,  and  falls  to  munching  some  fragments 
from  his  bundle.  Jasper  folds  his  arms  upon  the  top  of  the 
wall,  and,  with  his  chin  resting  on  them,  Avatches.  He  takes 
no  note  of  the  minor  canon,  but  watches  Neville,  as  though 
his  eyes  were  at  the  trigger  of  a  loaded  rifle,  and  he  had  cov- 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN   DROOD.        733 

ered  him,  and  were  going  to  fire.  A  sense  of  destructive 
power  is  so  expressed  in  his  face  that  even  Durdles  pauses 
in  his  munching,  and  looks  at  him,  with  an  unmunched  some- 
thing in  his  cheek. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Crisparkle  and  Neville  walk  to  and  fro, 
quietly  talking  together.  What  they  say  can  not  be  heard 
consecutively,  but  Mr.  Jasper  has  already  distinguished  his 
own  name  more  than  once. 

"  This  is  the  first  day  of  the  week,"  Mr.  Crisparkle  can  be 
distinctly  heard  to  observe  as  they  turn  back,  "  and  the  last 
day  of  the  week  is  Christmas  Eve." 

**  You  may  be  certain  of  me,  sir." 

The  echoes  were  favorable  at  those  points,  but  as  the  two 
approached,  the  sound  of  their  talking  becomes  confused 
again.  The  word  "  confidence,"  shattered  by  the  echoes, 
but  still  capable  of  being  pieced  together,  is  uttered  by  Mr. 
Crisparkle.  As  they  draw  still  nearer,  this  fragment  of  a 
replr  is  heard  :  "Not  deserved  yet,  but  shall  be,  sir."  As 
they  Lurn  away  again  Jasper  again  hears  his  own  name  in 
connection  with  the  words  from  Mr.  Crisparkle,  *'  Remem- 
ber that  I  said  I  answered  for  you  confidently."  Then  the 
sound  of  their  talk  becomes  confused  again  :  they  halt- 
ing for  a  little  while,  and  some  earnest  action  on  the  part 
of  Neville  succeeding.  When  they  move  once  more,  Mr. 
Crisparkle  is  seen  to  look  up  at  the  sky,  and  to  point  before 
him.  They  then  slowly  disappear,  passing  out  into  the  moon- 
light at  the  opposite  end  of  the  corner. 

It  is  not  until  they  are  gone  that  Mr.  Jasper  moves.  But 
then  he  turns  to  Durdles,  and  bursts  into  a  fit  of  laughter. 
Durdles,  who  still  has  that  suspended  something  in  his 
cheek,  and  who  sees  nothing  to  laugh  at,  stares  at  him  until 
Mr.  Jasper  lays  his  face  down  on  his  arms  to  have  his  laugh 
out.  Then  Durdles  bolts  the  something,  as  if  desperately 
resi-^ning  himself  to  indigestion. 

Among  those  secluded  nooks  there  is  very  little  stir  or 
movement  after  dark.  There  is  little  enough  in  the  high- 
tide  of  the  day,  but  there  is  next  to  none  at  night.  Besides 
that  the  cheerful  frequented  High  Street  lies  nearly  parallel 
to  the  spot  (the  old  cathedral  rising  between  the  two),  and 
is  the  natural  channel  in  which  the  Cloisterham  traffic  flo^vs, 
a  certain  awful  hush  pervades  the  ancient  pile,  the  cloisters, 
and  the  church-yard,  after  dark,  which  not  many  people 
care  to  encounter.  Ask  che  first  hundred  citizens  of  Cloister- 
ham,  met  at  random  in  the  streets  at  noon,  if  they  believed 


734        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

in  ghosts,  they  would  tell  you  no  ;  but  put  them  to  choose 
at  night  between  these  eyry  precincts  and  the  thoroughfare 
of  shops,  and  you  would  find  that  ninety-nine  declared  for 
the  longer  round  and  the  more  frequented  way.  The  cause 
of  this  is  not  to  be  found  in  any  local  superstition  that 
attaches  to  the  precincts — albeit  a  mysterious  lady,  with  a 
child  in  her  arms  and  a  rope  dangling  from  her  neck,  has 
been  seen  flitting  about  there  by  sundry  witnesses  as  intangi- 
ble as  herself — but  it  is  to  be  sought  in  the  innate  shrinking 
of  dust  with  the  breath  of  life  in  it  from  dust  out  of  which 
the  breath  of  life  has  passed  ;  also,  in  the  widely  diffused, 
and  almost  as  widely  unacknowledged,  reflection  :  "  If  the 
dead  do,  under  any  circumstances,  become  visible  to  the 
living,  these  are  such  likely  surroundings  for  the  purpose 
that  I,  the  living,  will  get  out  of  them  as  soon  as  I  can." 

Hence,  when  Mr.  Jasper  and  Durdles  pause  to  glance 
around  them,  before  descending  into  the  crypt  by  a  small 
side  door,  of  which  the  latter  has  a  key,  the  whole  expanse 
of  moonlight  in  their  view  is  utterly  deserted.  One  might 
fancy  that  the  tide  of  life  was  stemmed  by  Mr.  Jasper's  own 
Gate  House.  The  murmur  of  the  tide  is  heard  beyond  ; 
but  no  wave  passes  the  archway,  .over  which  his  lamp 
burns  red  behind  his  curtain,  as  if  the  building  were  a 
light-house. 

They  enter,  locking  themselves  in,  descend  the  rugged 
steps,  and  are  down  in  the  crypt.  The  lantern  is  not 
wanted,  for  the  moonlight  strikes  in  at  the  groined  windows, 
bare  of  glass,  the  broken  frames  for  which  cast  patterns  on 
the  ground.  The  heavy  pillars  which  support  the  roof  en- 
gender masses  of  black  shade,  but  between  them  there  are 
lanes  of  light.  Up  and  down  these  lanes  they  walk,  Durdles 
discoursing  of  the  "old  uns  "  he  yet  counts  on  disinterring, 
and  slapping  a  wall,  in  which  he  considers  "  a  whole  family 
on  'em  "  to  be  stoned  and  earthed  up,  just  as  if  he  were  a 
familiar  friend  of  the  family.  The  taciturnity  of  Durdles 
is  for  the  time  overcome  by  Mr.  Jaspci  s  wicker  bottle, 
which  circulates  freely  ; — in  the  sense,  that  is  to  say,  that 
its  contents  enter  freely  into  Mr.  Durdles's  circulation, 
while  Mr.  Jasper  only  rinses  his  mouth  once,  and  casts  forth 
the  rinsing. 

They  are  to  ascend  the  great  tower.  On  the  steps  by 
which  they  rise  to  the  cathedral,  Durdles  pauses  for  new- 
store  of  breath.  The  steps  are  very  dark,  but  out  of  the 
darkness  they  can  see  the  lanes  of  light  they  have  traversed. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWiN  DROOD.        735 

Durdles  seats  himself  upon  a  step.  Mr,  Jasper  seats  him- 
self upon  another.  The  odor  from  the  wicker  bottle 
(which  has  somehow  passed  into  Durdles's  keeping)  soon 
intimates  that  the  cork  has  been  taken  out  ;  but  this  is 
not  ascertainable  through  the  sense  of  sight,  since  neither 
can  descry  the  other.  And  yet,  in  talking,  they  turn  to 
one  another,  as  though  their  faces  could  commune  together. 

"  This  is  good  stuff,  Mister  Jarsper  !  " 

*'  It  is  very  good  stuff,  I  hope.     I  bought  it  on  purpose." 

"  They  don't  show,  you  see,  the  old  uns  don't,  Mister 
Jarsper  !  " 

"  It  would  be  a  more  confused  world  than  it  is,  if  they 
could." 

*'  Well,  it  would  lead  toward  a  mixing  of  things,"  Durdles 
acquiesces  ;  pausing  on  the  remark,  as  if  the  idea  of  ghosts 
had  not  previously  presented  itself  to  him  in  a  merely  incon- 
venient light,  domestically,  chronologically.  "  But  do  you 
think  there  may  be  ghosts  of  other  things,  though  not  of 
men  and  women  ?  " 

*'  What  things  ?  Flower-beds  and  watering-pots  ?  Horses 
and  harness  ?  " 

''  xNo.     Sounds." 

"What  sounds?" 

*'  Cries." 

"  What  cries  do  you  mean  ?     Chairs  to  mend  ?  " 

"No.  I  mean  screeches.  Now,  I'll  tell  you,  I^Iister 
Jarsper.  Wait  a  bit  till  I  put  the  bottle  right."  Here  the 
cork  is  evidently  taken  out  again,  and  replaced  again. 
"  There  !  Now  it's  right  !  This  time  last  year,  only  a  few 
days  later,  I  happened  to  have  been  doing  what  was  correct 
by  the  season,  in  the  way  of  giving  it  the  welcome  it  had  a 
right  to  expect,  when  them  town-boys  set  on  me  at  their 
worst.  At  length  I  gave  'em  the  slip  and  turned  in  here. 
And  here  I  fell  asleep.  And  what  woke  me  ?  The  ghost  of 
a  cry.  The  ghost  of  one  terrific  shriek,  which  shriek  was 
followed  by  the  ghost  of  the  howl  of  a  dog,  a  long,  dismal, 
woeful  howl,  such  as  a  dog  gives  when  a  person's  dead. 
That  was  ?ny  last  Christmas  Eve." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  is  the  very  abrupt,  and,  one  might 
say,  fierce  retort. 

"  I  mean  that  I  made  inquiries  everywhere  about,  and 
that  no  living  ears  but  mine  heard  either  that  cry  or  that 
howl.  So  I  say  they  was  both  ghosts;  though  why  they 
came  to  me,  I've  never  made  out." 


736         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

I  thought  you  were  another  kind  of  man,"  says  Jaspc;r, 
scornfully. 

"  So  I  thought  myself,"  answers  Durdles,  with  his  usual 
composure  ;  "and  yet  I  was  picked  out  for  it." 

Jasper  had  risen  suddenly,  when  he  asked  him  what  he 
meant,  and  he  now  says,  "  Come,  we  shall  freeze  here  ;  lead 
the  way." 

Durdles  complies,  not  over-steadily  ;  opens  the  door  at 
the  top  of  the  steps  with  the  key  he  has  already  used  ;  and 
so  emerges  on  the  cathedral  level,  in  a  passage  at  the  side 
of  the  chancel.  Here,  the  moonlight  is  so  very  bright  again 
that  the  colors  of  the  nearest  stained-glass  window  are 
thrown  upon  their  faces.  The  appearance  of  the  uncon- 
scious Durdles,  holding  the  door  open  for  his  companion  to 
follow,  as  if  from  the  grave,  is  ghastly  enough,  with  a  purple 
band  across  his  face,  and  a  yellow  splash  upon  his  brow  ; 
but  he  bears  the  close  scrutiny  of  his  coinpanion  in  an  insen- 
sible way,  although  it  is  prolonged  while  the  latter  fumbles 
among  his  pockets  for  a  key  confided  to  him  that  will  open 
an  iron  gate  so  to  enable  them  to  pass  to  the  staircase  of  the 
great  tower. 

"  That  and  the  bottle  are  enough  for  you  to  carry,"  he 
says,  giving  it  to  Durdles,  '^  hand  your  bundle  to  me  ;  I  am 
younger  and  longer-winded  than  you."  Durdles  hesitates 
for  a  moment  between  bundle  and  bottle  ;  but  gives  the 
preference  to  the  bottle  as  being  by  far  the  better  company, 
and  consigns  the  dry-weight  to  his  fellow-explorer. 

Then  they  go  up  the  winding  staircase  of  the  great  tower, 
toilsomely,  turning  and  turning,  and  lowering  their  heads  to 
avoid  the  stairs  above,  or  the  rough  stone  pivot  around  which 
they  twist.  Durdles  has  lighted  his  lantern,  by  drawing 
from  the  cold  hard  wall  a  spark  of  that  mysterious  fire  which 
lurks  in  every  thing,  and,  guided  by  this  speck,  they  clamber 
up  among  the  cobwebs  and  the  dust.  Their  way  lies  through 
strange  places.  Twice  or  thrice  they  emerge  into  level,  low- 
arched  galleries,  whence  they  can  look  down  into  the  moon- 
lit nave  :  and  where  Durdles,  waving  his  lantern,  shows  the 
dim  angels'  heads  upon  the  corbels  of  the  roof,  seemmg  to 
watch  their  progress.  Anon,  they  turn  into  narrow  and 
steeper  staircases,  and  the  night  air  begins  to  blow  upon 
them,  and  the  chirp  of  some  startled  jackdaw  or  frightened 
rook  precedes  the  heavy  beating  of  wings  in  a  confined 
space,  and  the  beating  down  of  dust  and  straws  upon  their 
heads.     At   last,   leaving   their  light  behind  a   stair — for  it 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        737 

blows  fresh  up  here — they  look  down  on  Cloisterliam,  fair 
to  see  in  the  moonlight  ;  its  ruined  habitations  and  sanctua- 
ries of  the  dead,  at  the  tower's  base  ;  its  moss-softened,  red- 
tiled  roofs  and  red  brick  houses  of  the  living,  clustered 
beyond  ;  its  river  winding  down  from  the  mist  on  the  horizon, 
as  though  tl\at  were  its  source,  and  already  heaving  with  a 
restless  knowledge  of  its  approacii  toward  the  sea. 

Once  again,  an  unaccountable  expedition  this  !  Jasper 
(always  moving  softly,  with  no  visible  reason)  contemplates 
the  scene,  and  especially  that  stillest  part  of  it  which  the 
cathedral  overshadows.  But  he  contemplates  Durdles  quite 
as  curiously,  and  Durdles  is  by  times  conscious  of  his  watch- 
ful eyes. 

Only  by  times,  because  Durdles  is  growing  drowsy.  As 
aeronauts  lighten  the  load  they  carry,  when  they  wish  to  rise, 
similarly  Durdles  has  lightened  the  wicker  bottle  in  coming 
up.  Snatches  of  sleep  surprise  him  on  his  legs,  and  stop  him 
in  his  talk.  A  mild  lit  of  ':alenture  seizes  him,  in  which  he 
deems  that  the  ground,  so  fai  below,  is  on  a  level  with  the  tower, 
and  would  as  lief  walk  off  the  tower  into  the  air  as  not. 
Such  is  his  state  when  they  begin  to  come  down.  And  as 
aeronauts  make  themselves  heavier  when  they  wish  to  de- 
scend, similarly  Durdles  charges  himself  with  more  liquid 
from  the  wicker  bottle,  that  he  may  come  down  the  bet- 
ter. 

The  iron  gate  attained  and  locked — but  not  Defore  Dur- 
dles has  tumbled  twice,  and  cut  an  eyebrow  open  once — they 
descend  into  the  crypt  again,  with  the  intent  of  issuing  forth 
as  they  entered.  But,  while  returning  among  those  lanes  of 
light,  Durdles  becomes  so  very  uncertain,  both  of  foot  and 
speech,  that  he  half  drops,  half  throws  himself  down,  by  one 
of  the  heavy  pillars,  scarcely  less  heavy  than  itself,  and  in- 
distinctly appeals  to  his  companion  for  forty  winks  of  a 
second  each. 

**  If  you  will  have  it  so,  or  must  have  it  so,"  replies  Jasper, 
"  I'll  not  leave  you  here.  Take  them  while  I  walk  to  and 
fro." 

Durdles  is  asleep  at  once  ;  and  in  his  sleep  he  dreams  a 
dream. 

It  is  not  much  of  a  dream,  considering  the  vast  extent  of 
the  domains  of  dreamland,  and  their  wonderful  productions  ; 
it  is  only  remarkable  for  being  unusually  restless,  and  un- 
usually real.  He  dreams  of  lying  there,  asleep,  and  yet 
counting  his  companion's  footsteps  as  he  v/alks  to  and  fro. 


738        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWlN  DROOD. 

He  dreams  that  the  footsteps  die  away  into  distance  of  time 
and  of  space,  and  that  something  touches  him,  and  that 
something  falls  from  his  hand.  Then  something  clinks  and 
gropes  about,  and  he  dreams  that  he  is  alone  for  so  long  a 
time,  that  the  lanes  of  light  take  new  directions  as  the  moon 
advances  in  her  course.  From  succeeding  unconsciousness, 
he  passes  into  a  dream  of  slow  uneasiness  from  cold,  and 
painfully  awakes  to  a  perception  of  the  lanes  of  light — really 
changed,  as  much  as  he  had  dreamed — and  Jasper  walking 
among  them,  beating  his  hands  and  feet. 

"  Holloa  !  "   Durdles  cries  out,  unmeaningly  alarmed. 

''Awake  at  last?"  says  Jasper,  coming  up  to  him.  "Do 
you  know  that  your  forties  have  stretched  into  thousands  ?" 

"  No." 

''  They  have  though." 

''What's  the  time  ?" 

"  Hark  !     The  bells  are  going  in  the  tower  !  " 

They  strike  four  quarters,  and  then  the  great  bell  strikes. 

"  Two  !  "  cries  Durdles,  scrambling  up  ;  "  why  didn't  you 
try  to  wake  me,  Mister  Jarsper  ?  " 

*'  I  did.  I  might  as  well  have  tried  to  wake  the  dead  ; — 
your  own  family  of  dead,  up  in  the  corner  there." 

"  Did  you  touch  me  ?  " 

"  Touch  you  ?     Yes.     Shook  you." 

As  Durdles  recalls  that  touching  something  in  his  dream, 
he  looks  down  on  the  pavement,  and  sees  the  key  of  the 
crypt  door  lying  close  to  where  he  himself  lay. 

"I  dropped  you,  did  I?"  he  says,  picking  it. up,  and  re- 
calling that  part  of  his  dream.  As  he  gathers  himself  again 
into  an  upright  position,  or  into  a  position  as  nearly  upright 
as  he  ever  maintains,  he  is  again  conscious  of  being  watched 
by  his  companion. 

''Well?"  say  Jasper,  smiling.  "Are  you  quite  ready? 
Pray  don't  hurry." 

"  Let  me  get  my  bundle  right,  Mister  Jarsper,  and  I'm  with 
you." 

As  he  ties  it  afresh,  he  is  once  more  conscious  that  he  is 
very  narrowly  observed. 

"  What  do  you  suspect  me  of,  Mister  Jarsper  ? "  he  asks, 
with  drunken  displeasure.  "  Let  them  as  has  any  suspicions 
of  Durdles  name  'em." 

"  Fve  no  suspicions  of  you,  my  good  Mr.  Durdles  ;  but  I 
have  suspicions  that  my  bottle  was  filled  with  something 
stiffer  than  either  of  us  supposed.     And  I  also  have  suspi- 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         739 

cions,"  Jasper  adds,  taking  it  from  the  pavement  and  turn- 
ing it  bottom  upward,  "  that  it's  empty." 

Durdles  condescends  to  laugh  at  this.  Continuing  to 
chuckle  when  his  laugh  is  over,  as  though  remonstrant  with 
himself  on  his  drinking  powers,  he  rolls  to  the  door  and 
unlocks  it.  They  both  pass  out,  and  Durdles  relocks  it,  and 
pockets  his  key. 

"  A  thousand  thanks  for  a  curious  and  interesting  night," 
says  Jasper,  giving  him  his  hand  ;  *'you  can  make  your  own 
way  home?" 

"  I  should  think  so  !  "  answered  Durdles.  "  If  you  was 
to  offer  Durdles  the  affront  to  show  him  his  way  home,  he 
wouldn't  go  home. 

Durdles  wouldn't  go  home  till  morning, 
And  the}i  Durdles  wouldn't  go  home, 

Durdles  wouldn't."     This,  with  the  utmost  defiance. 

"  Good-night,  then." 

"  Good-night,  Mister  Jaisper." 

Each  is  turning  his  own  way,  when  a  sharp  whistle  rends 
the  silence,  and  the  jargon  is  yelped  out  : — 

N  "  Widdy  widdy  wen  .' 

I — ket — ches — Im — out — ar — ter — ten, 
Widdy  widdy  wy  ! 

Then  — E — don't — go — then — I— shy — 
Widdy  Widdy  Wake-cock  warning  !  '* 

Instantly  afterward,  a  rapid  fire  of  stones  rattles  at  the 
cathedral  wall,  and  the  hideous  small  boy  is  beheld  oppo- 
site, dancing  in  the  moonlight. 

''  What  !  Is  that  baby-devil  on  the  watch  !  "  cries  Jas- 
per, in  a  fury,  so  quickly  roused,  and  so  violent,  that  he 
seems  an  older  devil  himself.  "  I  shall  shed  the  blood  of 
that  impish  wretch  !  I  know  I  shall  do  it  !  "  Regardless 
of  the  fire,  though  it  hits  him  more  than  once,  he  rushes  at 
Deputy,  collars  him,  and  tries  to  bring  him  across.  But 
Deputy  is  not  to  be  so  easily  brought  across.  With  a  dia- 
bolical insight  into  the  strongest  part  of  his  position,  he  is 
no  sooner  taken  by  the  throat  than  he  curls  up  his  legs, 
forces  his  assailant  to  hang  him,  as  it  were,  and  gurgles  in 
his  throat,  and  screws  his  body,  and  twists,  as  already  un- 
dergoing the  first  agonies  of  strangulation.  There  is  noth- 
ing for  it  buf  to  drop  him.  He  instantly  gets  himself  to- 
gether, backs  over  to  Durdles,  and  cries  to  his  assailant, 
gnashing  the  great  gap  in  front  of  his  mouth  with  rage  and 
malice :  . 


740         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  I'll  blind  yer,  s'elp  me  !  I'll  stone  yer  eyes  out,  s'elp 
me  !  If  I  don't  have  yer  eyesight,  bellows  me  !  "  at  the 
same  time  dodging  behind  Durdles,  and  snarling  at  Jasper, 
now  from  this  side  of  him,  and  now.  from  that  ;  prepared,  if 
pounced  upon,  to  dart  away  in  all  manner  of  curvilinear 
directions,  and,  if  run  down  after  all,  to  grovel  in  the  dust, 
and  cry,  "  Now,  hit  me  when  I'm  down  I     Do  it  !  " 

"  Don't  hurt  the  boy,  Mister  Jarsper,"  urges  Durdles, 
shielding  him.     *'  Recollect  yourself." 

"  He  followed  us  to-night,  when  we  first  came  here  !  " 
''Yer  lie,  I  didn't  [  "  replies   Deputy,  in    his  one  form  of 
polite  contradiction. 

*'  He  has  been  prowling  near  us  ever  since  !  " 
"  Yer  lie,  I  haven't!"    returns   Deputy.     "I'd   only   jist 
come  out  for  my  'elth  when  I  see  you  two  a-coming  out  of 
the  Kinfreederel.     If — 

I— ket — ches — Im — out — ar — ter — ten," 

(with  the  usual  rhythm  and  dance,  though  dodging  behind 
Durdles),  "  it  ain't  my  fault,  is  it  ?  " 

"  Take  him  home,  then,"  retorts  Jasper,  ferociously,  though 
with  a  strong  check  upon  himself,  *'  and  let  my  eyes  be  rid 
the  sight  of  you  !  " 

Deputy,  with  another  sharp  whistle,  at  once  expressing  his 
relief,  and  his  commencement  of  a  milder  stoning  of  Mr. 
Durdles,  begins  stoning  that  respectable  gentleman  home,  as 
if  he  were  a  reluctant  ox.  Mr.  Jasper  goes  to  his  Gate  House, 
brooding.  And  thus,  as  every  thing  comes  to  an  end,  the 
unaccountable  expedition  comes  to  an  end — for  the  time. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

BOTH  AT  THEIR  BEST. 

Miss  Twinkleton's  establishment  was  about  to  undergo  a 
serene  hush.  The  Christmas  recess  was  at  hand.  What  had 
once,  and  at  no  remote  period,  been  called,  even  by  the 
erudite  Miss  Twinkleton  herself,  "  the  half,"  but  v/hat  was 
now  called,  as  being  more  elegant,  and  more  strictly  col- 
legiate, "  the  term,"  would  expire  to-morrow.  A  noticeable 
relaxation  of  discipline  had  for  some  few  days  pervaded  the 
Nuns'  House.  Club  suppers  had  occurred  in  the  bedrooms, 
and  9  dressed  tongue  had  been   carved  with   a  pair  of  scis* 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         741 

sors,  and  handed  round  with  the  curling-tongs.  Portions  of 
marmalade  had  likewise  been  distributed  on  a  service  of 
plates  constructed  of  curl-paper  ;  and  cowslip  wine  had  been 
quaffed  from  the  small  squat  m.easuring  glass  in  which  little 
Rickitts  (a  junior  of  weakly  constitution)  took  her  steel 
drops  daily.  The  housemaids  had  been  bribed  with  various 
fragments  of  ribbon,  and  sundry  pairs  of  shoes  more  or  less 
down  at  heel,  to  make  no  mention  of  crumbs  in  the  beds  ; 
the  airiest  costumes  had  been  worn  on  these  festive  occa- 
sions ;  and  the  daring  Miss  Ferdinand  had  even  surprised 
the  company  with  a  sprightly  solo  on  the  comb-and-curl- 
paper,  until  suffocated  in  her  own  pillow  by  two  flowing- 
haired  executioners. 

Nor  were  these  the  only  tokens  of  dispersal.  Boxes  ap- 
peared in  the  bedrooms  (wliere  they  were  capital  at  other 
time),  and  a  surprising  amount  of  packing  took  place,  out  of 
all  proportion  to  the  amount  packed.  Largess,  in  the  form 
of  odds  and  ends  of  cold  cream  and  pomatum,  and  also  of 
hairpins,  was  freely  distributed  among  the  attendants. 
On  charges  of  inviolable  secrecy,  confidences  were  inter- 
changed respecting  golden  youth  of  England  expected  to 
call,  "  at  home,"  on  the  first  opportunity.  Miss  Giggles 
(deficient  in  sentiment)  did  indeed  profess  that  she,  for  her 
part,  acknowledged  such  homage  by  making  faces  at  the 
golden  youth  ;  but  this  young  lady  was  outvoted  by  an  im- 
mense majority. 

On  the  last  night  before  a  recess,  it  was  always  expressly 
made  a  point  of  honor  that  nobody  should  go  to  sleep,  and 
that  ghosts  should  be  encouraged  by  all  possible  means. 
This  compact  invariably  broke  down,  and  all  the  young 
ladies  went  to  sleep  very  soon  and  got  up  very  early. 

The  concluding  ceremony  came  off  at  twelve  o'clock  on 
the  day  of  departure  ;  when  Miss  Twinkleton,  supported  by 
Mrs.  Tisher,  held  a  drawing-room  in  her  own  apartment  (the 
globes  already  covered  with  brown  holland),  where  glasses 
of  white  wine  and  plates  of  pound-cake  were  discovered  on 
the  table.  Miss  Twinkleton  then  said.  Ladies,  another  re- 
volving year  had  brought  us  round  to  that  festive  period  at 
which  the  first  feelings  of  our  nature  bounded  in  our — Miss 
Twinkleton  was  annually  going  to  add  "bosoms,"  but  an- 
nually stopped  on  the  brink  of  that  expression,  and  substi- 
tuted "  hearts."  Hearts;  our  hearts.  Hem!  Again,  a  re- 
volving year,  ladies,  had  brought  us  to  a  pause  in  our 
studies — let   us  hope  our   greatly  advanced  studies — and, 


742         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

like  the  mariner  in  his  bark,  the  warrior  in  his  ter.t,  the  cap- 
tive in  his  dungeon,  and  the  traveler  in  his  various  convey- 
ances, we  yearned  for  hon^e.  Did  we  say,  on  such  an  occa- 
sion, in  the  opening  words  of  Mr.  Addison's  impressive 
tragedy  : 

•'  The  dawn  is  overcast,  the  morning  lowers. 
And  heavily  in  clouds  brings  on  the  day. 
The  great,  th'  important  day — ?  " 

Not  so.  From  horizon  to  zenith  all  was  coleiir  de  rose^  for 
all  was  redolent  of  our  relations  and  friends.  Might  we  find 
ihe??i  prospering  as  we  expected  ;  might  they  find  us  prosper- 
ing as  they  expected  !  Ladies,  we  would  now,  with  our  love 
to  one  another,  wish  one  another  good-by,  and  happiness, 
until  we  meet  again.  And  when  the  time  should  come  for 
our  resumption  of  those  pursuits  which  (here  a  general  de- 
pression set  in  all  round),  pursuits  which,  pursuits  which — 
then  let  us  ever  remember  wiiat  was  said  by  the  Spartan  gen- 
eral, in  words  too  trite  for  repetition,  at  the  battle  it  were 
superfluous  to  specify. 

The  handmaidens  of  the  establishment,  in  their  best  caps, 
then  handed  the  trays,  and  the  young  ladies  sipped  and 
crumbled,  and  the  bespoken  coaches  began  to  choke  the 
street.  Then,  leave-taking  was  not  long  about,  and  Miss 
Twinkleton,  in  saluting  each  young  lady's  cheek,  confided 
to  her  an  exceedingly  neat  letter,  addressed  to  her  next 
friend-at-law,  "with  Miss  Twinkleton's  best  compliments" 
in  the  corner.  This  missive  she  handed  with  an  air  as  if  it 
had  not  the  least  connection  with  the  bill,  but  were  some- 
thing in  the  nature  of  a  delicate  and  joyful  surprise. 

So  many  times  had  Rosa  seen  such  dispersals,  and  so  very 
little  did  she  know  of  any  other  home,  that  she  was  con- 
tented to  remain  where  she  was,  and  was  even  better  con- 
tented than  ever  before,  having  her  latest  friend  with  her. 
And  yet  her  latest  friendship  had  a  blank  place  in  it  of 
which  she  could  not  fail  to  be  sensible.  Helena  Landless, 
having  been  a  party  to  her  brother's  revelation  about  Rosa, 
and  having  entered  into  that  compact  of  silence  with  Mr. 
Crisparkle,  shrunk  from  any  allusion  to  Edwin  Drood's 
name.  Why  she  so  avoided  it  was  mysterious  to  Rosa,  but 
she  perfectly  perceived  the  fact.  But  for  the  fact,  she  might 
have  relieved  her  own  little  perplexed  heart  of  some  of  its 
doubts  and  hesitations,  by  taking  Helena  into  her  confidence. 
As  it  was,  she  had  no  such  vent  ;  she  could  only  ponder  on 
her  own  difficulties,  and  wonder  more  and  more  why  this 
avoidance  of   Kdwin"s  name  should  last,  now  that  she  knew 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        743 

of— for  so  much  Helena  had  told  her—that  a  good  under- 
standhig  was  to  be  re-established  between  the  two  young 
men  when  Edwin  came  down. 

It  would  have  made  a  pretty  picture,  so  many  pretty  girls 
kissing  Rosa  in  the  cold  porch  of  the  Nuns'  House,  and  that 
sunny  little  creature  peeping  out  of  it  (unconscious  of  sly 
faces  carved  on  spout  and  gable  peeping  at  her),  and  wav- 
ing farewells  to  the  departing  coaches,  as  if  she  represented 
the  spirit  of  rosy  youth  abiding  in  the  place  to  keep  it  bright 
and  warm  in  its  desertion.  The  hoarse  High  Street  became 
musical  with  the  cry,  in  various  silvery  voices,  "  Good-by, 
Rosebud,  darling  !  "  and  the  effigy  of  Mr.  Sapsea's  father 
over  the  opposite  door-way  seemed  to  say  to  mankind,  ''Gen- 
tlemen, favor  me  with  yoiir  attention  to  this  charming  little 
las^  lot  left  behind,  and  bid  with  a  worthy  spirit  of  the  occa- 
sion !  "  Then  the  staid  street,  so  unwontedly  sparkling, 
youthful  and  fresh  for  a  few  rippling  moments,  ran  dry,  and 
Cloisterham  was  itself  again. 

If  Rosebud  in  her  bower  now  waited  Edwin  Drood's  com- 
ing with  an  uneasy  heart,  Edwin  for  his  part  was  uneasy  too. 
With  far  less  force  of  purpose  in  his  composition  than  the 
childish  beauty,  crowned  by  acclamation  fairy  queen  of  Miss 
Twinkleton's  establishment,  he  had  a  conscience,  and  Mr. 
Grewgious  had  pricked  it.  That  gentleman's  steady  convic- 
tions of  what  was  right  and  what  was  wrong  in  such  a  case 
as  his  were  neither  to  be  frowned  aside  nor  lau-hed  aside. 
They  would  not  be  moved.  But  for  the  dinner  in  Staple 
Inn,  and  but  for  the  ring  he  carried  in  the  breast-pocket  of 
his  coat,  he  would  have  drifted  into  their  wedding-day  with- 
out another  pause  for  real  thought,  loosely  trusting  that  all 
would  go  well,  left  alone.  But  that  serious  putting  him  on 
his  truth  to  the  living  and  the  dead  had  brought  him  to  a 
check.  He  must  either  give  the  ring  to  Rosa,  or  he  must 
take  it  back.  Once  put  into  this  narrowed  way  of  action,  it 
was  curious  that  he  began  to  consider  Rosa's  claims  upon 
him  more  unselfishly  than  he  had  ever  considered  them  be- 
fore, and  began  to  be  less  sure  of  himself  than  he  had  ever 
been  in  all  his   easy-going  days. 

"  I  will  be  guided  by  what  she  says,  and  by  how  we  get 
on,"  was  his  decision,  walking  from  the  Gate  House  to  the 
Nuns'  House.  "Whatever  comes  of  it,  I  will  bear  his  words 
in  mind,  and  try  to  be  true  to  the  living  and  the  dead." 
•  Rosa  was  dressed  for  walking.  She  expected  him.  It 
was  a  bright  frosty  day,  and   Miss  Twinkleton  had  already 


744        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

graciously  sanctioned  fresh  air.  Thus  they  got  out  together 
before  it  became  necessary  for  either  Miss  Twinkleton,  or 
the  deputy  high-priest,  Mrs.  Tisher,  to  lay  even  so  much 
as  one  of  those  usual  offerings  on  the  shrine  of  propriety. 

"  My  dear  Eddy,"  said  Rosa,  when  they  had  turned  out 
of  the  High  Street,  and  had  got  among  the  quiet  walks  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  cathedral  and  the  river,  "  I  want  to  say 
something  very  serious  to  you.  I  have  been  thinking  about 
it  for  a  long,  long  time." 

"  I  want  to  be  serious  with  you  too,  Rosa,  dear.  I  mean 
to  be  serious  and  earnest." 

"  Thank  you,  Eddy.  And  you  will  not  think  me  unkind 
because  I  begin,  will  you  ?  You  will  not  think  I  speak  for 
myself  only  because  I  speak  first  ?  That  would  not  be  gen- 
erous, would  it  ?     And  I  know  you  are  generous  I  " 

He  said,  ''  I  hope  1  am  not  ungenerous  to  you,  Rosa."  He 
called  her  Pussy  no  more.     Never  again. 

"  And  there  is  no  fear,"  pursued  Rosa,  "  of  our  quarrel- 
ing, is  there  ?  Because,  Eddy,"  clasping  her  hand  on  his 
arm,  "  we  have  so  much  reason  to  be  very  lenient  to  each 
other  !  " 

"  We  will  be,  Rosa." 

"  That's  a  dear  good  boy  !  Eddy,  let  us  be  courageous. 
Let  us  change  to  brother  and  sister  from  this  day  forth." 

"  Never  husband  and  wife  }  " 

"  Never  !  " 

Neither  spoke  again  for  a  little  while.  But  after  that  pause 
he  said,  with  some  effort  : 

"  Of  course  I  know  that  this  has  been  in  both  our  minds, 
Rosa,  and  of  course  I  am  in  honor  bound  to  confess  freely 
that  it  does  not  originate  with  you." 

"  No,  nor  with  you,  dear,"  she  returned,  with  pathetic 
earnestness.  "  It  has  sprung  up  between  us.  You  are  not 
truly  happy  in  our  engagement  ;  I  am  not  truly  liappy  in  it. 
Oh,  I  am  so  sorry,  so  sorry  !  "  And  there  she  broke  into 
tears. 

"  I  am  deeply  sorry  too,  Rosa.     Deeply  sorry  for  you." 

"  And  I  for  you,  poor  boy  !     And    I  for  you  !  " 

This  pure  young  feeling,  this  gentle  and  forljearing  feeling 
of  each  toward  the  other,  brought  with  it  its  reward  in  a 
softening  light  tliat  seemed  to  shine  on  their  position.  The 
relations  between  them  did  not  look  willful,  or  capricious,  or 
a  failure,  in  such  a  light :  they  became  elevated  into  some-< 
thing  more  self-denying,  honorable,  affectionate  and  true. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD,        745 

"  If  we  knew  yesterday,"  said  Rosa,  as  she  dried  her  eyes, 
"  and  we  did  know  yesterday,  and  on  many,  many  yesterdays, 
that  we  were  far  from  right  together  in  those  relations  which 
were  not  of  our  own  choosing,  what  better  could  we  do  to- 
day than  change  them  ?  It  is  natural  that  we  should  be 
sorry,  and  you  see  how  sorry  we  both  are  ;  but  how  much 
better  to  be    sorry  now  than  then  !  " 

"When,   Rosa?" 

"  When  it  would  be  too  late.  And  then  we  should  be 
angry,  besides." 

Another  silence  fell  upon  them, 

"And  you  know,"  said  Rosa,  innocently,  "you  couldn't 
like  me  then  ;  and  you  can  always  like  me  now,  for  I  shall 
not  be  a  drag  upon  you,  or  a  worry  to  you.  And  I  can 
always  like  you  now,  and  your  sister  will  not  tease  or  trifle 
with  you.  I  often  did  when  I  was  not  your  sister,  and  I  beg 
your  pardon  for  it." 

"  Don't  let  us  come  to  that,  Rosa  ;  or  I  shall  want  more 
pardoning  than  I  like  to  think  of." 

"  No,  indeed,  Eddy  ;  you  are  too  hard,  my  generous  boy, 
upon  yourself.  Let  us  sit  down,  brother,  on  these  ruins, 
and  let  me  tell  you  how  it  was  with  us.  I  think  I  know,  for 
I  have  considered  about  it  very  much  since  you  were  here 
last  time.  You  liked  me,  didn't  you  '(  You  thought  I  was  a 
nice  little  thing  ?" 

"  Every  body  thinks  that,  Rosa." 

"  Do  they  ? "  She  knitted  her  brow  musingly  for  a 
moment,  and  then  flashed  out  with  the  bright  little  induc- 
tion :  "  Well  ;  but  say  they  do.  Surely  it  was  not  enough 
that  you  should  think  of  me  only  as  other  people  did  ;  now, 
was  it  ?  " 

The  point  was  not  to  be  got  over.     It  was  not  enough. 

"  And  that  is  just  what  I  mean  ;  that  is  just  how  it  was 
with  us,"  said  Rosa.  "You  liked  me  very  well,  and  you  had 
grown  used  to  me,  and  had  grown  used  to  the  idea  of  our 
being  married.  You  accepted  the  situation  as  an  inevitable 
kind  of  thing,  didn't  you?  It  was  to  be,  you  thought,  and 
why  discuss  or  dispute  it." 

It  was  new  and  strange  to  him  to  have  himself  presented 
to  himself  so  clearly,  in  a  glass  of  her  holding  up.  He  had 
always  patronized  her,  in  his  superiority  to  her  share  of 
woman's  wit.  Was  that  but  another  instance  of  something 
'radically  amiss  in  the  terms  on  which  they  had  been  gliding 
toward  the  life-long  bondage 


746         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  All  this  that  I  say  of  yon  is  true  of  me  as  well,  Eddy. 
Unless  it  was,  I  might  not  be  bold  enough  to  say  it.  Only, 
the  difference  between  us  was,  that  by  little  and  little  there 
crept  into  my  mind  a  habit  of  thinking  about  it,  instead  of 
dismissing  it.  My  life  is  not  so  busy  as  yours,  you  see,  and 
I  have  not  so  many  things  to  think  of.  So  I  thought  about 
it  very  much,  and  I  cried  about  it  very  much  too  (though 
that  was  not  your  fault,  poor  boy)  ;  when  all  at  once  my 
guardian  came  down  to  prepare  for  my  leaving  the  Nuns' 
House.  I  tried  to  hint  to  him  that  I  was  not  quite  settled 
in  my  mind,  but  I  hesitated  and  failed,  and  he  didn't  under- 
stand me.  But  he  is  a  good,  good  man.  And  he  put  before 
me  so  kindly,  and  yet  so  strongly,  how  seriously  we  ought  to 
consider,  in  our  circumstances,  that  I  resolved  to  speak  to 
you  the  next  moment  we  were  alone  and  grave.  And  if  I 
seemed  to  come  to  it  easily  just  now,  because  I  came  to  it 
all  at  once,  don't  think  it  was  so  really,  Eddy,  for  oh,  it  was 
very,  very  hard,  and  oh,  I  am  very,  very  sorry  !  " 

Her  full  heart  broke  into  tears  again.  He  put  his  arm 
about  her  waist,  and  they  walked  by  the  river-side  together. 

"  Your  guardian  has  spoken  to  me,  too,  Rosa  dear.  I  saw 
him  before  I  left  London."  His  right  hand  was  in  his 
breast,  seeking  the  ring  ;  but  he  checked  it  as  he  thought, 
"  If  I  am  to  take  it  back,  why  should  I  tell  her  of  it  ?  " 

*'  And  that  made  you  more  serious  about  it,  didn't  it, 
Eddy  ?  And  if  I  had  not  spoken  to  you,  as  1  have,  you 
would  have  spoken  to  me  ?  I  hope  you  can  tell  me  so  ?  I 
don't  like  it  to  be  all  my  doing,  though  it  is  so  much  better 
for  us." 

"  Yes,  I  should  have  spoken  ;  I  should  have  put  every 
thing  before  you  ;  I  came  intending  to  do  it.  But  I  never 
could  have  spoken  to  you  as  you  have  spoken  to  me,  Rosa." 

*'  Don't  say  you  mean  so  coldly  or  unkindly,  Eddy,  please, 
if  you  can  helj)  it." 

*'  I  mean  so  sensibly  and  delicately,  so  wisely  and  affec- 
tionately." 

"  That's  my  dear  brother  !  "  She  kissed  his  hand  in  a 
little  rapture.  ''  The  dear  girls  will  be  dreadfully  disap- 
pointed," added  Rosa,  laughing,  with  the  dew-drops  glisten- 
ing in  her  bright  eyes.  *'  They  have  looked  forward  to  it 
so,  poor  pets  !  " 

"  Ah  !  But  I  fear  it  will  be  a  worse  disappointment  to 
Jack,"  said  Edwin  Drood,  wath  a  start.  "I  never  thought 
of  Jack  !  " 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         747 

Her  swift  and  intent  look  at  him  as  he  said  the  words, 
could  no  more  be  recalled  than  a  flash  of  lightning  can. 
But  it  appeared  as  though  she  would  have  instantly  recalled 
it,  if  she  could  ;  but  she  looked  down,  confused,  and  breathed 
quickly. 

"  You  don't  doubt  it's  being  a  blow  to  Jack,  Rosa  ?  " 

She  merely  replied,  and  that  evasively  and  hurriedly,  why 
should  she  ?  She  had  not  thought  about  it.  He  seemed  to 
her,  to  have  so  little  to  do  with  it. 

'*  My  dear  child  ?  Can  you  suppose  that  any  one  so 
wrapped  up  in  another — Mrs.  Tope's  expression  ;  not  mine 
— as  Jack  is  in  me,  could  fail  to  be  struck  all  of  a  heap  by 
such  a  sudden  and  complete  change  in  my  life  ?  I  say  sud- 
den, because  it  will  be  sudden  to  hii7i,  you  know." 

She  nodded  twice  or  thrice,  and  her  lips  parted  as  if  she 
would  have  assented.  But  she  uttered  no  sound,  and  he? 
breathing  was  no  slower. 

"  How  shall  I  tell  Jack  !  "  said  Edwin,  ruminating.  If 
he  had  been  less  occupied  with  the  thought,  he  must  have 
seen  her  singular  emotion.  *'  I  never  thought  of  Jack.  It 
must  be  broken  to  him,  before  the  town-crier  knows  it.  1 
dine  with  the  dear  fellow  to-morrow  and  next  day — Christ- 
mas Eve  and  Christmas  Day — but  it  would  never  do  to 
spoil  his  feast  days.  He  always  worries  about  me,  and 
molley-coddles  in  the  merest  trifles.  The  news  is  sure  to 
overset  him.     How  on  earth  shall  this  be  broken  to  Jack  !  " 

''  He  must  be  toldj  I  suppose  ? "  said  Rosa. 

"  My  dear  Rosa  !  Who  ought  to  be  in  our  confidence,  if 
not  Jack  ?" 

"  My  guardian  promised  to  come  down,  if  I  should  write 
and  ask  him.  I  am  going  to  do  so.  Would  you  like  to  leave 
it  to  him  ?  " 

"A  bright  idea!"  cried  Edwin.  "The  other  trustee. 
Nothing  more  natural.  He  comes  down,  he  goes  to  Jack, 
he  relates  what  we  have  agreed  upon,  and  he  states  our  case 
better  than  we  could.  He  has  already  spoken  feelingly  to 
you,  he  has  already  spoken  feelingly  to  me,  and  he'll  put  the 
whole  thing  feelingly  to  Jack.  That's  it !  I  am  not  a  cow- 
ard, Rosa,  but  to  tell  you  a  secret,  I  am  a  little  afraid  of 
Jack." 

"  No,  no  !  You  are  not  afraid  of  him  ?  "  cried  Rosa,  turn- 
ing white  and  clasping  her  hands. 

'*  Why,  Sister  Rosa,  Sister  Rosa,  what  do  you  see  from 
the  turret  ?"  said  Edwin,  rallying  her.     "  My  dear  girl  I  " 


748         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

'*  You  frightened  me." 

"  Most  unintentionally,  but  I  am  as  sorry  as  if  I  had  meant 
to  do  it.  Could  you  possibly  suppose  for  a  moment,  from 
any  loose  way  of  speaking  of  mine,  that  I  was  literally  afraid 
of  the  dear,  fond  fellow  ?  What  I  mean  is,  that  he  is  sub- 
ject to  a  kind  of  paroxysm  or  fit — I  saw  him  in  it  once — 
and  I  don't  know  but  that  so  great  a  surprise,  coming  upon 
him  direct  from  me,  whom  he  is  so  wrapped  up  in,  might 
bring  it  on  perhaps.  Which — and  this  is  the  secret,  I  was 
going  to  tell  you — is  another  reason  for  your  guardian's 
making  the  communication.  He  is  so  steady,  precise,  and 
exact,  that  he  will  talk  Jack's  thoughts  into  shape  in  no 
time  ;  whereas  with  me  Jack  is  always  impulsive  ana  hur- 
ried, and,  I  may  say,  almost  womanish." 

Rosa  seemed  convinced.  Perhaps  from  her  own  very 
different  point  of  view  of  "Jack,"  she  felt  comforted  and 
protected  by  the  interposition  of  Mr.  Grewgious  between 
herself  and  him. 

And  now,  Edwin  Drood's  right  hand  closed  again  upon 
the  ring  in  its  little  case,  and  again  was  checked  by  the  con- 
sideration :  "  It  is  certain,  now,  that  I  am  to  give  it  back  to 
him  ;  then  why  should  I  tell  her  of  it  ?  "  That  pretty  sym- 
pathetic nature  which  could  be  so  sorry  for  him  in  the  blight 
of  their  childish  hopes  of  happiness  together,  and  could  so 
quietly  find  itself  alone  in  a  new  world  to  weave  fresh  wreaths 
of  such  flowers  as  it  might  prove  to  bear,  the  old  world's 
flowers  being  withered,  would  be  grieved  by  those  sorrowful 
jewels  ;  and  to  what  purpose  ?  Why  should  it  be  !  They 
were  but  a  sign  of  broken  joys  and  baseless  projects  ;  in 
their  very  beauty,  they  were  (as  the  unlikeliest  of  men  had 
said)  almost  a  cruel  satire  on  the  loves,  hopes,  plans,  of 
humanity,  which  are  able  to  forecast  nothing,  and  are  so 
much  brittle  dust.  Let  them  be.  He  would  restore  them 
to  her  guardian  when  he  came  down  ;  he,  in  his  turn,  would 
restore  them  to  the  cabinet  from  which  he  had  unwillingly 
taken  them  ;  and  there,  like  old  letters  or  old  vows,  or  records 
of  old  aspirations  come  to  nothing,  they  would  be  disre- 
garded, until,  being  valuable,  they  were  sold  into  circulation 
again,  to  repeat  their  former  round. 

Let  them  be.  Let  them  lie  unspoken  of,  in  his  breast. 
However  distinctly  or  indistinctly  he  entertained  these 
thoughts,  he  arrived  at  the  conclusion,  Let  them  be.  Among 
the  mighty  store  of  wonderful  chains  that  are  forever  forg- 
in^,  day  and  night,  in  the  vast  iron-works  of  time  and  cir- 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         749 

cumstance,  there  was  one  chain  forged  in  the  moment 
of  that  small  conclusion,  riveted  to  the  foundations  of 
heaven  and  earth,  and  gifted  with  invincible  force  to  hold 
and  drag. 

They  walked  on  by  the  river.  They  began  to  speak  of 
their  separate  plans.  He  would  quicken  his  departure  from 
Englar.d,  and  she  would  remain  where  she  was,  at  least  as 
long  as  Helena  remained.  The  poor  dear  girls  should  have 
their  disappointment  broken  to  them  gently,  and,  as  the 
first  preliminary.  Miss  Twinkleton  should  be  confided  in  by 
Rosa,  even  in  advance  of  the  reappearance  of  Mr.  Grewgious, 
It  should  be  made  clear  in  all  quarters  that  she  and  Edwin 
were  the  best  of  friends.  There  had  never  been  so  serene 
an  understanding  between  them  since  they  were  first  affi- 
anced. And  yet  there  was  one  reservation  on  each  side  ; 
on  hers,  that  she  intended  through  her  guardian  to  with- 
draw herself  immediately  from  the  tuition  of  her  music- 
master  ;  on  his,  that  he  did  already  entertain  some  wander- 
ing speculations  whether  it  might  ever  come  to  pass  that  he 
would  know  more  of  Miss  Landless. 

The  bright  frosty  day  declined  as  they  walked  and  spoke 
together.  The  sun  dipped  in  the  river  far  behind  them, 
and  the  old  city  lay  red  before  them,  as  their  walk  drew  to 
a  close.  The  moaning  water  cast  its  sea- weed  duskily  at 
their  feet,  when  they  turned  to  leave  its  margin  ;  and  the 
rooks  hovered  above  them  with  hoarse  cries,  darker  splashes 
in  the  darkening  air. 

"  I  will  prepare  Jack  for  my  flitting  soon,"  said  Edwin,  in 
a  low  voice,  "  and  I  will  but  see  your  guardian  when  he 
comes,  and  then  go  before  they  speak  together.  It  will  be 
better  done  without  my  being  by.     Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  We  know  we  have  done  right,  Rosa  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  We  know  we  are  better  so,  even  now  ?  " 

"  And  shall  be  far,  far  better  so  by  and  by." 

Still,  there  was  that  lingering  tenderness  in  their  hearts 
toward  the  old  positions  they  were  relinquishing,  that  they 
prolonged  their  parting.  When  they  came  among  the  elm- 
trees  by  the  cathedral,  where  they  had  last  sat  together, 
they  stopped,  as  by  consent,  and  Rosa  raised  her  face  to  his, 
as  she  had  never  raised  it  in  the  old  days — for  they  were 
pld  already. 

^'  God  blvss  you,  dear  !     Good-by  !  " 


750         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  God  bless  you,  dear  !     Good-by  !  " 

They  kissed  each  other,  fervently. 

''  Now,  please  take  me  home,  Eddy,  and  let  me  be  by 
myself." 

"  Don't  look  round,  Rosa,"  he  cautioned  her,  as  he  drew 
her  arm  through  his,  and  led  her  away.  "  Didn't  you  see 
Jack  ?  " 

"  No  !     Where  ?  " 

"  Under  the  trees.  He  saw  us,  as  we  took  leave  of  each 
other.  Poor  fellow  !  he  little  thinks  we  have  parted.  This 
will  be  a  blow  to  him,  I  am  much  afraid  !  " 

She  hurried  on,  without  resting,  and  liurried  on  until  they 
had  passed  under  the  Gate  House  into  the  street ;  once  there, 
she  asked — 

"  Has  he  followed  us  ?  You  can  look  without  seeming  to. 
Is  he  behind  ?  " 

'*  No.  Yes  !  he  is  !  He  has  just  passed  out  under  the 
gateway.  The  dear  sympathetic  old  fellow  likes  to  keep  us 
in  sight.     I  am  afraid  he  will  be  bitterly  disappointed  !  " 

She  pulled  hurriedly  at  the  pendent  handle  of  the  hoarse 
old  bell,  and  the  gate  soon  opened.  Before  going  in,  she 
gave  him  one  last  wide  wondering  look,  as  if  she  would  have 
asked  him  with  imploring  emphasis,  ''  Oh  !  don't  you  under- 
stand ?  "     And  out  of  that  look  he  vanished  from  her  view. 


CHAPTER  XIY. 

WHEN  SHALL  THESE  THREE  MEET  AGAIN  ? 

Christmas  Eve  in  Cloisterliam.  A  few  strange  faces  in 
the  streets  ;  a  few  other  faces,  half  strange  and  half  familiar, 
once  the  faces  of  Cloisterham  children,  now  the  faces  of 
men  and  women  who  came  back  from  the  outer  world  at 
long  intervals  to  find  the  city  wonderfully  shrunken  in  size, 
as  if  it  had  not  washed  by  any  means  well  in  the  meanwhile. 
To  these,  the  striking  of  the  cathedral  clock,  and  the  cawing 
of  the  rooks  from  the  cathedral  tower,  are  like  voices  of  their 
nursery  time.  To  such  as  these,  it  has  happened  in  their 
dying  hours  afar  off,  that  they  have  imagined  their  chamber 
floor  to  be  strewn  with  the  autumnal  leaves  from  the  elm- 
trees  in  the  close  ;  so  have  the  rustling  sounds  and  fresh 
scents  of  their  earliest  impressions  revived,  when  the  circle 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         751 

of  their  lives  was  very  nearly  traced,  and  the  beginning  and 
the  end  were  drawing  close  together. 

Seasonable  tokens  are  about.  Red  berries  shine  here  and 
there  in  the  lattices  of  Minor  Canon  Corner  :  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Tope  are  daintily  sticking  sprigs  of  holly  into  tlie  carvings 
and  sconces  of  the  cathedral  stalls,  as  if  they  were  sticking 
them  into  the  coat-buttonholes  of  the  dean  and  chapter. 
Lavish  profusion  is  in  the  shops  :  particularly  in  the  articles 
of  currants,  raisins,  spices,  candied  peel,  and  moist  sugar. 
An  unusual  air  of  gallantry  and  dissipation  is  abroad  ; 
evinced  in  an  immense  bunch  of  mistletoe  hanging  in  the 
green-grocer's  shop  doorway,  and  a  poor  little  twelfth  cake, 
culminating  in  the  figure  of  a  harlequin — such  a  very  poor 
little  twelfth  cake,  that  one  would  rather  call  it  a  twenty- 
fourth  cake,  or  a  forty-eighth  cake— to  be  raffled  for  at  the 
pastry-cook's,  terms  one  shilling  per  member.  Public  amuse- 
ments are  not  wanting.  The  wax-work  which  made  so  deep 
an  impression  on  the  reflective  mind  of  the  emperor  of 
China  is  to  be  seen  by  particular  desire  during  Christmas 
week  only,  on  the  premises  of  the  bankrupt  livery-stable 
keeper  up  the  lane  ;  and  a  new  grand  comic  Christmas 
pantomime  is  to  be  produced  at  the  theater  ;  the  latter 
heralded  by  the  portrait  of  Signor  Jacksonini  the  clown, 
saying,  "  How  do  you  do  to-morrow,"  quite  as  large  as  life, 
and  almost  as  miserably.  In  short,  Cloisterham  is  up  and 
doing  ;  though  from  this  description  the  High  School  and 
Miss  Twinkleton's  are  to  be  excluded.  From  the  former 
establishment  the  scholars  have  gone  home,  every  one  of 
them  in  love  with  one  of  Miss  Twinkleton's  young  ladies 
(who  knows  nothing  about  it)  ;  and  only  the  handmaidens 
flutter  occasionally  in  the  windows  of  the  latter.  It  is 
noticed,  by  the  by,  that  these  damsels  become,  within  the 
limits  of  decorum,  more  skittish  when  thus  intrusted  with 
the  concrete  representation  of  their  sex,  than  when  dividing 
the  representation  with  Miss  Twinkleton's  young  ladies. 

Three  are  to  meet  at  the  Gate  House  to-night.  How 
does  each  one  of  the  three  get  through  the  day  ? 

Neville  Landless,  though  absolved  from  his  books  for  the 
time  by  Mr.  Crisparkle — whose  fresh  nature  is  by  no  means 
insensible  to  the  charms  of  a  holiday — reads  and  writes  in 
his  quiet  room,  with  a  concentrated  air,  until  it  is  two  hours 
past  noon.  He  then  sets  himself  to  clearing  his  table,  to 
arranging  \iU  books,  and  to  tearing  up  and  burninpt  his  stray 


752         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN   DROOD. 

papers.  He  makes  a  clean  sweep  of  all  untidy  accumula- 
tions, puts  all  his  drawers  in  order,  and  leaves  no  note  or 
scrap  of  paper  undestroyed,  save  such  memoranda  as  bear 
directly  on  his  studies.  This  done,  he  turns  to  his  ward- 
robe, selects  a  few  articles  of  ordinary  wear — among  them, 
change  of  stout  shoes  and  socks  for  walking — and  packs 
these  in  a  knapsack.  This  knapsack  is  new,  and  he  bought 
it  in  the  High  Street  yesterday.  He  also  purchased,  at  the 
same  time  and  at  the  same  place,  a  heavy  walking-stick, 
strong  in  the  handle  for  the  grip  of  the  hand,  and  iron-shod. 
He  tries  this,  swings  it,  poises  it,  and  lays  it  by,  with  the 
knapsack,  on  a  window-seat.  By  this  time  his  arrangements 
are  complete. 

He  dresses  for  going  out,  and  is  in  the  act  of  going — in- 
deed, has  left  his  room,  and  has  met  the  minor  canon  on  the 
staircase,  coming  out  of  his  bedroom  upon  the  same  story — 
when  he  turns  back  again  for  his  walking-stick,  thinking  he 
will  carry  it  now.  Mr.  Crisparkle,  who  has  paused  on  the 
staircase,  sees  it  in  his  hand  on  his  immediately  reappearing, 
takes  it  from  him,  and  asks  him  with  a  smile  how  he  chooses 
a  stick. 

'*  Really  I  don't  know  that  I  understand  the  subject,"  he 
answers.     "  I  chose  it  for  its  weight." 

"  Much  too  heavy,  Neville  ;  inuch  too  heavy." 

"  To  rest  upon  in  a  long  walk,  sir  ?  " 

"  Rest  upon  ?  "  repeats  Mr.  Crisparkle,  throwing  himself 
into  pedestrian  form.  "  You  don't  rest  upon  it  ;  you  merely 
balance  with  it." 

"  I  shall  know  better  with  practice,  sir.  I  have  not  lived 
in  a  walking  country,  you  know." 

"  True,"  says  Mr.  Crisparkle.  *'  Get  into  a  little  training, , 
and  we  will  have  a  few  score  miles  together.  I  should  leave 
you  nowhere  now.     Do  you  come  back  before  dinner  ?" 

"  I  think  not,  as  we  dine  early." 
,      Mr.  Crisparkle  gives  him  a  bright  nod   and  a  cheerful 
good-by,  expressing  (not  without  intention)  absolute  confi- 
dence and  ease. 

Neville  repairs  to  the  Nuns'  House,  and  requests  that 
Miss  Landless  may  be  informed  that  her  brother  is  there,  by 
appointment.  He  waits  at  the  gate,  not  even  crossing  the 
threshold  ;  for  he  is  on  his  parole  not  to  put  himself  in  Rosa's 
way. 

His  sister  is  at  least  as  mindful  of  the  obligation  they  have 
taken  on  themselves,  as  he  can  be,  and  loses  not  a  moment 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         753 

in  joining  him.  They  meet  affectionately,  avoid  lingenng 
there,  and  walk  toward  the  upper  inland  country. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  tread  upon  forbidden  ground,  Helena," 
says  Neville,  when  they  have  walked  some  distance  and  are 
turning  ;  "  you  will  understand  in  another  moment  that  I 
can  not  help  referring  to — what  shall  I  say — my  infatuation." 

"  Had  you  better  not  avoid  it,  Neville  ?  You  know  that 
I  can  hear  nothing." 

"  You  can  hear,  my  dear,  what  Mr.  Crisparkle  has  heard 
and  heard  with  approval." 

"  Yes  ;  I  can  hear  so  much." 

"  Well,  it  is  this.  I  am  not  only  unsettled  and  unhappy 
myself,  but  I  am  conscious  of  unsettling  and  interfering  with 
other  people.  How  do  I  know  that,  but  for  my  unfortunate 
presence,  you,  and — and— the  rest  of  that  former  party,  our 
engaging  guardian  excepted,  might  be  dining  cheerfully  in 
Minor  Canon  Corner  to-morrow  ?  Indeed,  it  probably  would 
be  so.  I  can  see  too  well  that  I  am  not  high  in  the  old 
lady's  opinion,  and  it  is  easy  to  understand  what  an  irksome 
clog  I  must  be  upon  the  hospitalities  of  her  orderly  house — 
especially  at  this  time  of  year — when  I  must  be  kept  asunder 
from  this  person,  and  there  is  such  a  reason  for  my  not 
being  brought  into  contact  with  that  person,  and  an  unfavor- 
able reputation  has  preceded  me  wdth  such  another  person, 
and  so  on.  I  have  put  this  very  gently  to  Mr.  Crisparkle, 
for  I  know  his  self-denying  ways  ;  but  still  I  have  put  it. 
What  I  have  laid  much  greater  stress  upon  at  the  same  time, 
is,  that  I  am  engaged  in  a  miserable  struggle  with  myself, 
and  that  a  little  change  and  absence  may  enable  me  to  come 
through  it  the  better.  So,  the  weather  being  bright  and 
hard,  1  am  going  on  a  walking  expedition,  and  intend  taking 
myself  out  of  every  body's  way  (my  own  included  I  hope)  to- 
morrow morning." 

"  When  to  come  back  ?" 

"  In  a  fortnight." 

"  And  going  quite  alone  ?  " 

"  I  am  much  better  without  company,  even  if  there  were 
any  one  but  you  to  bear  me  company,  my  dear  Helena." 

"  Mr.  Crisparkle  entirely  agrees,  you  say  ?  " 

''  Entirely.  I  am  not  sure  but  that  at  first  he  w^as  inclined 
to  think  it  rather  a  moody  scheme,  and  one  that  might  do  a 
brooding  mind  harm.  But  we  took  a  moonlight  walk  last 
Monday  night  to  talk  it  over  at  leisure,  and  I  represented 
the  case  to  him  as  it  really  is.     I  showed  him  that  I  do  want 


754        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

to  conquer  myself,  and  that,  this  evening  \vell  got  over,  it  is 
surely  better  that  I  should  be  away  from  here  just  now  than 
here.  I  could  hardly  help  meeting  certain  people  walking 
together  here,  and  that  could  do  no  good,  and  is  certainly 
not  the  way  to  forget.  A  fortnight  hence,  that  chance  will 
probably  be  over,  for  the  time  ;  and  when  it  again  arises  for 
the  last  time,  why,  I  can  again  go  away.  Further,  I  really 
do  feel  hopeful  of  bracing  exercise  and  wholesome  fatigue. 
You  know  that  Mr.  Crisparkle  allows  such  things  their  full 
weight  in  the  preservation  of  his  own  sound  mind  in  his  own 
sound  body,  and  that  his  just  spirit  is  not  likely  to  maintain 
one  set  of  natural  laws  for  himself  and  another  for  me.  He 
yielded  to  my  view  of  the  matter,  v/hen  convinced  that  I  was 
honestly  in  earnest,  and  so,  with  his  full  consent,  I  start 
to-morrow  morning.  Early  enough  to  be  not  only  out  of 
the  streets,  but  out  of  hearing  of  the  bells,  when  the  good 
people  go  to  church." 

Helena  thinks  it  over,  and  thinks  well  of  it.  Mr,  Cris^ 
parkle  doing  so,  she  would  do  so  ;  but  she  does  originally, 
out  of  her  own  mind,  think  well  of  it  as  a  healthy  project, 
denoting  a  sincere  endeavor,  and  an  active  attempt,  at  self- 
correction.  She  is  inclined  to  pity  him,  poor  fellow,  for 
going  away  solitary  on  the  great  Christmas  festival  ;  but  she 
feels  it  much  more  to  the  purpose  to  encourage  him.  And 
she  does  encourage  him. 

He  will  write  to  her? 

He  will  write  to  her  every  alternate  day,  and  tell  her  all 
his  adventures. 

Does  he  send  clothes  on  in  advance  of  him  ? 

"  My  dear  Helena,  no.  Travel  like  a  pilgrim,  with  wallet 
and  staff.  My  wallet — or  my  knapsack — is  packed,  and 
ready  for  strapping  on  ;  and  here  is  my  staff." 

He  hands  it  to  her  ;  she  makes  the  same  remark  as  Mr. 
Crisparkle,  that  it  is  very  heavy  ;  and  gives  it  back  to  him, 
asking  what  wood  it  is?     Iron-wood. 

Up  to  this  point  he  has  been  extremely  cheerful.  Per- 
haps the  having  to  carry  his  case  with  her,  and  therefore  to 
present  it  in  its  brightest  aspect,  has  roused  his  spirits. 
Perhaps  the  having  done  so  with  success  is  followed  by  a 
revulsion.  As  the  day  closes  in,  and  the  city  lights  begin  to 
spring  up  before  them,  he  grows  depressed. 

"  I  wish  I  were  not  going  to  this  dinner,  Helena." 

"  Dear  Neville,  is  it  worth  while  to  care  much  about  it  ? 
Think  how  soon  it  will  be  over." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        755 

"  How  soon  it  will  be  over,"  he  repeats,  gloomily.  "  Yes. 
But  I  don't  like  it." 

There  may  be  a  moment's  awkwardness,  she  cheeringly 
represents  to  him,  but  it  can  only  last  a  moment.  He  is 
quite  sure  of  himself. 

"  I  wish  I  felt  as  sure  of  every  thing  else  as  I  feel  of  my- 
self," he  answers  her. 

*'  How  strangely  you  speak,  dear  !     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Helena,  I  don't  know,  I  only  know  that  I  don't  like  it. 
What  a  strange  dead  weight  there  is  in  the  air  ? " 

She  calls  his  attention  to  those  copperous  clouds  beyond 
the  river,  and  says  that  the  wind  is  rising.  He  scarcely 
speaks  again  until  he  takes  leave  of  her  at  the  gate  of  the 
Nuns'  House.  She  does  not  immediately  enter  when  they 
have  parted,  but  remains  looking  after  him  along  the  street. 
Twice  he  passes  the  Gate  House,  reluctant  to  enter.  At 
length,  the  cathedral  clock  chiming  one  quarter,  with  a 
rapid  turn  he  hurries  in. 

And  so  he  goes  up  the  postern  stair. 

Edwin  Drood  passes  a  solitary  day.  Something  of  deeper 
moment  than  he  had  thought  has  gone  out  of  his  life,  and 
in  the  silence  of  his  own  chamber  he  wept  for  it  last  night. 
Though  the  image  of  Miss  Landless  still  hovers  in  the  back- 
ground of  his  mind,  the  pretty  little  affectionate  creature,  so 
much  firmer  and  wiser  than  he  had  supposed,  occupies  its 
stronghold.  It  is  with  some  misgiving  of  his  own  unworthi- 
ness  that  he  thinks  of  her,  and  of  what  they  might  have  been 
to  one  another,  if  he  had  been  more  in  earnest  sometime 
ago  ;  if  he  had  set  a  higher  value  on  her  ;  if  instead  of 
accepting  his  fortune  in  life  as  an  inheritance  of  course,  he 
had  studied  the  right  way  to  its  appreciation  and  enhance- 
ment. And  still  for  all  this,  and  though  there  is  a  sharp 
heartache  in  all  this,  the  vanity  and  caprice  of  youth  sustain 
that  handsome  figure  of  Miss  Landless  in  the  background 
of  his  mind. 

That  was  a  curious  look  of  Rosa's  when  they  parted  at 
the  gate.  Did  it  mean  that  she  saw  below  the  surface  of  his 
thoughts,  and  down  into  their  twilight  aepths  ?  Scarcely 
that,  for  it  was  a  look  of  astonished  and  keen  inquiry.  He 
decides  that  he  can  not  understand  it,  though  it  was  remark- 
ably expressive. 

As  he  only  waits  for  Mr.  Grewgious  now,  and  will  depart 
immediately  after  having  seen  him,  he  takes  a  sauntering  leave 


756        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

of  the  ancient  city  and  its  neighborhood.  He  recalls  the  time 
when  Rosa  and  he  walked  here  or  there,  mere  children,  full 
of  the  dignity  of  being  engaged.  Poor  children  !  he  thinks, 
with  a  pitying  sadness. 

Finding  that  his  watch  has  stopped,  he  turns  into  the 
jeweler's  shop  to  have  it  wound  and  set.  The  jeweler  is 
knowing  on  the  subject  of  a  bracelet,  which  he  begs  leave 
to  submit,  in  a  general  and  quite  aimless  way.  It  would 
suit  (he  considers)  a  young  bride  to  perfection  ;  especially 
if  of  a  rather  diminutive  style  of  beauty.  Finding  the  brace- 
let but  coldly  looked  at,  the  jeweler  invites  attention  to  a 
tray  of  rings  for  gentlemen  ;  here  is  a  style  of  ring  now,  he 
remarks  ;  a  very  chaste  signet  ;  which  gentlemen  are  much 
given  to  purchasing  when  changing  their  condition.  A  ring 
of  a  very  responsible  appearance.  With  the  date  of  their 
wedding-day  engraved  inside,  several  gentlemen  have  pre- 
ferred it  to  any  other  kind  of  memento. 

The  rings  are  as  coldly  viewed  as  the  bracelet.  Edwin 
tells  the  tempter  that  he  wears  no  jewelry  but  his  watch 
and  chain,  which  were  his  father's,  and  his  shirt-pin. 

"That  I  was  aware  of,"  is  the  jeweler's  reply,  "for  Mr. 
Jasper  dropped  in  for  a  watch-glass  the  other  day,  and,  in 
fact,  I  showed  these  articles  to  him,  remarking  that  if  he 
should  wish  to  make  a  present  to  a  gentleman  relative,  on  any 
particular  occasion — But  he  said  with  a  smile  that  he  had 
an  inventory  in  his  mind  of  all  the  jewelry  his  gentleman 
relative  ever  wore  ;  namely,  his  watch  and  chain  and  his 
shirt-pin."  Still  (the  jeweler  considers)  that  might  not 
apply  to  all  times,  though  applying  to  the  present  time. 
"  Twenty  minutes  past  two,  Mr.  Drood,  I  set  your  watch  at. 
Let  me  recommend  you  not  to  let  it  run  down,  sir." 

Edwin  takes  his  watch,  puts  it  on  and  goes  out,  thinking, 
"  Dear  old  Jack  !  If  I  were  to  make  an  extra  crease  in  my 
neckcloth,  he  would  think  it  worth  noticing  ! " 

He  strolls  about  and  about,  to  pass  the  time  until  the  din- 
ner hour.  It  somehow  happens  that  Cloisterham  seems  re- 
proachful to  him  to-day  ;  has  fault  to  find  with  him,  as  if  lie 
had  not  used  it  well  ;  but  is  far  more  pensive  with  him  than 
angry.  His  wonted  carelessness  is  replaced  by  wistful  look- 
ing at  and  dwelling  upon,  all  the  old  landmarks.  He  will 
soon  be  far  away,  and  may  never  see  them  again,  he  thinks. 
Poor  youth  !     Poor  youth  ! 

As  dusk  draws  on,  he  paces  the  Monks'  Vineyard.  He 
has  walked  to  and  fro,  full  half  an  hour  by  the  cathedral 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         757 

chimes,  and  it  has  closed  in  dark,  before  he  becomes  quite 
aware  of  a  woman  crouching  on  the  ground  near  a  wicket 
gate  in  a  corner.  The  gate  commands  a  cross  by-path, 
Httle  used  in  the  gloaming  ;  and  the  figure  must  have  been 
there  all  the  time,  though  he  has  but  gradually  and  lately 
made  it  out. 

He  strikes  into  that  path,  and  walks  up  to  the  wicket. 
By  the  light  of  a  lamp  near  it,  he  sees  that  the  woman  is  of 
a  haggard  appearance,  and  that  her  weazen  chin  is  resting 
on  her  hands,  and  that  her  eyes  are  staring— with  an  unwink- 
ing, blind  sort  of  steadfastness — before  her. 

Always  kindly,  but  moved  to  be  unusually  kind  this  even- 
ing, and  having  bestowed  kind  words  on  most  of  the  chil- 
dren and  aged  people  he  has  met,  he  at  once  bends  down, 
and  speaks  to  this  woman. 

"  Are  you  ill  ? "'  . 

"  No,  deary,"  she  answers,  without  looking  at  him,  and 
with  no  departure  from  her  strange  blind  stare. 

"  Are  you  blind  ? " 

"  No,  deary." 

*'  Are  you  lost,  homeless,  faint  ?  What  is  the  matter,  that 
you  stay  here  in  the  cold  so  long,  without  moving?" 

By  slow  and  stiff  efforts  she  appears  to  contract  her  vision 
until  it  can  rest  upon  him  ;  and  then  a  curious  film  passes 
over  her,  and  she  begins  to  shake. 

He  straightens  himself,  recoils  a  step,  and  looks  down  at 
her  in  a  dread  amazement  ;  for  he  seems  to  know  her. 

**  Good  heaven  ! "'  he  thinks,  next  moment.  "  Like  Jack 
that  night  !  "  j       i  • 

As  he  looks  down  at  her,  she  looks  up  at  him  and  whim- 
pers, ''My  lungs  is  weakly  ;  my  lungs  is  dreffle  bad.  Poor 
me,  poor  me,  my  cough  is  rattling  dry  !  "  And  coughs  m 
confirmation  horribly, 

''  Where  do  you  come  from  ?" 

"  Come  from  London,  deary."  (Her  cough  still  rending 
her.) 

"  Where  are  you  going  to  ? " 

"  Back  to  London,  deary.  I  came  here,  looking  for  a 
needle  in  a  haystack,  and  I  an't  found  it.  Look'ee,  deary  ; 
give  me  three  and  sixpence,  and  don't  you  be  ateared  for  me. 
I'll  get  back  to  London  then,  and  trouble  no  one.  I'm  m  a 
business.  Ah  me  !  It's  slack,  it's  slack,  and  times  is  very 
bad  !— but  I  can  make  a  shift  to  live  by  it." 
*'  Do  you  eat  opium  ? " 


;58        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

*'  Smokes  it,"  she  replies  with  difficulty,  still  racked  by 
her  cough.  **  Give  me  three  and  sixpence,  and  I'll  lay  it  out 
well,  and  get  back.  If  you  don't  give  me  three  and  six- 
pence, don't  give  me  a  brass  farden.  And  if  you  do  give 
me  three  and  sixpence,  deary,  1 11  tell  you  something." 

He  counts  the  money  from  his  pocket,  and  puts  it  in  her 
hand.  She  instantly  clutches  it  tight,  and  rises  to  her  feet 
with  a  croaking  laugh  of  satisfaction. 

" Bless  ye  !  Hark'ee,  dear  genl'mn.  What's  your  chris'en 
name  ? " 

"Edwin." 

"  Ed'.vm,  Edwin,  Edwin,"  she  repeats,  trailing  off  into  a 
drowsy  repetition  of  the  word,  and  then  asks  suddenly,  "  Is 
the  short  of  that  name  Eddy  ?'* 

"It  is  sometimes  called  so,"  he  replies,  witn  the  color 
starting  to  his  face. 

"  Don't  sweethearts  call  it  so  ?  "  she  asks,  pondering. 

"  How  should  I  know  ?  " 

"  Haven't  you  a  sweetheart,  upon  your  soul  ?  " 

"  None." 

She  is  moving  away  with  another  "  Bless  ye,  and 
thank'ee,  deary!"  when  he  adds,  "You  were  to  tell  me 
something ;  you  may  as  well  do  so." 

"  So  I  was,  so  I  was.  Well,  then.  W^hisper.  You  be 
thankful  that  your  name  ain't  Ned." 

He  looks  at  her  quite  steadily  as  he  asks,  "  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  it's  a  bad  name  to  have  just  now." 

*'  How  a  bad  name  ? " 

**  A  threatened  name.     A  dangerous  name." 

"The  proverb  says  that  threatened  men  live  long,"  he 
tells  her  lightly. 

"  Then  Ned — so  threatened  is  he,  wherever  he  may  be 
while  I  am  a-talking  to  you,  deary — should  live  to  all 
eternity  !  "  replies  the  woman. 

She  has  leaned  forward  to  say  it  in  his  ear,  with  her 
forefinger  shaking  before  his  eyes,  and  now  huddles  her- 
s<5lf  together,  and  with  another  "  Bless  ye,  thank'ee  ! " 
goes  awiiy  in  the  direction  of  the  Travelers'  Lodging  House. 

This  is  not  an  inspiriting  close  to  a  dull  day.  Alone, 
in  a  sequestered  place,  surrounded  by  vestiges  of  old  time 
and  decay,  it  rather  has  a  tendency  to  call  a  shudder  into 
being.  He  makes  for  the  better-lighted  streets,  and  re- 
solves as  he  walks  on,  to  say  nothing  of  this  to-night, 
but  to  mention  it  to  Jack  (who  alone  calls  him  Ned),  as 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         759 

an  odd  coincidence,  to-morrow  ;  of  course  only  as  a  coin- 
cidence, and  not  as  any  thing  better  worth  remembering. 

Still  it  holds  to  him  as  many  things  much  better  worth  re- 
membering never  did.  He  has  another  mile  or  so  to  linger 
out  before  the  dinner  hour ;  and,  when  he  walks  over  the 
bridge  and  by  the  river,  the  woman's  words  are  in  the 
rising  wind,  in  the  angry  sky,  in  the  troubled  water,  in 
the  flickering  lights.  There  is  some  solemn  echo  of  them, 
even  in  the  cathedral  chime,  which  strikes  a  sudden  sur- 
prise to  his  heart  as  he  turns  in  under  the  archway  of  the 
Gate  House. 

And  so  he  goes  up  the  postern  stair. 

John  Jasper  passes  a  more  agreeable  and  cheerful  day 
than  either  of  his  guests.  Having  no  music  lessons  to  give 
in  the  holiday  season,  his  time  is  his  own,  but  for  the 
cathedral  services.  He  is  early  among  the  shopkeepers, 
ordering  little  table  luxuries  that  his  nephew  likes.  His 
nephew  will  not  be  with  him  long,  he  tells  his  provision 
dealers,  and  so  must  be  petted  and  made  much  of.  While 
oat  on  his  hospitable  preparations,  he  looks  in  on  Mr. 
Sapsea,  and  mentions  that  dear  Ned  and  that  inflamma- 
ble young  spark  of  Mr.  Crisparkle's  are  to  dine  at  the 
Gate  House  to-day  and  make  up  their  difference  Mr. 
Sapsea  is  by  no  means  friendly  toward  the  inflammable 
young  spark.  He  says  that  his  complexion  is  "  Un- 
English."  And  when  Mr.  Sapsea  has  once  declared  any 
thing  to  be  Un-Englisli,  he  considers  that  thing  everlast- 
ingly sunk  in  the  bottomless  pit. 

John  Jasper  is  truly  sorry  to  hear  Mr.  Sapsea  speak  thus, 
for  he  knows  right  well  that  Mr.  Sapsea  never  speaks  with- 
out a  meaning,  and  that  he  has  a  subtle  trick  of  jjeing  right. 
Mr.  Sapsea  (by  a  very  remarkable  coincidence)  is  of  ex- 
actly that  opinion. 

Mr.  Jasper  is  in  beautiful  voice  this  day.  In  the  pathetic 
supplication  to  have  his  heart  inclined  to  keep  this  law,  he 
quite  astonishes  his  fellows  by  his  melodious  power.  He  has 
never  sung  difficult  music  with  such  skill  and  h  irmony  as  in 
this  day's  anthem.  His  nervous  temperament  is  occasion- 
ally prone  to  take  difficult  music  a  little  too  quickly  ;  to-day, 
his  time  is  perfect. 

These  results  are  probably  attained  through  a  grand  com- 
posure of  the  spirits.  The  mere  mechanism  of  his  throat  is 
a  little  tender,  for  he  wears,  both  with  his  singing-robe  and 


76o         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

with  his  ordinary  dress,  a  large  black  scarf  of  strong  close- 
woven  silk  slung  loosely  round  his  neck.  But  his  compo- 
sure is  so  noticeable,  that  Mr.  Crisparkle  speaks  of  it  as 
they  come  out  from  vespers. 

"  I  must  thank  you,  Jasper,  for  the  pleasure  with  which  I 
have  heard  you  to-day.  Beautiful  !  Delightful  !  You  could 
not  have  so  outdone  yourself,  I  hope,  without  being  wonder- 
fully well." 

"  I  am  wonderfully  well." 

"  Nothing  unequal,"  says  the  minor  canon,  with  a  smooth 
motion  of  his  hand,  nothing  unsteady,  nothing  forced,  noth- 
ing avoided  ;  all  thoroughly  done  in  a  masterly  manner, 
with  perfect  self  command." 

*'  Thank  you.     I  hope  so,  if  it  is  not  too  much  to  say." 

"  One  would  think,  Jasper,  you  had  been  trying  a  new 
medicine  for  that  occasional  indisposition  of  yours." 

"  No,  really  ?     That's  well  observed  ;  for  I  have." 

"  Then  stick  to  it,  my  good  fellow,"  says  Mr.  Crisparkle, 
clapping  him  on  the  shoulder  with  friendly  encouragement 
— "  stick  to  it." 

"I  will." 

"  I  congratulate  you,"  Mr.  Crisparkle  pursues,  as  they  come 
out  of  the  cathedral,  ''  on  all  accounts." 

*'  Thank  you  again.  I  will  walk  round  to  the  corner  with 
you,  if  you  don't  object  ;  I  have  plenty  of  time  before  my 
company  come  ;  and  I  want  to  say  a  word  to  you,  which  I 
think  you  will  not  be  displeased  to  hear." 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"Well.  We  were  speaking  the  other  evening  of  my  black 
humors." 

Mr.  Crisparkle's  face  falls,  and  he  shakes  his  head  deplor- 
ingly. 

"  I  said,  you  know,  that  I  should  make  you  an  antidote  to 
those  black  humors  ;  and  you  said  you  hoped  I  would  con- 
sign them  to  the  flames." 

"  And  I  still  hope  so,  Jasper." 

"  With  the  best  reason  in  the  world  !  I  mean  to  burn  this 
year's  diary  at  the  year's  end." 

"Because  you — ?"  Mr.  Crisparkle  brightens  greatly  as  he 
thus  begins. 

*'  You  anticipate  me.  Because  I  feel  that  I  have  been 
out  of  sorts,  gloomy,  bilious,  brain-oppressed,  whatever 
it  may  be.  You  said  that  I  had  been  exaggerative.  So  I 
have." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         761 

Mr.  Crisparkle's  brightened  face  brightens  still  more. 

**  I  couldn't  see  it  then,  because  I  7vas  out  of  sorts  ;  but  I 
am  in  a  healthier  state  now,  and  I  acknowledge  it  with  gen- 
uine pleasure.  I  made  a  great  deal  of  a  very  little  ;  that's 
the  fact." 

"  It  does  me  good,"  cries  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "  to  hear  you 
say  it  !  " 

"  A  man  leading  a  monotonous  life,"  Jasper  proceeds,  "and 
getting  his  nerves,  or  his  stomach,  out  of  order,  dwells  upon 
an  idea  until  it  loses  its  proportions.  That  was  my  case  with 
the  idea  in  question.  So  I  shall  burn  the  evidence  of  my 
case,  when  the  book  is  full,  and  begin  the  next  volume  with 
a  clearer  vision." 

"  This  is  better,"  says  Mr.  Crisparkle,  stopping  at  the 
steps  of  his  own  door  to  shake  hands,  "  than  I  could  have 
hoped  !  " 

"  Why,  naturally,"  returns  Jasper.  "  Y'ou  had  but  little 
reason  to  hope  that  I  should  become  more  like  yourself. 
You  are  always  training  yourself  to  be,  mind  and  body,  as 
clear  as  crystal,  and  you  always  are,  and  never  change  ; 
whereas,  I  am  a  muddy,  solitary,  moping  weed.  However,  I 
have  got  over  that  mope.  Shall  I  wait,  while  you  ask  if  Mr. 
Neville  has  left  for  my  place  ?  If  not,  he  and  I  may  walk 
around  together." 

"  I  think,"  says  Mr.  Crisparkle,  opening  the  entrance  door 
with  his  key,  "  that  he  left  some  time  ago  ;  at  least  I  know  he 
left,  and  I  think  he  has  not  come  back.  But  I'll  inquire. 
You  won't  come  in  ?  " 

"  My  company  wait,"  says  Jasper,  with  a  smile. 

The  minor  canon  disappears,  and  in  a  few  moments  re- 
turns. As  he  thought,  Mr.  Neville  has  not  come  back  ;  in- 
deed as  he  remembers  now,  Mr.  Neville  said  he  would  prob- 
ably go  straight  to  the  Gate  House. 

"  Bad  manners  in  a  host !  "  says  Jasper.  "  My  company 
will  be  there  before  me  !  What  will  you  bet  that  I  don't  find 
my  company  embracing  ?  " 

"  I  will  bet— or  I  would  if  I  ever  did  bet,"  returns  Mr. 
Crisparkle,  "  that  your  company  will  have  a  gay  entertainer 
this  evening." 

Jasper  nods,  and  laughs  good-night  ! 

He  retraces  his  steps  to  the  cathedral  door,  and  turns 
down  past  it  to  the  Gate  House.  He  sings,  in  a  low  voice 
and  with  delicate  expression,  as  he  walks  along.  It  still 
seems  as  if  a  false  note  were  not  within  his  power  to-night, 


762         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

and  as  if  nothing  could  hurry  or  retard  him.  Arriving  thus 
under  the  arched  entrance  of  his  dwelling,  he  pauses  for  an 
instant  in  the  shelter  to  pull  off  that  great  black  scarf,  and 
hang  it  in  a  loop  upon  his  arm.  For  that  brief  time,  his  face 
is  knitted  and  stern.  But  it  immediately  clears,  and  he  re- 
sumes his  singing,  and  his  way. 

And  so  he  goes  up  the  postern  stair. 

The  red  light  burns  steadily  all  the  evening  in  the  light- 
house on  the  margin  of  the  tide  of  busy  life.  Softened 
sounds  and  hum  of  traffic  pass  it  and  flow  on  irregularly  into 
the  lonely  precincts  ;  but  very  little  else  goes  by,  save  vio- 
lent rushes  of  wind.     It  comes  on  to  blow  a  boisterous  gale. 

The  precincts  are  never  particularly  well  lighted  ;  but  the 
strong  blasts  of  wind  blowing  out  many  of  the  lamps  (in 
some  instances  shattering  the  frames  too,  and  bringing  the 
glass  rattling  to  the  ground),  they  are  unusually  dark  to- 
night. The  darkness  is  augmented  and  confused  by  fly- 
ing dust  from  the  earth,  dry  twigs  from  the  trees,  and  great 
ragged  fragments  from  the  rooks'  nests  up  in  the  tower. 
The  trees  themselves  so  toss  and  creak,  as  this  tangible  part 
of  the  darkness  madly  whirls  about,  that  they  seem  in  peril 
of  being  torn  out  of  the  earth  ;  while  ever  and  again  a  crack, 
and  a  rushing  fall,  denote  that  some  large  branch  has  yielded 
to  the  storm. 

No  such  power  of  wind  has  blown  for  many  a  winter  night. 
Chimneys  topple  in  the  streets,  and  people  hoM  to  posts  and 
corners,  and  to  one  another,  to  keep  themselves  upon  their 
feet.  The  violent  rushes  abate  not,  but  increase  in  frequency 
and  fury  until  at  midnight,  when  the  streets  are  empty,  the 
storm  goes  thundering  along  them,  rattling  at  all  the  latches, 
and  tearing  at  all  the  shutters,  as  if  warning  the  people  to  get 
up  and  fly  with  it,  rather  than  have  the  roofs  brought  down 
upon  their  brains. 

Still  the  red  light  burns  steadily.  Nothing  is  steady  but 
the  red  light. 

All  through  the  night  the  wind  blows,  and  abates  not. 
But  early  in  the  morning,  when  there  is  barely  enough  light 
in  the  east  to  dim  the  stars,  it  begins  to  lull.  From  that 
time,  with  occasional  wild  cliarges,  like  a  wounded  monster 
dying,  it  drops  and  sinks  ;  and  at  full  daylight  it  is  dead. 

It  is  then  seen  that  the  hands  of  the  cathedral  clock  are 
torn  off  ;  that  lead  from  the  roof  has  been  stripped  away, 
rolled  up,  and  blown  into  the  close  ;  and   that  some  stones 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DkOOD.        763 

have  been  displaced  upon  the  summit  of  the  great  tower. 
Christmas  morning  though  it  be,  it  is  necessary  to  send  up 
workmen  to  ascertain  the  extent  of  the  damage  done.  These 
led  by  Durdles,  go  aloft  ;  while  Mr.  Tope  and  a  crowd  of 
early  idlers  gather  down  in  Minor  Canon  Corner,  shading 
their  eyes  and  watching  for  their  appearance  up  there. 

This  cluster  is  suddenly  broken  and  put  aside  by  the  hands 
of  Mr.  Jasper  ;  all  the  gazing  eyes  are  brought  down  to  the 
earth  by  his  loudly  inquiring  of  Mr.  Crisparkle,  at  an  open 
window  : 

*'  Where  is  my  nephew  ? " 

*'  He  has  not  been  here.     Is  he  not  with  you  ?  " 

"No.  He  went  down  to  the  river  last  night  with  Mr. 
Neville,  to  look  at  the  storm,  and  has  not  been  back.  Call 
Mr.  Neville  !  " 

"  He  left  this  morning,  early." 
Left  this  morning,  early  ?     Let  me  in,  let  me  in  !  " 

There  is  no  more  looking  up  at  the  tower,  now.  All  the 
assembled  eyes  are  turned  on  Mr.  Jasper,  white,  half-dressed, 
panting,  and  clinging  to  the  rail  before  the  minor  canon's 
house. 

CHAPTER   XV. 

IMPEACHED. 

Neville  Landless  had  started  so  early  and  walked  at  so 
good  a  pace,  that  when  the  church  bells  began  to  ring  in 
Cloisterham  for  morning  service,  he  was  eight  miles  away. 
As  he  wanted  his  breakfast  by  that  time,  having  set  forth  on 
a  crust  of  bread,  he  stopped  at  the  next  roadside  tavern  to 
refresh. 

Visitors  in  want  of  breakfast — unless  they  were  horses  or 
cattle,  for  which  class  of  guests  there  was  preparation  enough 
in  way  of  water-trough  and  hay — were  so  unusual  at  the 
sign  of  The  Tilted  Wagon,  that  it  took  a  longtime  to  get  the 
wagon  into  the  track  of  tea  and  toast  and  bacon.  Neville,  in 
the  interval,  sitting  in  a  sanded  parlor,  wondering  in  how 
long  a  time  after  he  had  gone,  the  sneezy  fire  of  damp  fagots 
would  begin  to  make  any  body  else  warm. 

Indeed,  The  Tilted  Wagon,  as  a  cool  establishment  on  the 
top  of  a  hill,  where  the  ground  before  the  door  was  puddled 
with  damp  hoofs  and  trodden  straw  ;  where  a  scolding 
landlady  slapped  a  moist  baby  (with  one  red  sock  on  and 


764        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

one  wanting)  in  the  bar  ;  v/here  the  cheese  was  cast  aground 
upon  a  shelf,  in  company  with  a  moldy  table-cloth  and  a 
green-handled  knife,  in  a  sort  of  cast-iron  canoe  ;  where  the 
pale-faced  bread  shed  tears  of  crumb  over  its  shipwreck  in 
another  canoe  ;  where  the  family  linen,  half  washed  and 
half  dr^ed,  led  a  public  life  of  lying  about;  where  every 
thing  to  dring  was  drunk  out  of  mugs,  and  every  thing  else 
was  suggrstive  of  a  rhyme  to  mugs.  I'he  Tilted  Wagon, 
all  these  things  considered,  hardly  kept  its  painted  promise 
of  providing  good  entertainment  for  man  and  beast.  How- 
ever, man  in  the  present  case,  was  not  critical,  but  took 
what  entertainment  he  could  get,  and  went  on  again  after 
a  longer  rest  than  he  needed. 

He  stopped  at  some  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  house,  hesi- 
tating whether  to  pursue  the  road,  or  to  follow  a  cart  track 
between  two  hi.^h  hedgerows,  which  ltd  across  the  slope  of  a 
breezy  heath,  and  evidently  struck  out.  into  the  road  by  and 
by.  He  decided  in  favor  of  this  latter  track,  and  pursued 
it  with  some  toil  ;  the  rise  being  steep,  and  the  way  worn 
into  deep  ruts. 

He  was  laboring  along,  when  he  became  aware  of  some 
other  pedestrians  behind  him.  As  they  were  coming  up  at  a 
faster  pace  than  his,  he  stood  aside,  against  one  of  the  high 
banks,  to  let  them  pass.  But  their  manner  was  very  curious. 
Only  four  of  them  passed.  Other  four  slackened  speed,  and 
loitered  as  intending  to  follow  him  when  he  should  go  on. 
The  remainder  of  the  party  (half  a  dozen  perhaps)  turned, 
and  went  back  at  a  great  rate. 

He  looked  at  the  four  behind  him,  and  he  looked  at  the 
four  before  him.  They  all  returned  his  look.  He  resumed 
his  way.  The  four  in  advance  went  on,  constantly  looking 
back  ;  the  four  in  the  rear  came  closing  up. 

When  they  all  ranged  out  from  the  narrow  track  upon  the 
open  slope  of  the  heath,  and  this  order  was  maintained,  let 
him  diverge  as  he  would  to  either  side,  there  was  no  longer 
room  to  doubt  that  he  was  beset  by  these  fellows.  He 
stopped,  as  a  last  test,  and  they  all  stopped. 

"  Why  do  you  attend  upon  me  in  this  way  ?"  he  asked  the 
whole  body.     "  Are  you  a  pack  of  thieves  }  " 

"  Don't  answer  him,"  said  one  of  the  number  ;  he  did  not 
see  which.     "  Better  be  quiet." 

''  Better  be  quiet  ?  "  repeated  Neville.     ''  Who  said  so  ?  " 

Nobody  replied. 

''It's  good  advice,  whichever  of  you  skulkers  gave  it/'  he 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         765 

went  on  angrily.  "  I  will  not  submit  to  be  penned  in  be- 
tween four  men  here  and  four  men  there.  I  wish  to  pass, 
and  I  mean  to  pass,  those  four  in  front." 

They  were  all  standing  still,  himself  included. 

"  If  eight  men,  or  four  men,  or  two  men,  set  upon  one," 
he  proceeded,  growing  more  enraged,  "  the  one  has  no  chance 
but  to  set  his  mark  upon  some  of  them.  And  by  the  Lord 
rU  do  it,  if  I  am  interrupted  any  further  !  " 

Shouldering  his  heavy  stick,  and  quickening  his  pace,  he 
shot  on  to  pass  the  four  ahead.  The  largest  and  strongest 
man  of  the  number  changed  swiftly  to  the  side  on  which  he 
came  up,  and  dextrously  closed  with  him.  and  went  down 
with  him  ;  but  not  before  the  heavy  stick  had  descended 
smartiy. 

"Let  him  be  ?"  said  this  man  in  a  suppressed  voice,  as 
they  struggled  together  on  the  grass.  "  Fair  play  !  His  is 
the  build  of  a  girl  to  mine,  and  he's  got  a  weight  strapped  to 
his  back  besides.     Let  him  alone.     Fll  manage  him." 

After  a  little  rolling  about,  in  a  close  scuffle,  which  caused 
the  faces  of  both  to  be  besmeared  with  blood,  the  man  took 
his  knee  from  Neville's  chest,  and  rose  saying,  ''  There  ! 
Now  take  him  arm  in  arm,  any  two  of  you  !  " 

It  was  immediately  done. 

"  As  to  our  being  a  pack  of  thieves,  Mr.  Landless,"  said 
the  man,  as  he  spat  out  some  blood,  and  wiped  more  from 
his  face,  "  you  know  better  than  that,  at  midday.  ^  We 
wouldn't  have  touched  you,  if  you  hadn't  forced  us.  We're 
going  to  take  you  round  to  the  high  road,  anyhow,  and 
you'll  find  help  enough  against  thieves  there,  if  you  want  it. 
Wipe  his  face,  somebody  ;  see  how  it's  a  trickling  down 
him  1  " 

When  his  face  was  cleansed,  Neville  recognized  m  the 
speaker,  Joe,  driver  of  the  Cloisterham  omnibus,  whom  he 
had  seenbutoncc,  and  that  on  the  day  of  his  arrival 

"  And  what  I  recommend  you  for  the  present,  is,  don't 
talk,  Mr.  Landless.  You'll  find  a  friend  waiting  for  you,  at 
the  high  road — gone  ahead  by  the  other  way  when  we  split 
into  two  parties— and  you  had  much  better  say  nothing  till 
you  come  up  with  him.  Bring  that  stick  along,  somebody 
else,  and  let's  be  moving  !  " 

Utterly  bewildered,  Neville  stared  around  him,  and  said 
not  a  word.  Walking  between  his  two  conductors,  who  held 
his  arms  in  theirs,  he  went  on,  as  in  a  dream,  until  they 
came  again  into  the  high-road,  and  into  the  midst  of  a  little 


766        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROGD. 

group  of  people.  The  men  who  had  turned  back  were  among 
the  group,  and  its  central  figures  were  Mr.  jasper  and  Mr. 
Crisparkle.  Neville's  conductors  took  him  up  to  the 
minor  canon,  and  there  released  him,  as  an  act  of  defer- 
ence to  that  gentleman. 

*'  What  is  all  this,  sir  ?  What  is  the  matter  ?  I  feel  as  if 
I  had  lost  my  senses  !  "  cried  Neville,  the  group  closing  in 
around  him. 

'*  Where  is  my  nephew  ?"  asked  Mr.  Jasper,  wildly. 

''Where  is  your  nephew  ?  "  repeated  Neville.  "  Why  do 
you  ask  me  ?  " 

"  I  ask  you,"  retorted  Jasper,  "  because  you  were  the  last 
Derson  in  his  company,  and  he  is  not  to  be  found." 

*'  Not  to  be  found  !  "  cried  Neville,  aghast. 

*' Stay,  stay,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle.  "Permit  me,  Jasper. 
Mr.  Neville,  you  are  confounded  ;  collect  your  thoughts  ;  it 
is  of  great  importance  that  you  should  collect  your  thoughts  ; 
attend  to  me." 

"  I  will  try,  sir,  but  I  seem  mad." 

"  You  left  Mr.  Jasper's  last  night,  with  Edwin  Drood? " 

"  Yes." 

"At  what  hour?" 

"  Was  it  at  twelve  o'clock  ?  "  asked  Neville,  with  his  hand 
to  his  confused  head,  and  appealing  to  Jasper. 

"  Quite  right,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle  ;  "  the  hour  Mr.  Jas- 
per has  already  named  to  me.  You  went  down  to  the  river 
together  ?  " 

"  Undoubtedly.     To  see  the  action  of  the  wind  there." 

"  What  followed  ?     How  long  did  you  stay  there  ?  " 

"  About  ten  minutes  ;  I  should  say  not  more.  We  then 
walked  together  to  your  house,  and  he  took  leave  of  me  at 
the  door." 

"  Did  he  say  that  he  was  going  down  to  the  river 
again  ?  " 

"  No.     He  said  that  he  was  going  straight  back." 

The  bystanders  looked  at  one  another,  and  at  Mr.  Cris- 
parkle. To  whom,  Mr.  Jasper,  who  had  been  intensely 
watching  Neville,  said,  in  a  low,  distinct,  suspicious  voice, 
"  What  are  those  stains  upon  his  dress  ?  " 

All  eyes  were  turned  toward  the  blood  upon  the  clothes. 

*'  And  here  are  the  same  stains  upon  this  stick  !  "  said  Jas- 
per, taking  it  from  the  hand  of  the  man  who  held  it.  "  I 
know  the  stick  to  be  his,  and  he  carried  it  last  night.  What 
does  this  mean  ?  " 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN   DROOD.        767 

"  In  the  name  of  God,  say  what  it  means,  Neville  !  "  urged 
Mr.  Crisparkle. 

"That  man  and  I,"  said  Neville,  pointing  out  his  late 
adversary,  "  had  a  struggle  for  the  stick  just  now,  and  you 
may  see  the  same  marks  on  him,  sir.  What  was  I  to  suppose, 
when  I  found  myself  molested  by  eight  people  ?  Could  I 
dream  of  the  true  reason  when  they  would  give  me  none  at 
all  ?  " 

They  admitted  that  they  had  thought  it  discreet  to  be 
silent,  and  that  the  struggle  had  taken  place.  And  yet  the 
very  men  who  had  seen  it  looked  darkly  at  the  smears  which 
the  bright  cold  air  had  already  dried. 

"  We    must  return,    Neville,"  said   Mr.    Crisparkle  ;  "  of 
course  you  will  be  glad  tc  come  back  to  clear  yourself  ? " 
"  Of  course,  sir. 

"  Mr.  Landless  will  visdk  at  my  side,"  the  minor  canon 
continued,  looking  around  him.     "  Come,  Neville  !  " 

They  set  forth  on  the  walk  back  ;  and  the  others,  with 
one  exception,  straggled  after  them  at  various  distances. 
Jasper  walked  on  the  other  side  of  Neville,  and  never  quitted 
that  position.  He  was  silent,  while  Mr.  Crisparkle  more 
than  once  repeated  his  former  questions,  and  while  Neville 
repeated  his  former  answers  ;  also,  while  they  both  hazarded 
some  explanatory  conjectures.  He  was  obstinately  silent, 
because  Mr.  Crisparkle's  manner  directly  appealed  to  him 
to  take  some  part  in  the  discussion,  and  no  appeal  would 
move  his  fixed  face.  When  they  drew  near  to  the  city,  and 
it  was  suggested  by  the  minor  canon  that  they  might  do 
well  in  calling  on  the  mayor  at  once,  he  assented  with  a 
stern  nod  ;  but  he  spake  no  word  until  they  stood  in  Mr. 
Sapsea's  parlor. 

Mr.  Sapsea  being  informed  by  Mr.  Crisparkle  of  the  cir- 
cumstances under  which  they  desired  to  make  a  voluntary 
statement  before  him,  Mr.  Jasper  broke  silence  by  declaring 
that  he  placed  his  whole  reliance,  humanly  speaking,  on  Mr. 
Sapsea's  penetration.  There  was  no  conceivable  reason  vv^hy 
his  nephew  should  have  suddenly  absconded,  unless  Mr. 
Sapsea  could  suggest  one,  and  then  he  would  defer.  There 
was  no  intelligible  likelihood  of  his  having  returned  to  the 
river,  and  been  accidentally  drowned  in  the  dark,  unless  it 
should  appear  likely  to  Mr.  Sapsea,  and  then  again  he  would 
defer.  He  washed  his  hands  as  clean  as  he  could  of  all  hor- 
rible suspicions,  unless  it  should  appear  to  Mr.  Sapsea  that 
some  such  were  inseparable  from  his  last  companion  before 


768         THE  MYS  I'ERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

his  disappearance  (not  on  good  terms  with  previously),  and 
then,  once  more,  he  would  defer.  His  own  state  of  mind,  he 
being  distracted  with  doubts,  and  laboring  under  dismal  ap- 
prehensions, was  not  to  be  safely  trusted  ;  but  Mr.  Sapsca's 
was. 

Mr.  Sapsea  expressed  his  opinion  that  the  case  had  a  dark 
look;  in  short  (and  here  his  eyes  rested  full  on  Neville's 
countenance),  an  Un-English  complexion.  Having  made 
this  grand  point,  he  wandered  into  a  denser  haze  and  maze 
of  nonsense  than  even  a  mayor  might  have  been  expected  to 
disport  himself  in,  and  came  out  of  it  with  the  brilliant  dis- 
covery that  to  take  the  life  of  a  fellow-creature  was  to  take 
something  that  didn't  belong  to  you.  He  wavered  whether  or 
no  he  should  at  once  issue  his  warrant  for  the  committal  of  Ne- 
ville Landless  to  jail,  under  circumstances  of  grave  suspicion ; 
and  he  might  have  gone  so  far  as  to  do  it  but  for  the  indig- 
nant protest  of  the  minor  canon,  who  undertook  for  the  young 
man's  remaining  in  his  own  house,  and  being  produced  by 
his  own  hands,  whenever  demanded.  Mr.  Jasper  then 
understood  Mr.  Sapsea  to  suggest  that  the  river  should  be 
dragged,  that  its  banks  should  be  rigidly  examined,  that 
particulars  of  the  disappearance  should  be  sent  to  all  out- 
lying places  and  to  London,  and  that  placards  and  adver- 
tisements should  be  widely  circulated  imploring  Edwin 
Drood,  if  for  any  unknown  reason  he  had  withdrawn  him- 
self from  his  uncle's  home  and  society,  to  take  pity  on  that 
loving  kinsman's  sore  bereavement  and  distress,  and  some- 
how inform  him  that  he  was  yet  alive.  Mr.  Sapsea  was 
perfectly  understood,  for  this  was  exactly  his  meaning 
(though  he  had  said  nothing  about  it)  ;  and  measures  were 
taken  toward  all  these  ends  immediately. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  determine  which  was  the  more 
oppressed  with  horror  and  amazement,  Neville  Landless  or 
John  Jasper.  But  that  Jasper's  position  forced  him  to  be 
active,  while  Neville's  forced  him  to  be  passive,  there  would 
have  been  nothing  to  choose  between  them.  Each  was 
bowed  down  and  broken. 

With  the  earliest  light  of  the  next  morning,  men  were  at 
work  upon  the  river,  and  other  men — most  of  whom  volun- 
teered for  the  service — were  examining  the  banks.  All  the 
livelong  day  the  search  went  on  ;  upon  the  river,  with  barge 
and  pole,  and  drag  and  net  ;  upon  the  muddy  and  rushy 
shore,  with  jackboot,  hatchet,  spade,  rope,  dogs,  and  all 
imaginable  appliances.     Even  at  night  the  river  was  specked 


THE  MYSTERY  0F_EDW1M  DROOD.         769 

with  lanterns,  and  lurid  with  fires  ;  far-off  creeks,  into  which 
the  tide  washed  as  it  changed,  had  their  knots  of  watchers, 
listening  to  the  lapping  of  the  stream,  and  looking  out  for 
any  burden  it  might  bear  ;  remote  shingly  causeways  near 
the  sea,  and  lonely  points  off  which  there  was  a  race  of  water, 
had  their  unwonted  flaring  cressets  and  rough-coated  figures 
when  the  next  day  dawned  ;  but  no  trace  of  Edwin  Drood 
revisited  the  light  of  the  sun. 

All  that  day,  again  the  search  went  on.  Now  in  barge 
and  boat ;  and  now  ashore  among  the  osiers,  or  tramping 
amid  mud  and  stakes  and  jagged  stones  in  low-lying 
places,  where  solitary  watermarks  and  signals  of  strange 
shapes  showed  like  specters,  John  Jasper  vv'orked  and  toiled. 
But  to  no  purpose  ;  for  still  no  trace  of  Edwin  Drood 
revisited  the  light  of  the  sun. 

Setting  his  watches  for  that  night  again,  so  that  vigilant 
eyes  should  be  kept  on  every  change  of  tide,  he  went  home 
exhausted.  Unkempt  and  disordered,  bedaubed  with  mud 
that  had  dried  upon  him,  and  with  much  of  his  clothing 
torn  to  rags,  he  had  but  just  dropped  into  his  easy-chair, 
when  Mr.  Grewgious  stood  before  him.  *'  This  is  strange 
news,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious. 

"  Strange  and  fearful  news." 

Jasper  had  merely  lifted  up  his  heavy  eyes  to  say  it,  and 
now  dropped  them  again,  as  he  drooped,  worn  out,  over  one 
side  of  his  easy-chair. 

Mr.  Grewgious  smoothed  his  head  and  face,  and  stood 
looking  at  the  fire. 

"  How  is  your  ward  ?  "  asked  Jasper,  after  a  time,  in  a 
faint,  fatigued  voice. 

"  Poor  little  thing  !     You  may  imagine  her  condition." 

"  Have  you  seen  his  sister  ? "  inquired  Jasper,  as  be- 
fore. 

"  Whose  ? " 

The  curtness  of  the  counter-question,  and  the  cool,  slow 
manner  in  which,  as  he  put  it,  Mr.  Grewgious  moved  his 
eyes  from  the  fire  to  his  companion's  face,  might  at  any  other 
time  have  been  exasperating.  In  his  depression  and  exhaus- 
tion, Jasper  merely  opened  his  eyes  to  say,  "  The  suspected 
young  man's." 

"  Do  you  suspect  him  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Grewgious. 

'*  I  don't  know  what  to  think.  I  can  not  make  up  my 
mind." 

"  Nor  T,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.     "But  as  you  spoke  of  him 


770        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

as  the  suspected  young  man,  I  thought  you  had  made  up 
your  mind. — I  have  just  left  Miss  Landless." 

''  What  is  her  state  .?  " 

""  Defiance  of  all  suspicion,  and  unbounded  faith  in  her 
brother," 

"  Poor  thing  !  " 

"However,"  pursued  Mr.  Grewgious,  "it  is  not  of  her 
that  I  came  to  speak.  It  is  of  my  ward.  I  have  a  com- 
munication to  make  that  will  surprise  you.  At  least  it  has 
surprised  me." 

Jasper,  with  a  groaning  sigh,  turned  wearily  in  his  chair. 

"  Shall  I  put  it  off  till  to-morrow  ?  "  said  Mr.  Grewgious. 
"  Mind  !  I  warn  you,  that  I  think  it  will  surprise  you  !  " 

More  attention  and  concentration  came  into  John  Jasper's 
eyes  as  they  caught  sight  of  Mr.  Grewgious  smoothing  his 
head  again,  and  again  looking  at  the  fire  ;  but  now,  with  a 
compressed  and  determined  mouth. 

'*  What  IS  it  ?  "  demanded  Jasper,  becoming  upright  in 
his  chair. 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  provokingly  slowly 
and  internally,  as  he  kept  his  eyes  on  the  fire,  "  I  might 
have  known  it  sooner  ;  she  ga.ve  me  the  opening  ;  but  I  am 
such  an  exceedingly  angular  man  that  it  never  occurred  to 
me  ;  I  took  all  for  granted." 

"  What  is  it  ? "  demanded  Jasper,  once  more. 

Mr.  Grewgious,  alternately  opening  and  shutting  the 
palms  of  his  hands  as  he  a\  armed  them  at  the  fire,  and  look- 
ing fixedly  at  him  sideways,  and  never  changing  either  his 
action  or  his  look  in  all  that  followed,  went  on  to  reply. 

"  This  young  couple,  the  lost  youth  and  Miss  Rosa,  my 
ward,  though  so  long  betrothed,  and  so  long  recognizing 
their  betrothal,  and  so  near  being  married " 

Mr.  Grev.'gious  saw  a  staring  white  face  and  two  quiver- 
ing white  lips,  in  the  easy-chair,  and  saw  two  muddy  hands 
gripping  its  sides.  But  for  the  hands,  he  might  have 
thought  he  had  never  seen  the  face. 

"  —  This  young  couple  came  gradually  to  the  discovery 
(made  on  both  sides  pretty  equally,  I  think)  that  they 
would  be  happier  and  better,  both  in  their  present  and  their 
future  lives,  as  affectionate  friends,  or  say  rather  as  brother 
and  sister,  than  as  husband  and  wife." 

Mr.  Grewgious  saw  a  lead-colored  face  in  the  easy-chair, 
and  on  its  surface  dreadful  starting  drops  or  bul^l^lcs,  as  if 
of  steel. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         771 

"  This  young  couple  formed  at  length  the  healthy  resolu- 
tion of  interchanging  their  discoveries,  openly,  sensibly,  and 
tenderly.  They  met  for  that  purpose.  After  some  innocent 
and  generous  talk,  they  agreed  to  dissolve  their  existing, 
and  their  intended,  relations,  forever  and  ever." 

Mr.  Grewgious  saw  a  ghastly  figure  rise,  open-mouthed, 
from  the  easy-chair  and  lift  its  outspread  hands  toward 
its  head. 

"  One  of  this  young  couple,  and  that  one  your  nephew, 
fearful,  however,  that  in  the  tenderness  of  your  affection  for 
him  you  would  be  bitterly  disappointed  by  so  wide  a  depart- 
ure from  his  projected  life,  forbore  to  tell  you  the  secret,  for 
a  few  days,  and  left  it  to  be  disclosed  by  me,  when  I  should 
come  down  to  speak  to  you,  and  he  would  be  gone.  I  speak 
to  you,  and  he  is  gone." 

Mr.  Grewgious  saw  the  ghastly  figure  throw  back  its  head, 
clutch  its  hair  with  its  hands,  and  turn  with  a  writhing  ac- 
tion from  him. 

''  1  have  now  said  all  I  have  to  say,  except  that  this 
young  couple  parted,  firmly,  though  not  without  tears  and 
sorrow,  on  the  evening  when  you  last  saw  them  together." 

Mr.  Grewgious  heard  a  terrible  shriek,  and  saw  no  ghastly 
figure,  sitting  or  standing  ;  saw  nothing  but  a  heap  of  torn 
and  miry  clothes  upon  the  floor. 

Not  changing  his  action  even  then,  he  opened  and  shut 
the  palms  of  his  hands  as  he  warmed  them,  and  looked 
down  at  it. 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

DEVOTED. 

When  John  Jasper  recovered  from  his  fit  or  swoon,  he 
found  himself  being  tended  by  Mr,  and  Mrs.  Tope,  whom 
his  visitor  had  summoned  for  the  purpose.  His  visitor, 
wooden  of  aspect,  sat  stifHy  in  a  chair,  v/ith  his  hands  upon 
his  knees,  watching  his  recovery. 

"  There  !  You've  come  to  nicely  now,  sir,"  said  the  tear- 
ful Mrs.  Tope  ;  "  you  were  thoroughly  worn  out,  and  no 
wonder  !  " 

"  A  man,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  with  his  usual  air  of  re- 
peating a  lesson,  "  can  not  have  his  rest  broken,  and  his 
mind  cruelly  tormented,  and  his  body  overtaxed  by  fatigue, 
without  being  thoroughly  worn  out." 


772         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  I  fear  I  have  alarmed  you  ?  "  Jasper  apologized  faintly, 
when  he  was  helped  into  his  easy-chair. 

"  Not  at  all,  I  thank  you,"  answered  Mr.  Grewgious. 

*' You  are  too  considerate." 

"  Not  at  all,  I  thank  you,"  answered  Mr.  Grewgious 
;:gain. 

"You  must  take  some  wine,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Tope,  *'and 
the  jelly  that  I  had  ready  for  you,  and  that  you  wouldn't 
put  your  lips  to  at  noon,  though  I  warned  you  what  would 
come  of  it,  you  know,  and  you  not  breakfasted  ;  and  you 
must  have  a  wing  of  the  roast  fowl  that  has  been  put  back 
twenty  times  if  it's  been  put  back  once.  It  shall  all  be  on 
table  in  five  minutes,  and  this  good  gentleman  belike  will 
stop  and  see  you  take  it." 

This  good  gentleman  replied  with  a  snort,  which  might 
mean  yes,  or  no,  or  any  thing,  or  nothing,  and  which  Mrs. 
Tope  would  have  found  highly  mystifying,  but  that  her  at- 
tention was  divided  by  the  service  of  the  table. 

"You  will  take  something  with  me?  "  said  Jasper,  as  the 
jcloth  was  laid. 

"  I  couldn't  get  a  morsel  down  my  throat,  I  thank  you," 
answered  Mr.  Grewgious. 

Jasper  .both  ate  and  drank  almost  voraciously.  Combined 
with  the  hurry  in  his  mode  of  doing  it,  was  an  evident  in- 
difference to  the  taste  of  what  he  took,  suggesting  that  he 
ate  and  drank  to  fortify  himself  against  any  other  failure  of 
the  spirits,  far  more  than  to  gratify  his  palate.  Mr.  Grew- 
gious in  the  meantime  sat  upright,  with  no  expression  in 
his  face,  and  a  hard  kind  of  imperturbably  polite  protest 
all  over  him  ,  as  though  he  would  have  said,  ic,  reply  to  some 
invitation  to  discourse,  "  I  couldn't  originate  the  faintest 
approach  to  an  observation  on  any  subject  whatever,  I  thank 
you." 

"  Do  you  know,"  said  Jasper,  when  he  had  pushed  away 
his  plate  and  glass,  and  had  sat  meditating  for  a  few  min- 
utes— "  do  you  know  that  I  find  some  crumbs  of  comfort  in 
the  communication  with  which  you  have  so  much  amazed 
me?" 

''''Do  you  ?  "  returned  Mr.  Grewgious  ;  pretty  plainly  add- 
ing the  unspoken  clause,  "  I  don't,  I  thank  you !  " 

"  After  recovering  from  the  shock  of  a  piece  of  news  of 
my  dear  boy  so  entirely  unexpected,  and  so  destructive  of 
all  the  castles  I  had  built  for  him  ;  and  after  having  had 
time  to  think  of  it ;  yes." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        773 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  pick  up  your  crumbs,"  said  Mr.  Grew- 
gious,  dryly. 

*'  Is  there  not,  or  is  there — if  I  deceive  myself,  tell  me  so, 
and  shorten  my  pain — is  there  not,  or  is  there,  hope  that, 
finding  himself  in  this  new  position,  and  becoming  sensi- 
tively alive  to  the  awkward  burden  of  explanation,  in  this 
quarter,  and  that,  and  the  other,  with  which  it  would  load 
him,  he  avoided  the  awkwardness,  and  took  flight  ? " 

**  Such  a  thing  might  be,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  pondering. 

*'  Such  a  thing  has  been.  I  have  read  of  cases  in  which 
people,  rather  than  face  a  seven  days'  wonder,  and  have  to 
account  for  themselves  to  the  idle  and  importunate,  have 
taken  themselves  away,  and  been  long  unheard  of." 

'*  I  believe  such  things  have  happened,"  said  Mr.  Grew- 
gious, pondering  still. 

"When  I  had,  and  could  have,  no  suspicion,"  pursued 
Jasper,  eagerly  following  the  new  track,  "  that  the  dear  lost 
boy  had  withheld  any  thing  from  me — uiost  of  all,  such  a 
leading  matter  as  this — what  gleam  of  light  was  there  for  me 
in  the  whole  black  sky  ?  When  I  supposed  that  his  intended 
wife  was  here,  and  his  marriage  close  at  hand,  how  could  I 
entertain  the  possibility  of  his  voluntarily  leaving  this  place, 
in  a  manner  that  would  be  so  unaccountable,  capricious,  and 
cruel  ?  But  now  that  I  know  what  you  have  told  me,  is 
there  no  little  chink  through  which  day  pierces  ?  Suppos- 
ing him  to  have  disappeared  of  his  own  act,  is  not  his  disap- 
pearance more  accountable  and  less  cruel  ?  'i'he  fact  of  his 
having  just  parted  from  your  ward  is  in  itself  a  sort  of  reason 
for  his  going  away.  It  does  not  make  his  mysterious  de- 
parture the  less  cruel  to  me,  it  is  true  ;  but  it  relieves  it  of 
cruelty  to  her." 

Mr.  Grewgious  could  not  but  assent  to  this. 

*' And  even  as  to  me,"  continued  Jasper,  still  pursuing  the 
new  track,  with  ardor,  and,  as  he  did  so,  brightening  with 
hope,  "  he  knew  that  you  were  coming  to  me  ;  he  knew  that 
you  were  intrusted  to  tell  me  what  you  have  told  me  ;  if 
your  doing  so  has  awakened  a  new  train  of  thought  in  my 
perplexed  mind,  it  reasonably  follows  that,  from  the  same 
premises,  he  might  have  foreseen  the  inferences  that  I  should 
draw.  Grant  that  he  did  foresee  them  ;  and  even  the 
cruelty  to  me — and  who  am  I  ! — John  Jasper,  music  mas- 
ter ! — vanishes." 

Once  more,  Mr.  Grewgious  could  not  but  assent  to  this. 

"  I  have  had  my  distrusts,  and  terrible  distrusts  they  have 


774         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD 

been,"  said  Jasper  ;  **  but  your  disclosure,  overpowering  as 
it  was  at  first — showing  rne  that  my  own  dear  boy  had  had  a 
great  disappointing  reservation  from  me,  who  so  fondly 
loved  him — kindles  hope  within  me.  You  do  not  extinguish 
it  when  I  state  it,  but  admit  it  to  be  a  reasonable  hope.  I 
begin  to  believe  it  possible  " — here  he  clasped  his  hands — 
*'  that  he  may  have  disappeared  from  among  us  of  his  own  ac- 
cord, and  that  he  may  yet  be  alive  and  well !  " 

Mr.  Crisparkle  came  in  at  the  moment,  to  whom  Mr.  Jas- 
per repeated  : 

"  I  begin  to  believe  it  possible  that  he  may  have  disap- 
peared of  his  own  accord,  and  may  yet  be  alive  and  well  !  " 

Mr.  Crisparkle.  taking  a  seat,  and  inquiring  "  Why  so  ? " 
Mr.  Jasper  repeated  the  arguments  he  had  just  set  forth.  If 
they  had  been  less  plausible  than  they  were,  the  good  minor 
canon's  mind  would  have  been  in  a  state  of  preparation  to  re- 
ceive them,  as  exculpatory  of  his  unfortunate  pupil.  But 
he,  too,  did  really  attach  great  importance  to  the  lost  young 
man's  having  been,  so  immediately  before  his  disappearance, 
placed  in  a  new  and  embarrassing  relation  toward  every  one 
acquainted  with  his  projects  and  affairs  ;  and  the  fact  seemed 
to  him  to  present  the  question  in  a  new  light. 

"  I  stated  to  Mr.  Sapsea,  when  we  waited  on  him,"  said  Jas- 
per, as  he  really  had  done,  "  that  there  was  no  quarrel 
or  difference  between  the  two  young  men  at  their  last  meet- 
ing. We  all  know  that  their  first  meeting  was,  unfortunately, 
very  far  from  amicable  ;  but  all  went  smoothly  and  quietly 
when  they  were  last  together  at  my  house.  My  dear  boy 
was  not  in  his  usual  spirits  ;  he  was  depressed — I  noticed 
that — and  I  am  bound  henceforth  to  dwell  upon  the  circum- 
stance the  more,  now  that  I  know  there  was  a  special  reason 
for  his  being  depressed — a  reason,  moreover,  which  may  pos-. 
sibly  have  induced  him  to  absent  himself." 

"  I  pray  to  heaven  it  may  turn  out  so  !  "  exclaimed  Mr. 
Crisparkle. 

*'  /  pray  to  heaven  it  may  turn  out  so  !  "  repeated  Jasper. 
*'  You  know — and  Mr.  Grewgious  should  now  know  likewise 
— that  I  took  a  great  prepossession  against  Mr.  Neville 
Landless,  arising  out  of  his  furious  conduct  on  that  first  oc- 
casion. You  know  that  I  came  to  you  extremely  apprehen- 
sive, on  my  dear  boy's  behalf,  of  his  mad  violence.  You 
know  that  I  even  entered  in  my  diary,  and  showed  the  entry 
to  you,  that  I  had  dark  forebodings  against  him.  Mr.  Grew- 
gious ought  to  be  possessed  of  the  whole  case.     He  shall  n©t, 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         775 

through  any  suppression  of  mine,  be  informed  of  a  part  of 
it,  and  kept  in  ignorance  of  another  part  of  it.  I  wish  him 
to  be  good  enough  to  understand  that  the  communication 
he  has  made  to  me  has  hopefully  influenced  my  mind,  in 
spite  of  its  having  been,  before  this  mysterious  occurrence 
took  place,  profoundly  impressed   against  young  Landless." 

This  fairness  troubled  the  minor  canon  much.  He  felt 
that  he  was  not  as  open  in  his  own  dealing.  He  charged 
against  himself  reproachfully  that  he  had  suppressed,  so  far, 
tlie  two  points  of  a  second  strong  outbreak  of  temper  against 
Edwin  Drood  on  the  part  of  Neville,  and  of  the  passion  of 
jealousy  having,  to  his  own  certain  knowledge,  flamed  up  in 
Neville's  breast  against  him.  He  was  convinced  of  Neville's 
innocence  of  any  part  in  the  ugly  disappearance,  and  yet  so 
many  little  circumstances  combined  so  wofully  against  him, 
that  he  dreaded  to  add  two  more  to  their  cumulative  weight. 
He  was  among  the  truest  of  men  ;  but  he  had  been  balanc- 
ing in  his  mind,  much  to  its  distress,  whether  his  volunteer- 
ing to  tell  these  two  fragments  of  truth,  at  this  time,  would 
not  be  tantamount  to  a  piecing  together  of  falsehood  in  the 
place  of  truth. 

However,  here  was  a  model  before  him.  He  hesitated  no 
longer.  Addressing  Mr.  Grewgious,  as  one  placed  in  au- 
thority by  the  revelation  he  had  brought  to  bear  on  the  mys- 
tery (and  surpassingly  angular  Mr.  Grewgious  became  when 
he  found  himself  in  that  unexpected  position),  Mr.  Crisparkle 
bore  his  testimony  to  Mr.  Jasper's  strict  sense  of  justice,  and, 
expressing  his  absolute  confidence  in  the  complete  clearance 
of  his  pupil  from  the  least  taint  of  suspicion,  sooner  or  later, 
avowed  that  his  confidence  in  that  young  gentleman  had 
been  formed,  in  spite  of  his  confidential  knowledge  that  his 
temper  was  of  the  hottest  and  fiercest,  and  that  it  w^as  di- 
rectly incensed  against  Mr.  Jasper's  nephew,  by  the  circum- 
stance of  his  romantically  supposing  himself  to  be  enamored 
of  the  same  young  lady.  The  sanguine  reaction  manifest  in 
Mr.  Jasper  was  proof  even  against  this  unlooked-for  decla- 
ration. It  turned  him  paler  ;  but  he  repeated  that  he  would 
cling  to  the  hope  he  had  derived  from  Mr.  Grewgious  ;  and 
that  if  no  trace  of  his  dear  boy  were  found  leading  to  the 
dreadful  inference  that  he  had  been  made  away  with,  that 
he  would  cherish  unto  the  last  stretch  of  possibility,  the 
idea  that  he  might  have  absconded  of  his  own  wild  will. 

Now,  it  fell  out  that  Mr.  Crisparkle,  going  away  from  this 
conference  still  very  uneasy  in  his  mind,   and   very  much 


776         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

troubled  on  behalf  of  the  young  man  whom  he  held  as  a 
kind  of  prisoner  in  his  own  house,  took  a  memorable  night 
walk. 

He  walked  to  Cloisterham  Weir. 

He  often  did  so,  and  consequently  there  was  nothing  re- 
markable in  his  footsteps  tending  that  way.  But  the  pre- 
occupation of  his  mind  so  hindered  him  from  planning  any 
walk,  or  taking  heed  of  the  objects  he  passed,  that  his  first 
consciousness  of  being  near  the  weir  was  derived  from  the 
sound  of  the  falling  water  close  at  hand. 

'*  How  did  I  come  here  ?  "  was  his  first  thought,  as  he 
stopped. 

"  Why  did  I  come  here  ?  "  was  his  second. 

Then  he  stood  intently  listening  to  the  water.  A  familiar 
passage  in  his  reading,  about  airy  tongues  that  syllable  men's 
names,  rose  so  unbidden  to  his  ear,  that  he  put  it  from  him 
with  his  hand,  as  if  it  were  tangible. 

It  was  starlight.  The  weir  was  full  two  miles  above  the 
spot  to  which  the  young  men  had  repaired  to  watch  the 
storm.  No  search  had  been  made  up  here,  for  the  tide  had 
been  running  strongly  down  at  that  time  of  the  night  of 
Christmas  Eve,  and  the  likeliest  places  for  the  discovery  of 
a  body,  if  a  fatal  accident  had  happened  under  such  circum- 
stances, all  lay — both  when  the  tide  ebbed,  and  when  it 
flowed  again — between  that  spot  and  the  sea.  The  water 
came  over  the  weir,  with  its  usual  sound  on  a  cold  starlight 
night,  and  little  could  be  seen  of  it  ;  yet  Mr.  Crisparkle  had 
a  strange  idea  that  something  unusual  hung  about  the  place. 

He  reasoned  with  himself  :  What  was  it  ?  where  was  it  ? 
Put  it  to  the  proof.     Which  sense  did  it  address  ? 

No  sense  reasoned  any  thing  unusual  there.  He  listened 
again,  and  his  sense  of  hearing  again  checked  the  water 
coming  over  the  weir,  with  its  usual  sound  on  a  cold  star- 
light night. 

Knowing  very  well  that  the  mystery  with  which  his  mind 
was  occupied  might  of  itself  give  the  place  this  haunted  air, 
he  strained  those  hawk's  eyes  of  his  for  the  correction  of  his 
sight.  He  got  closer  to  the  weir,  and  peered  at  its  well- 
known  posts  and  timbers.  Nothing  in  the  least  unusual  was 
remotely  shadowed  forth.  But  he  resolved  that  he  would 
come  back  early  in  the  morning. 

The  weir  ran  through  his  broken  sleep  all  night,  and  he 
was  back  again  at  sunrise.  It  was  a  bright  frosty  morning. 
The  whole  composition  before  him,  when  he  stood  where  he 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         777 

had  stood  last  night,  was  clearly  discernible  in  its  minutest 
details.  He  had  surveyed  it  closely  for  some  minutes,  and 
was  about  to  withdraw  his  eyes,  when  they  were  attracted 
keenly  to  one  spot. 

He  turned  his  back  upon  the  weir,  and  looked  far  away 
at  the  sky,  and  at  the  earth,  and  then  looked  again  at  that 
one  spot.  It  caught  his  sight  again  immediately,  and  he 
concentrated  his  vision  upon  it.  He  could  not  lose  it  now, 
though  it  was  but  such  a  speck  in  the  landscape.  It  fasci- 
nated his  sight.  His  hands  began  plucking  off  his  coat. 
For  it  struck  him  that  at  that  spot — a  corner  of  the  weir — 
something  glistened,  which  did  not  move  and  come  over  with 
the  glistening  water-drops,  but  remained  stationary. 

He  assured  himself  of  this,  he  threw  off  his  clothes,  he 
plunged  into  the  icy  water,  and  swam  for  the  spot.  Climb- 
ing the  timbers,  he  took  from  them,  caught  among  their 
interstices  by  its  chain,  a  gold  watch,  bearing  engraved  upon 
its  back,  E.  D. 

He  brought  the  watch  to  the  bank,  swam  to  the  weir  again, 
climbed  it,  and  dived  off.  He  knew  every  hole  and  corner 
of  all  the  depths,  and  dived  and  dived  and  dived,  until  he 
could  bear  the  cold  no  more.  His  notion  was  that  he  would 
find  the  body  ;  but  he  only  found  a  shirt-pin  sticking  in 
some  mud  and  ooze. 

With  these  discoveries  he  returned  to  Cloisterham,  and 
taking  Neville  Landless  with  him,  went  straight  to  the 
mayor.  Mr.  Jasper  was  sent  for,  the  watch  and  shirt-pin 
identified.  Neville  was  detained,  and  the  wildest  frenzy 
and  fatuity  of  evil  report  arose  against  him.  He  was  of  that 
vindictive  and  violent  nature  that,  but  for  his  poor  sister, 
who  alone  had  influence  over  him,  and  out  of  whose  sight 
he  was  never  to  be  trusted,  he  would  be  in  the  daily  com- 
mission of  murder.  Before  coming  to  England  he  had 
caused  to  be  whipped  to  death  sundry  "  natives" — nomadic 
persons,  encamping  now  in  Asia,  now  in  Africa,  now  in  the 
West  Indies,  and  now  at  the  North  Pole — vaguely  supposed 
in  Cloisterham  to  be  always  black,  always  of  great  virtue, 
always  calling  themselves  me,  and  every  body  else  niassa  or 
missi'e  (according  to  sex),  and  always  reading  tracts  of  the 
obscurest  meaning,  in  broken  English,  but  always  under- 
standing them  in  the  purest  mother  tongue.  He  had  nearly 
brought  Mrs.  Crisparkle's  gray  hairs  with  sorrow  to  the 
grave.  (Those  original  expressions  were  Mr.  Sapsea's.)  He 
had  repeatedly   said   he   would   have   Mr.  Crisparkle's  life- 


778        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

He  had  repeatedly  said  he  would  have  every  body's  life,  and 
become  in  effect  the  last  man.  He  had  been  brought  dov/n 
to  Cloisterham  from  London  by  an  eminent  philanthropist, 
and  why  ?  Because  that  philanthropist  had  expressly  de- 
clared, "  I  owe  it  to  my  fellow-creatures  tliat  he  should  be, 
in  the  words  of  Bentham,  where  he  is  the  cause  of  the  great- 
est danger  to  the  smallest  number." 

These  dropping  shots  from  the  blunderbusses  of  blunder- 
headedness  might  not  have  hit  him  in  a  vital  place.  But 
he  had  to  stand  against  a  train  and  well  directed  fire  of 
arms  of  precision  too.  He  had  notoriously  threatened 
the  lost  young  man,  and  had,  according  to  the  showing 
of  his  own  faithful  friend  and  tutor,  who  strove  so  hard  for 
him,  a  cause  of  bitter  animosity  (created  by  himself  and 
stated  by  himself)  against  that  ill-starred  fellow.  He  had 
armed  himself  with  an  offensive  weapon  for  the  fatal  night, 
and  he  had  gone  off  early  in  the  morning,  after  making  prep- 
arations for  departure.  He  liad  been  found  with  traces  of 
blood  on  him  ;  truly,  they  might  have  been  Vvholly  caused  as 
he  represented,  but  they  might  not,  also.  On  a  se-irch-war- 
rant  being  issued  for  the  examination  of  his  room,  clothes, 
and  so  forth,  it  was  discovered  that  he  had  destroyed  all 
his  papers,  and  rearranged  all  his  possessions,  on  the 
very  afternoon  of  the  disappearance.  The  watch  found 
at  the  weir  was  challenged  by  the  jeweler  as  the  one 
he  had  wound  and  set  for  Edwin  Drood,  at  twenty 
minutes  past  two  on  that  same  afternoon  ;  and  it  had 
run  down,  before  being  cast  into  the  water  ;  and  it  v/as 
the  jeweler's  positive  opinion  that  it  had  never  been  re- 
wound. This  would  justify  the  hypothesis  that  the  watch 
was  taken  from  him  not  long  after  he  left  Mr.  Jasper's 
hojse  at  midnight,  in  company  with  the  last  person  seen 
with  him,  and  that  it  had  been  thrown  away  after  being  re- 
tained some  hours.  Why  thrown  away  ?  If  he  had  been 
murdered,  and  so  artfully  disfigured,  or  concealed,  or  both, 
as  that  the  murderer  hoped  identification  to  be  impossible, 
except  from  something  that  he  wore,  assuredly  the  murderer 
would  seek  to  remove  from  the  body  the  most  lasting,  the 
best  known,  and  the  most  easily  recognizable  things  upon  it. 
Those  things  would  be  the  watch  and  shirt-pin.  As  to  his 
opportunity  of  casting  them  intb  the  river  ;  if  he  were  the 
object  of  these  suspicions,  they  were  easy.  For  he  had  been 
seen  by  many  persons  wandering  about  on  that  side  of  the 
city — indeed  on  all  sides  of  it — in  a  miserable  and  seemingly 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        779 

half-distracted  manner.  As  to  the  choice  of  the  spot,  obvi- 
ously such  criminating  evidence  had  better  take  its  chance 
of  being  found  anywhere,  rather  than  upon  himself  or  in  his 
possession.  Concerning  the  reconciliatory  nature  of  the 
appointed  meeting  between  the  two  young  men,  very  little 
could  be  made  of  that,  in  young  Landless's  favor  ;  for  it 
distinctly  appeared  that  the  meeting  originated,  not  with 
him,  but  wnth  Mr.  Crisparkle,  and  that  it  was  urged  on  by 
Mr.  Crisparkle  :  and  who  could  say  how  unwillingly,  or  in 
what  ill-conditioned  mood,  his  enforced  pupil  had  gone  to 
it  ?  The  more  his  case  was  looked  into,  the  weaker  it  be- 
came in  every  point.  Even  the  broad  suggestion  that  tlie 
lost  young  man  had  absconded  was  rendered  additionally 
improbable  on  the  showing  of  the  young  lady  from  whom  he 
liad  so  lately  parted  ;  for,  what  did  she  say,  Avith  great  earn- 
estness and  sorrow,  when  interrogated  :  That  he  had,  ex- 
pressly and  enthusiastically  planned  with  her,  that  he  would 
await  the  arrival  of  her  guardian,  Mr.  Grewgious.  And  yet, 
be  it  observed,  he  disappeared  before  that  gentleman  arrived. 

On  the  suspicions  thus  urged  and  supported,  Neville  was 
detained  and  re-detained,  and  the  search  was  pressed  on 
every  hand,  and  Jasper  labored  night  and  day.  But  noth- 
ing more  was  found.  No  discovery  being  made  which 
proved  the  lost  man  to  be  dead,  it  at  length  became  neces- 
sary to  release  the  person  suspected  of  having  made  away 
with  him.  Neville  was  set  at  large.  Then  a  consequence 
ensued  which  Mr.  Crisparkle  had  too  well  foreseen.  Neville 
must  leave  the  place,  for  the  place  shunned  him  and  cast 
him  out.  Even  had  it  not  been  so,  the  dear  old  china  shep- 
herdess would  have  worried  herself  to  death  with  fears  for 
her  son,  and  with  general  trepidation  occasioned  by  their 
having  such  an  inmate.  Even  had  that  not  been  so,  the 
authority  to  which  the  minor  canon  deferred  officially  would 
have  settled  the  point. 

"Mr.  Crisparkle,"  quoth  the  dean,  *'*  hurnan  justice  may 
err,  but  it  must  act  according  to  its  lights.  The  days  of 
taking  sanctuary  are  past.  This  young  man  must  not  take 
sanctuary  with  us." 

"  You  mean  that  he  must  leave  my  house,  sir  ? " 

"  Mr,  Crisparkle,"  returned  the  prudent  dean,  ''  I  claim  no 
authority  in  your  house.  I  merely  confer  with  you,  on  the 
painful  necessity  you  find  yourself  under,  of  depriving  this 
young  man  of  the  great  advantages  of  your  counsel  and  in- 
struction." 


78o         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"It  is  very  lamentable,  sir,"  Mr.  Crisparkle  represented. 

"  Very  much  so,"  the  dean  assented. 

"  And  if  it  be  a  necessity,"  Mr.  Crisparkle  faltered. 

"As  you  unfortunately  find  it  to  be — "  returned  the  dean. 

Mr.  Crisparkle  bowed  submissively.  "It  is  hard  to  pre- 
judge his  case,  sir,  but  I  am  sensible  that " 

"  Just  so.  Perfectly.  As  you  say,  Mr.  Crisparkle,"  in- 
terposed the  dean,  nodding  his  head  smoothly,  "  there  is 
nothing  else  to  be  done.  No  doubt,  no  doubt.  There  is  no 
alternative,  as  your  good  sense  has  discovered." 

"  I  am  entirely  satisfied  of  his  perfect  innocence,  sir, 
nevertheless." 

"We-e-ell  !"  said  the  dean,  in  a  more  confidential  tone, 
and  slightly  glancing  around  him,  "  I  would  not  say  so,  gen- 
erally. Not  generally.  Enough  of  suspicion  attaches  to 
him  to — no,  I  think  I  would  not  say  so,  generally." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  bowed  again. 

"  It  does  not  become  us,  perhaps,"  pursued  the  dean,  "  to 
be  partisans.  Not  partisans.  We  clergy  keep  our  hearts 
warm  and  our  heads  cool,  and  we  hold  a  judicious  middle 
course." 

"I  hope  you  do  not  object,  sir,  to  my  having  stated  in 
public,  emphatically,  that  he  will  reappear  here,  whenever 
any  new  suspicion  may  be  awakened,  or  any  new  circum- 
stance may  come  to  light  in  this  extraordinary  matter  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,"  returned  the  dean.  "  And  yet,  do  you  know, 
I  don't  think,"  with  a  very  nice  and  neat  emphasis  on  those 
two  words,  "  1  dont  think  I  would  state  it,  emphatically. 
State  it  ?  Ye-e-es  !  But  emphatically  ?  No-o-o.  I  think 
not.  In  point  of  fact,  Mr.  Crisparkle,  keeping  our  hearts 
warm  and  our  heads  cool,  we  need  do  nothing  emphat- 
ically." 

So  Minor  Canon  Row  knew  Neville  Landless  no  more, 
and  he  went  whithersoever  he  would,  or  could,  with  a  blight 
upon  his  name  end  fame. 

It  was  not  until  then  that  John  Jasper  silently  resumed  his 
place  in  the  choir.  Haggard  and  red-eyed,  his  hopes  plainly 
had  deserted  him,  his  sanguine  mood  was  gone,  and  all  his 
worst  misgivings  had  come  back.  A  day  or  two  afterward, 
while  unrobing,  he  took  his  diary  from  a  pocket  of  his  coat, 
turned  the  leaves,  and  with  an  impressive  look,  and  without 
one  spoken  word,  handed  this  entry  to  Mr.  Crisparkle  to 
read  : 

*'  My  dear  boy  is  murdered.     The  discovery  of  the  watch 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         781 

and  shirt-pin  convinces  me  that  he  was  murdered  that  night, 
and  that  this  jewelry  was  taken  from  him  to  prevent  identifi- 
cation by  its  means.  All  the  delusive  hopes  I  had  founded 
on  his  separation  from  his  betrothed  wife,  I  give  to  the 
winds.  They  perish  before  this  fatal  discovery.  I  now 
swear,  and  record  the  oath  on  this  page,  That  I  nevermore 
will  discuss  this  mystery  with  any  human  creature,  until  I 
hold  the  clew  to  it  in  my  hand.  That  I  never  will  relax 
in  my  secrecy  or  in  my  search.  That  I  will  fasten  the 
crime  of  the  murder  of  my  dear,  dear  boy  upon  the  mur- 
derer.    And  that  I  devote  myself  to  his  destruction." 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

PHILANTHROPY,   PROFESSIONAL    AND    UNPROFESSIONAL. 

Full  half  a  year  had  come  and  gone,  and  Mr.  Crisparkle 
sat  in  a  waiting-room  in  the  London  chief  offices  of  the 
Haven  of  Philanthropy,  until  he  could  have  audience  of  Mr. 
Honeythunder. 

In  his  college-days  of  athletic  exercises,  Mr.  Crisparkle 
had"  known  professors  of  the  noble  art  of  fisticuffs,  and  had 
attended  two  or  three  of  their  gloved  gatherings.  He  had 
.now  an  opportunity  of  observing  that  as  to  the  phrenologi- 
cal formation  of  the  backs  of  their  heads,  the  professing 
philanthropists  were  uncommonly  like  the  pugilists.  In 
the  development  of  all  those  organs  which  constitute,  or 
attend,  a  propensity  to  "pitch  into"  your  fellow-creatures, 
the  philanthropists  were  remarkably  favored.  There  were 
several  professors  passing  in  and  out,  with  exactly  the  ag- 
gressive air  upon  them  of  being  ready  for  a  turn-up  with 
any  novice  who  might  happen  to  be  on  hand,  that  Mr. 
Crisparkle  well  remembered  in  the  circles  of  the  fancy. 
Preparations  were  in  progress  for  a  moral  little  mill  some- 
where on  the  rural  circuit,  and  other  professors  were  back- 
ing this  or  that  heavy-weight  as  good  for  such  or  such 
speech-making  hits,  so  very  much  after  the  manner  of  the 
sporting  publicans  that  the  intended  resolutions  might  have 
been  rounds.  In  an  official  manager  of  these  displays  much 
celebrated  for  his  platform  tactics,  Mr.  Crisparkle  recog- 
nized (in  a  suit  of  black)  the  counterpart  of  a  deceased 
benefactor  of  his  species,  an  eminent  public  character,  once 
known  to  fame  as  Frosty-faced  Fogo,  who  in  days  of  yore 


782         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

superintended  the  formation  of  the  magic  circle  with  the 
ropes  and  stakes.  There  were  only  three  conditions  of 
resemblance  wanting  between  these  professors  and  those. 
Firstly,  the  philanthropists  were  in  very  bad  training ; 
much  too  fleshy,  and  presenting,  both  in  face  and  figure,  a 
superabundance  of  what  is  known  to  pugilistic  experts  as 
suet  pudding.  Secondly,  the  philanthropists  had  not  the 
good  temper  of  the  pugilists,  and  used  worse  language. 
Thirdly,  their  fighting  code  stood  in  great  need  of  revision, 
as  empowering  them  not  only  to  bore  their  man  to  the 
ropes,  but  to  bore  him  to  the  confines  of  distraction  ;  also, 
to  hit  him  when  he  was  down,  hit  him  anywhere  and  any- 
how, kick  him,  stamp  upon  him,  gouge  him,  and  maul  him 
behind  his  back  without  mercy.  In  these  last  particulars 
the  professors  of  the  noble  art  were  much  nobler  than  the 
professors  of  philanthropy. 

Mr.  Crisparkle  was  so  completely  lost  in  musing  on  these 
similarities  and  dissimilarities,  at  the  same  time  watching 
the  crowd  which  came  and  went  by,  always,  as  it  seemed, 
on  errands  of  antagonistically  snatching  something  from 
somebody,  and  never  giving  any  thing  to  any  body  :  that 
his  name  was  called  before  he  heard  it.  On  his  at  length 
responding,  he  was  shown  by  a  miserably  shabby  and  under- 
paid stipendiary  philanthropist  (who  could  hardly  have 
done  worse  if  he  had  taken  service  with  a  declared  enemy 
of  the  human  race)  to  Mr.  Honeythunder's  room. 

"  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Honeythunder  in  his  tremendous  voice, 
like  a  school-master  issuing  orders  to  a  boy  of  whom  he  had 
a  bad  opinion,  "sit  down." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  seated  himself. 

Mr.  Honeythunder,  having  signed  the  remaining  few  score 
of  a  few  thousand  circulars,  calling  upon  a  corresponding 
number  of  families  without  means  to  come  forward,  stump 
up  instantly,  and  be  philanthropist,  or  go  to  the  devil, 
another  shabby  stipendiary  philanthropist  (highly  disinter- 
ested, if  in  earnest)  gathered  these  into  a  basket  and  walked 
off  with  them. 

''  Now,  Mr.  Crisparkle,"  said  Mr.  Honeythunder,  turn- 
ing his  chair  half  round  toward  him  when  they  were 
alone,  and  squaring  his  arms  with  his  hands  on  his  knees, 
and  his  brows  knitted,  as  if  he  added,  I  am  going  to 
make  short  work  of  you — "  now,  Mr.  Crisparkle,  we  en- 
tertain different  views,  you  and  I,  sir,  of  the  sanctity  of 
human  life." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         783 

"  Do  we  ?  "  returned  the  minor  canon. 

"We  do,  sir." 

"Might  I  ask  you,"  said  the  minor  canon,  "what  are 
your  views  on  that  subject  ?  " 

"  That  human  life  is  a  thing  to  be  held  sacred,  sir." 

"  Might  I  ask  you,"  pursued  the  minor  canon  as  before, 
"  what  you  suppose  to  be  my  views  on  that  subject  ?  " 

"  By  George,  sir  !  "  returned  the  philanthropist,  squaring 
his  arms  still  more,  as  he  frowned  on  Mr.  Crisparkle  :  *' they 
are  best  known  to  yourself." 

"  Readily  admitted.  But  you  began  by  saying  that  we 
took  different  views,  you  know.  Therefore  (or  you  could 
not  say  so)  you  must  have  set  up  some  views  as  mine. 
Pray,  what  views  have  you  set  up  as  mine  ?  " 

"  Here  is  a  man — and  a  young  man,"  said  Mr.  Honey- 
thunder,  as  if  that  made  the  matter  infinitely  worse,  and  he 
could  have  easily  borne  the  loss  of  an  old  one  :  "  swept  off 
the  face  of  the  earth  by  a  deed  of  violence.  What  do  you 
call  that  ?  " 

"  Murder,"  said  the  minor  canon. 

"  What  do  you  call  the  doer  of  that  deed,  sir  ? " 

"  A  murderer,"  said  the  minor  canon. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  admit  so  much,  sir,"  retorted  Mr. 
Honeythunder,  in  his  most  offensive  manner  ;  "  and  I  can- 
didly tell  you  that  I  didn't  expect  it."  Here  he  lowered 
heavily  at  Mr.  Crisparkle  again. 

"  Be  so  good  as  to  explain  what  you  mean  by  those  very 
unjustifiable  expressions." 

"  I  don't  sit  here,  sir,"  returned  the  philanthropist,  raismg 
his  voice  to  a  roar,  ''  to  be  browbeaten." 

"  As  the  only  other  person  present,  no  one  can  possibly 
know  that  better  than  I  do,"  returned  the  minor  canon  very 
quietly.     "  But  I  interrupt  your  explanation." 

"Murder  !  "  proceeded  Mr.  Honeythunder,  in  a  kind  of 
boisterous  reverie,  with  his  platform  folding  of  his  arms,  and 
his  platform  nod  of  abhorrent  refleclion  after  each  short  sen- 
timent of  a  word.  "  Bloodshed  !  Abel  !  Cain  !  I  hold  no 
terms  with  Cain.  I  repudiate  with  a  shudder  the  red  hand 
when  it  is  offered  me." 

Instead  of  instantly  leaping  into  his  chair  and  cheermg 
himself  hoarse,  as  the  brotherhood  in  public  meeting  assem- 
bled would  infallibly  have  done  on  this  cue,  Mr.  Crisparkle 
merely  reversed  the  quiet  crossing  of  his  legs,  and  said 
mildly,  ''  Don't  let  me  interrupt  your  explanation — vhen  you 
begin  it." 


784         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  The  Commandments  say  no  murder.  NO  murder, 
sir  I  "  proceeded  Mr.  Honeythunder,  platlormally  pausing 
as  if  he  took  Mr,  Crisparkle  to  task  for  having  distinctly 
asserted  that  they  said,  You  may  do  a  little  murder  and  then 
leave  off. 

"  And  they  also  say,  you  shall  bea:t  no  false  witness,"  ob- 
served Mr.  Crisparkle. 

"  Enough  !  "  bellowed  Mr.  Honeythunder,  with  a  solem- 
nity and  severity  that  would  have  brought  the  house  down 
at  a  meeting,  "  E — e — nough  !  My  late  wards  being  now 
of  age,  and  I  being  released  from  a  trust  which  I  can  not 
contemplate  without  a  thrill  of  horror,  there  are  the  accounts 
which  you  have  undertaken  to  accept  on  their  behalf,  and 
theie  is  a  statement  of  the  balance  which  you  have  underta- 
ken to  receive,  and  which  you  can  not  receive  too  soon. 
And  let  me  tell  you,  sir,  I  wish,  that  as  a  man  and  a  minor 
canon,  you  were  better  employed,"  with  a  nod.  "  Better 
employed,"  with  another  nod.  "  Bet — ter  em — ployed," 
with  another,  and  the  three  nods  added  up. 

Mr.  Crisparkle  rose,  a  little  heated  in  the  face,  but  with 
perfect  command  of  himself. 

"  Mr.  Honeythunder,"  he  said,  taking  up  the  papers  re- 
ferred to,  "  my  being  better  or  worse  employed  than  I  am 
at  present  is  a  matter  of  taste  and  opinion.  You  might 
think  me  better  employed  in  enrolling  myself  a  member  of 
your  society." 

"  Ay,  indeed,  sir  !  "  retorted  Mr.  Honeythunder,  shaking 
his  head  in  a  threatening  manner.  *'  It  would  have  been 
better  for  you  if  you  had  done  that  long  ago." 

*'  I  think  otherwise." 

"  Or,"  said  Mr.  Honeythunder,  shaking  his  head  again, 
*'  I  might  think  one  of  your  profession  better  employed 
in  devoting  himself  to  the  discovery  and  punishment  of 
guilt  than  in  leaving  that  duty  to  be  undertaken  by  a  layman." 

"  I  may  regard  my  profession  from  a  point  of  view  which 
teaches  me  that  its  first  duty  is  toward  those  who  are  in  neces- 
sity and  tribulation,  who  are  desolate  and  oppressed,"  said  Mr. 
Crisparkle,  "  However,  as  I  have  quite  clearly  satisfied  my- 
self that  it  is  no  part  of  my  profession  to  make  jjrofessions, 
I  say  no  more  of  that.  But  I  owe  it  to  Mr.  Neville,  and  to 
Mr.  Neville's  sister  (and  in  a  much  lower  degree  to  myself), 
to  say  to  you  that  I  k»07a  I  was  in  the  full  possession  and  un- 
derstanding of  Mr.  Neville's  mind  and  heart  at  the  time  of  this 
occurrence  ;  and  that,  without  in  the  least  coloring  or  con- 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         785 

cealing  what  was  to  be  deplojr^d  in  him  and  required  to  be 
corrected,  I  feel  certain  that  his  tale  is  true.  Feeling  that 
certainty,  I  befriend  him.  As  long  as  that  certainty  shall  last, 
I  will  befriend  him.  And  if  any  consideration  could  shake 
me  in  this  resolve,  I  should  be  so  ashamed  of  myself  for  my 
meanness  that  no  man's  good  opinion — no,  nor  no  woman's 
— so  gained,  could  compensate  me  for  the  loss  of  my 
own." 

Good  fellow  !  Manly  fellow  !  And  he  was  so  modest,  too. 
There  was  no  more  self-assertion  in  the  minor  canon  than 
in  the  school-boy  who  stood  in  the  breezy  play-fields  keep- 
ing a  wicket.  He  was  simply  and  stanchly  true  to  his  duty 
alike  in  the  large  case  and  in  the  small.  So  all  true  souls 
ever  are.  So  every  true  soul  ever  was,  ever  is,  and  ever 
will  be.     There  is  nothing  little  to  the  really  great  in  spirit. 

"  Then  who  did  you  make  out  did  the  deed  ? "  asked  Mr. 
Honeythunder,  turning  on  him  abruptly. 

"  Heaven  forbid,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "  that  in  my  de- 
sire to  clear  one  man  I  should  lightly  criminate  another  !  I 
accuse  no  one." 

'*  Tcha  !  "  ejaculated  Mr.  Honeythunder  with  great  dis- 
gust ;  for  this  was  by  no  means  the  principle  on  which  the 
philanthropic  brotherhood  usually  proceeded.  "And,  sir, 
you  are  not  a  disinterested  witness,  we  must  bear  in  mind." 

"  How  am  I  an  interested  one  ? "  inquired  Mr.  Crisparkle, 
smiling  innocently,  at  a  loss  to  imagine. 

"  There  was  a  certain  stipend,  sir,  paid  to  you  for  your 
pupil,  which  may  have  warped  your  judgment  a  bit,"  said 
Mr.  Honeythunder,  coarsely. 

"  Perhaps  I  expect  to  retain  it  still  !  "  Mr.  Crisparkle  re- 
turned, enlightened  ;  *'  do  you  mean  that  too  ?  " 

"  Well,  sir,"  returned  the  professional  philanthropist,  get- 
ting up,  and  thrusting  his  hands  down  into  his  trowsers' 
pockets,  "  I  don't  go  about  measuring  people  for  caps.  If 
people  find  I  have  any  about  me  that  fit  'em,  they  can  put 
'em  on  and  wear  'em,  if  they  like.  That's  their  lookout, 
not  mine." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  eyed  him  with  a  just  indignation,  and  took 
him  to  task  thus  : 

"  Mr.  Honeythunder,  I  hoped  when  I  came  in  here  that 
I  might  be  under  no  necessity  of  commenting  on  the 
introduction  of  platform  manners  or  maneuvers  among  the 
decent  forbearances  of  private  life.  But  you  have  given 
me  such  a  specimen  of  both,  that  I  should  be  a  fit  subject 


786         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

for  both  if  I  remained  silent  respecting  them.  They  are  de- 
testable." 

"They  don't  suit  you,  I  dare  say,  sir," 

"They  are,"  repeated  Mr.  Crisparkle,  without  noticing 
the  interruption,  "  detestable.  They  violate  equally  the 
justice  that  should  belong  to  Christians,  and  the  restraints 
that  should  belong  to  gentlemen.  You  assume  a  great  crime 
to  have  been  committed  by  one  whom  I,  acquainted  with 
the  attendant  circumstances,  and  having  numerous  reasons 
on  my  side,  devoutly  believe  to  be  innocent  of  it.  Because 
I  differ  from  you  on  that  vital  point,  what  is  your  platform 
resource  !  Instantly  to  turn  upon  me,  charging  that  I  have 
no  sense  of  the  enormity  of  the  crime  itself  but  am  its  aider 
and  abettor!  So,  another  time — taking  me  as  representing 
your  opponent  in  other  cases — you  set  up  a  platform  credul- 
ity :  a  moved  and  seconded  and  carried-unanimously  pro- 
fession of  faith  in  some  ridiculous  delusion  or  mischievous 
imposition.  I  decline  to  believe  it,  and  you  fall  back  upon 
your  platform  resource  of  proclaiming  that  I  believe  noth- 
ing ;  that  because  I  will  not  bow  down  to  a  false  God  of 
your  making,  I  deny  the  true  God  !  Another  time,  you 
make  the  platform  discovery  that  war  is  a  calamity,  and  you 
propose  to  abolish  it  by  a  string  of  twisted  resolutions  tossed 
into  the  air  like  the  tail  of  a  kite.  I  do  not  admit  the  dis- 
covery to  be  yours  in  the  least,  and  1  have  not  a  grain  of 
faith  in  your  remedy.  Again  your  platform  resource  of 
representing  me  as  reveling  in  -he  horrors  of  a  battle-field 
like  a  fiend  incarnate  !  Another  time,  in  another  of  your 
undiscriminating  platform  rushes,  you  would  punish  the 
sober  for  the  drunken.  I  claim  consideration  for  the 
comfort,  convenience,  and  refreshment  of  the  sober  ;  and 
you  presently  make  platform  proclamation  that  I  have  a  de- 
praved desire  to  turn  heaven's  creatures  into  swine  and 
wild  beasts  !  In  all  such  cases  your  movers,  and  your  sec- 
onders, and  your  supporters — your  regular  professors  of  all 
degrees — run  amuck  like  so  many  mad  Malays  ;  habitually 
attributing  the  lowest  and  basest  motives  with  the  utmost 
recklessness  (let  me  call  your  attention  to  a  recent  instance 
in  yourself  for  which  you  should  blush),  and  quoting  figures 
which  you  know  to  be  as  willfully  one-sided  as  a  statement  of 
any  complicated  account  that  should  be  all  creditor  side 
and  no  debtor,  or  all  debtor  side  and  no  creditor.  There- 
fore it  is,  Mr.  Honeythunder,  that  I  consider  the  platform  a 
sufficiently  bad  example,  and  a  sufficiently  bad  school,  even 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN   DROOD.         787 

in  public  life  ;  but  hold  that,  carried  into  private  life,  it 
becomes  an  unendurable  nuisance." 

*'  These  are  strong  words,  sir  !  "  exclaimed  the  philanthro- 
pist. 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle.    "  Good-morning." 

He  walked  out  of  the  Haven  at  a  great  rate,  but  soon  fell 
into  his  regular  brisk  pace,  and  soon  had  a  smile  upon  his 
face  as  he  went  along,  wondering  what  the  china  shepherdess 
would  have  said  if  she  had  seen  him  pounding  Mr.  Honey- 
thunder  in  the  late  little  lively  affair.  For  Mr.  Crisparkle 
had  just  enough  of  harmless  vanity  to  hope  that  he  had  hit 
hard,  and  to  glow  with  the  belief  that  he  had  trimmed  the 
philanthropic  jacket  pretty  handsomely. 

He  took  himself  to  Staple  Inn,  but  not  to  P.  J.  T.,  and 
Mr.  Grewgious.  Full  many  a  creaking  stair  he  climbed  before 
he  reached  some  attic  rooms  in  a  corner,  turned  the  latch  of 
their  unbolted  door,  and  stood  beside  the  table  of  Neville 
Landless. 

An  air  of  retreat  and  solitude  hung  about  the  rooms  and 
about  their  inhabitant.  He  was  much  worn,  and  so  were 
they.  I'heir  sloping  ceilings,  cumbrous  rusty  locks  and  grates, 
and  heavy  wooden  bins  and  beams,  slowly  moldering  withal, 
had  a  prisonous  look,  and  he  had  the  haggard  face  of  a  pris- 
oner. Yet  the  sunlight  shone  in  at  the  ugly  garret  window 
which  had  a  penthouse  to  itself  thrust  out  among  the  tiles  ; 
and  on  the  cracked  and  smoke-blackened  parapet  beyond, 
some  of  the  deluded  sparrows  of  the  place  rheumatically 
hopped,  like  little  feathered  cripples  who  had  left  their 
':rutches  in  their  nests  ;  and  there  was  a  play  of  living  leaves 
at  hand  that  changed  the  air  and  made  an  imperfect 
sort  of  music  in  it  that  would  have  been  melody  in  the 
country. 

The  rooms  were  sparely  furnished,  but  with  good  store  of 
books.  Every  thing  expressed  the  abode  of  a  poor  student. 
That  Mr.  Crisparkle  had  either  been  chooser,  lender,  or 
donor  of  the  books,  or  that  he  combined  the  three  characters, 
might  have  been  easily  seen  in  the  friendly  beam  of  his  eyes 
upon  them  as  he  entered. 

'*  How  goes  it,  Neville  ? " 

"  I  am  in  good  heart,  Mr.  Crisparkle,  and  working 
away." 

*'  I  wish  your  eyes  were  not  quite  so  large  and  not  quite  so 
bright,"  said  the  minor  canon,  slowly  releasing  the  hand  he 
had  taken  in  his. 


788         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  They  brighten  at  the  sight  of  you,"  returned  Neville. 
"  If  you  were  to  fall  away  from  me,  they  would  soon  be 
dull  enough." 

**  Rally,  rally  !  "  urged  the  other,  in  a  stimulating  tone. 
"  Fight  for  it,  Neville  !  " 

"  If  I  were  dying,  I  feel  as  if  a  word  from  you  would  rally 
me  ;  if  my  pulse  had  stopped,  I  feel  as  if  your  touch  would 
make  it  beat  again,"  said  Neville.  "But  I  have  rallied  and 
am  doing  famously." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  turned  him  with  his  face  a  little  more  to- 
ward the  light. 

'*  I  want  to  see  a  ruddier  touch  here,  Neville,"  he  said,  in- 
dicating his  own  healthy  cheek  by  way  of  pattern  ;  "  I  want 
more  sun  to  shine  upon  you." 

Neville  drooped  suddenly  as  he  replied  in  a  lowered  voice, 
"  I  am  not  hardy  enough  for  that  yet.  I  may  become  so,  but 
I  can  not  bear  it  yet.  If  5'ou  had  gone  through  those  Cloister- 
ham  streets  as  I  did  ;  if  you  had  seen,  as  I  did,  those  averted 
eyes,  and  the  better  sort  of  people  silently  giving  me  too  much 
room  to  pass,  that  I  might  not  touch  them  or  come  near  them, 
you  would  not  think  it  quite  unreasonable  that  I  can  not  go 
about  in  the  daylight." 

''  My  poor  fellow  I  "  said  the  minor  canon,  in  a  tone  so 
purely  sympathetic  that  the  young  man  caught  his  hand  ;  "i 
never  said  it  was  unreasonable  :  never  thought  so.  But  I 
should  like  you  to  do  it." 

"  And  that  would  give  me  the  strongest  motive  to  do  it. 
But  I  can  not  yet.  I  can  not  persuade  myself  that  the  eyes 
of  even  the  stream  of  strangers  I  pass  in  this  vast  city  look 
at  me  without  suspicion.  I  feel  marked  and  tainted,  even 
when  I  go  out — as  I  do  only — at  night.  But  the  darkness 
covers  me  then,  and  I  take  courage  from  it." 

Mr.  Crisparkle  laid  a  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  and  stood 
looking  down  at  him. 

"  If  I  could  have  changed  my  name,"  said  Neville,  "  I 
would  have  done  so.  But,  as  you  wisely  pointed  out  to  me,  I 
can't  do  that,  for  it  would  look  like  guilt.  If  I  could  have 
gone  to  some  distant  place,  I  might  have  found  relief  in  that, 
but  the  thing  is  not  to  be  thought  of  for  the  same  reason. 
Hiding  and  escaping  would  be  the  construction  in  either  case. 
It  seems  a  little  hard  to  be  so  tied  to  a  stake,  and  innocent ; 
but  I  don't  complain." 

'*  And  you  must  expect  no  miracle  to  help  you,  Neville," 
said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  compassionately. 


THE  iMYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         789 

"  No,  sir,  I  know  that.  The  ordinary  fulhiess  of  time  and 
circunastances  is  all  I  have  to  trust  to." 

"  It  will  right  you  at  last,  Neville." 

**  So  I  believe,  and  I  hope  I  may  live  to  know  it.'* 

But  perceiving  that  the  despondent  mood  into  which  he 
was  falling  cast  a  shadow  on  the  minor  canon,  and  (it  may 
be)  feeling  that  the  broad  hand  upon  his  shoulder  was  not 
then  quite  as  steady  as  its  own  natural  strength'  had  ren- 
dered it  when  it  first  touched  him  just  now,  he  brightened 
and  said 

"  Excellent  circumstances  for  study  anyhow  !  and  you 
know,  Mr.  Crisparkle,  what  need  I  have  of  study  in  all  ways. 
Not  to  mention  that  you  have  advised  me  to  study  for  the 
difficult  profession  of  the  law,  specially,  and  that  of  course, 
I  am  guiding  myself  by  the  advice  of  such  a  friend  and 
helper.     Such  a  good  friend  and  helper  !  " 

He  took  the  fortifying  hand  from  his  shoulder,  and  kissed 
it.  Mr.  Crisparkle  beamed  at  the  books,  but  not  so  brightly 
as  when  he  had  entered. 

"  I  gather  from  your  silence  on  the  subject  that  my  late 
guardian  is  adverse,  Mr.  Crisparkle  ?  " 

The  minor  canon  answered,  "  Your  late  guardian  is  a — a 
most  unreasonable  person,  and  it  s'o-nifies  nothing  to  any 
reasonable  person  whether  he  is  ^^verse  or  /^rverse  or  the 
reverse." 

"Well  for  me  that  I  have  enough  with  economy  to  live 
upon,"  sighed  Neville,  half  wearily  and  half  cheerily,  *' while 
I  wait  to  be  learned  and  wait  to  be  righted  !  Else  I  might 
have  proved  the  proverb  that  w^hile  the  grass  grows  the  steed 
starves  ! " 

He  opened  some  books  as  he  said  it,  and  was  soon  im- 
mersed in  their  interleaved  and  annotated  passages,  while 
Mr.  Crisparkle  sat  beside  him,  expounding,  correcting,  and 
advising.  The  minor  canon's  cathedral  duties  made  these 
visits  of  his  difficult  to  accomplish,  and  only  to  be  compassed 
at  intervals  of  many  weeks.  But  they  w^ere  as  serviceable 
as  they  were  precious  to  Neville  Landless. 

When  they  had  got  through  such  studies  as  they  had  in 
hand,  they  stood  leaning  on  the  window-sill,  and  looking 
down  upon  the  patch  of  garden.  "  Next  week,"  said  Mr. 
Crisparkle,  "  you  will  cease  to  be  alone,  and  will  have  a  de- 
voted companion." 

"And  yet,"  returned  Neville,  "  this  seems  an  uncongenial 
place  to  bring  my  sister  to  !  " 


790        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  Don't  think  so,"  said  the  minor  canon.  *'  There  is  duty 
to  be  done  here  ;  and  there  are  womanly  feeling,  sense,  and 
courage  wanted  here." 

"I  meant,"  explained  Neville,  "that  the  surroundings  are 
so  dull  and  unwomanly,  and  that  Helena  can  have  no  suit- 
able friend  or  society  here." 

"  You  have  only  to  remember,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "  that 
you  are  here  yourself,  and  that  she  has  to  draw  you  into  the 
sunlight." 

They  were  silent  for  a  little  while,  and  then  Mr.  Crispar- 
kle began  anew. 

"  When  we  first  spoke  together,  Neville,  you  told  me  that 
your  sister  had  risen  out  of  the  disadvantages  of  your  past 
lives  as  superior  to  you  as  the  tower  of  Cloisterham  cathe- 
dral is  higher  than  the  chimneys  of  Minor  Canon  Corner. 
Do  you  remember  that  !  " 

"  Right  well." 

*'  I  was  inclined  to  think  it  at  the  time  an  enthusiastic 
flight.  No  matter  what  I  think  now.  What  I  would  empha- 
size is,  that  under  the  head  of  pride  your  sister  is  a  great 
and  opportune  example  to  you." 

*'  Under  all  heads  that  are  included  in  the  composition 
of  a  fine  character,  she  is." 

"  Say  so  ;  but  take  this  one.  Your  sister  has  learned  how 
to  govern  what  is  proud  in  her  nature.  She  can  dominate 
it  even  when  it  is  wounded  through  her  sympathy  with  you. 
No  doubt  she  has  suffered  deeply  in  those  same  streets 
where  you  suft'ered  deeply.  No  doubt  her  life  is  darkened 
by  the  cloud  that  darkens  yours.  But  bending  her  pride 
into  a  grand  composure  that  is  not  haughty  or  aggressive,  but 
is  sustained  confidence  in  you  and  the  truth,  she  has  won 
her  way  through  those  streets  until  she  passes  along  them 
as  high  in  the  general  respect  as  any  one  who  treads  them. 
Every  day  and  hour  of  her  life  since  Edwin  Drood's  disap- 
pearance, she  has  faced  malignity  and  folly — for  you — as 
only  a  brave  nature  well  directed  can.  So  it  will  be  willi 
her  to  the  end.  Another  and  weaker  kind  of  pride  might 
sink  broken-hearted,  but  never  such  a  pride  as  hers  :  whicli 
knows  no  shrinking,  and  can  get  no  mastery  over  her." 

The  pale  cheek  beside  him  flushed  under  the  comparison 
and  the  hint  implied  in  it.  "  I  will  do  all  I  can  to  imitate 
her,"  said  Neville. 

"  Do  so,  and  be  a  truly  brave  man  as  she  is  a  truly  brave 
woman,"  answered    Mr.  Crisparkle,  stoutly. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         791 

dark.      Will  you  go  my  way  with  me,  when  it  is  quite  dark  ? 
Mind  !     It  is  not  I  who  wait  for  darkness." 

Neville  replied  that  he  would  accompany  him  directly. 
But  Mr.  Crisparkle  said  he  had  a  moment's  call  to  make  on 
Mr.  Grewgious  as  an  act  of  courtesy,  and  would  run  across 
to  that  gentleman's  chambers,  and  rejoin  Neville  on  his 
own  doorstep  if  he  would  come  down  there  to  meet  him. 

Mr.  Greu'gious,  bolt  upright  as  usual,  sat  taking  his  wine 
in  the  dusk  at  his  open  window  ;  his  wine-glass  and  decanter 
on  the  round  table  at  his  elbow  ;  himself  and  his  legs  on  the 
window-seat ;  only  one  hinge  in  his  whole  body,  like  a  boot- 
jack. 

"How  do  you  do,  reverend  sir  ?"  said  Mr.  Grewgious, 
with  abundant  offers  of  hospitality  which  were  as  cordially 
declined  as  made.  "  And  how  is  your  charge  getting  on 
over  the  way  in  the  set  that  I  had  the  pleasure  of  recom- 
mending to  you  as  vacant  and  eligible  ?  " 

Mr.  Crisparkle  replied  suitably. 

"I  am  glad  you  approve  of  them,"  said  Mr.  Grev/gious, 
"  because  I  entertain  a  sort  of  fancy  for  having  him  under 
my  eye." 

As  Mr.  Grewgious  had  to  turn  his  eye  up  considerably, 
before  he  could  see  the  chambers,  the  phrase  was  to  be 
taken  figuratively  and  not  literally. 

''And  how  did  you  leave  Mr.  Jasper,  reverend  sir  .? "  said 
Mr.  Grewgious. 

Mr.  Crisparkle  had  left  him  pretty  well. 

"  And  where  did  you  leave  Mr.  Jasper,  reverend  sir  ?  " 

Mr.  Crisparkle  had  left  him  at  Cloisterham. 

**  And  when  did  you  leave  Mr.  Jasper,  reverend  sir  ?  " 

That  morning. 

"  Umps  !  "  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "  He  didn't  say  that  he 
was  coming,  perhaps  ?  " 

"Coming  where  ?" 

"Anywhere,  for  instance  ?"  said  Mr.  Grewgious. 

"No." 

"  Because  here  he  is,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  who  had  asked 
all  these  questions  with  his  preoccupied  glance  directed  out 
at  window.     "  And  he  don't  look  agreeable,  does  he  ?  " 

Mr.  Crisparkle  was  craning  toward  the  window,  when 
Mr.  Grewgious  added  : 

"  If  you  will  kindly  step  round  here  behind  me  in  the 
gloom  of  the  room,  and  will  cast  your  eye  at  the  second 
floor  landing    window,  in   yonder  house,  I    think    you  will 


792         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

hardly  fail  to  see  a  slinking  individual  in  whom  I  recognize 
our  local  friend." 

'*  You  are  right  !  "  cried  Mr.  Crisparkle. 

"  Umps  !  "  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  Then  he  added,  turning 
his  face  so  abruptly  that  his  head  nearly  came  into  collision 
with  Mr.  Crisparkle's,  "What  should  you  say  that  our  local 
friend  was  up  to  ?  " 

The  last  passage  he  had  been  shown  in  the  diary  returned 
on  Mr.  Crisparkle's  mind  with  the  force  of  a  strong  recoil, 
and  he  asked  Mr.  Grewgious  if  he  thought  it  possible  that 
Neville  was  to  be  harassed  by  the  keeping  of  a  watch  upon 
him  ?  " 

"  A  watch,"  repeated  Mr.  Grewgious,  musingly.     "  Ay  !  " 

"  Which  would  not  only  of  itself  haunt  and  torture  his 
life,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  warmly,  "  but  would  expose  him 
to  the  torment  of  a  perpetually  reviving  suspicion,  whatever 
he  might  do,  or  wherever  he  might  go  ? " 

"  Ay  !  "  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  musingly  still.  "  Do  I  see  him 
waiting  for  you  ?  " 

"  No  doubt  you  do." 

"  Then  would  you  have  the  goodness  to  excuse  my  get- 
ting up  to  see  you  out,  and  to  go  out  to  join  him,  and  to  go 
the  way  that  you  were  going,  and  to  take  no  notice  oi  oui 
local  friend  ?  "  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  ''  I  entertain  a  sort  ol 
fancy  for  having  him  under  my  eye  to-night,  do  you  know  ?  " 

Mr.  Crisparkle,  with  a  significant  nod,  complied,  and,  re. 
joining  Neville,  went  away  with  him.  They  dined  together, 
and  parted  at  the  yet  unfinished  and  undeveloped  railwa)f 
station  :  Mr.  Crisparkle  to  get  home  ;  Neville  to  walk  the 
streets,  cross  the  bridges,  make  a  wide  round  of  the  city  in 
the  friendly  darkness,  and  tire  himself  out. 

It  was  midnight  when  he  returned  from  his  solitary  expe- 
dition, and  climbed  his  staircase.  The  night  was  hot,  and 
the  windows  of  the  staircase  were  all  wide  open.  Coming  to 
the  top,  it  gave  him  a  passing  chill  of  surprise  (there  being 
no  rooms  but  his  up  there)  to  find  a  stranger  sitting  on  the 
window-sill,  more  after  the  manner  of  a  venturesome  glazier 
than  an  amateur  ordinarily  careful  of  his  neck  ;  in  fact,  so 
much  more  outside  the  window  than  inside,  as  to  suggest 
the  thought  that  he  must  have  come  up  by  the  water-spout 
instead  of  the  stairs. 

The  stranger  said  nothing  until  Neville  put  his  key  in  his 
door  ;  then,  seeming  to  make  sure  of  his  identity  from  the 
action,  he  spoke  ; 


THE  xMYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         793 

^*  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said,  coming  from  the  window 
with  a  frank  and  smiling  air,  and  a  prepossessing  address  : 
"the  beans." 

Neville  was  quite  at  a  loss. 

''Runners,"  said  the  visitor.  "Scarlet.  Next  door  at  the 
back." 

"Oh!  "  returned  Neville.  "  And  the  mignonnette  and  wall- 
flower ?  " 

*'  The  same,"  said  the  visitor. 

"  Pray  walk  in." 

"Thank  you." 

Neville  lighted  his  candle,  and  the  visitor  sat  down.  A 
handsome  gentleman,  with  a  young  face,  but  an  older  fig- 
are  in  its  robustness  and  its  breadth  of  shoulder  ;  say  a  man 
of  eight-and-twenty,  or,  at  the  utmost,  thirty  :  so  extremely 
sunburned  that  the  contrast  between  his  brown  visage  and  the 
white  forehead  shaded  out  of  doors  by  his  hat,  and  the 
glimpses  of  white  throat  below  the  neckerchief,  would  have 
been  almost  ludicrous  but  for  his  broad  temples,  bright 
blue  eyes,  clustering  brown  hair,  and  laughing  teeth. 

"I  have  noticed,"  said  he  ; — "my  name  is  Tartar." 

Neville  inclined  his  head. 

"  I  have  noticed  (excuse  me)  that  you  shut  yourself  up  a 
good  deal,  and  that  you  seem  to  like  my  garden  aloft  here. 
If  you  would  like  a  little  more  of  it,  I  could  throw  out  a 
few  lines  and  stays  between  my  windows  and  yours,  which 
the  runners  would  take  to  directly.  And  I  have  some 
boxes,  both  of  mignonnette  and  wall-flower,  that  I  could 
shove  on  along  the  gutter  (wiih  a  boat-hook  I  have  by  me) 
to  your  windows,  and  draw  back  again  when  they  wanted 
watering  or  gardening,  and  shove  on  again  when  they  were 
ship  shape,  so  that  they  would  cause  you  no  trouble.  I 
couldn't  take  this  liberty  without  asking  your  permission,  so 
I  venture  to  ask  it.     Tartar,   corresponding  set,  next  door." 

"  You  are  very  kind." 

"Not  at  all.  I  ought  to  apologize  for  looking  in  so  late. 
But  having  noticed  (excuse  me)  that  you  generally  walk  out 
at  night,  I  thought  I  should  inconvenience  you  least  by 
awaiting  your  return.  I  am  always  afraid  of  inconvenienc- 
ing busy  men,  being  an  idle  man." 

"  I  should  not  have   thought  so,  from  your    appearance." 

"  No  ?  I  take  it  as  a  compliment.  In  fact,  I  was  bred 
in  the  Royal  Navy,  and  was  first  lieutenant  when  I  quitted 
it.     But  an  uncle,  disappointed  in  the  service,  leaving  me 


794         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

his  property  on  condition  that  I  left  the  navy,  I  accepted 
the  fortune  and  resigned  my  commission." 

*'  Lately,  I  presume  !  " 

"Well,  I  had  had  twelve  or  fifteen  years  of  knocking 
about  first.  I  came  here  some  nine  months  before  you  ;  1 
had  had  one  crop  before  you  came.  I  chose  this  place 
because,  having  served  last  in  a  little  corvette,  I  knew  I 
should  feel  more  at  home  where  I  had  constant  opportunity 
of  knocking  my  head  against  the  ceiling.  Besides,  it  would 
never  do  for  a  man  who  had  been  aboard  ship  from  his  boy- 
hood to  turn  luxurious  all  at  once.  Besides,  again  :  having 
been  accustomed  to  a  very  short  allowance  of  land  all  my 
life,  I  thought  I'd  feel  my  way  to  the  command  of  a  landed 
estate  by  beginning  in  boxes." 

Whimsically  as  this  was  said,  there  was  a  touch  of  merry 
earnestness  in  it  that  made  it  doubly  whimsical. 

"  However,"  said  the  lieutenant,  "  I  have  talked  quite 
enough  about  myself.  It  is  not  my  way  I  hope  ;  it  has 
merely  been  to  present  myself  to  you  naturally.  If  you  will 
allow  me  to  take  the  liberty  I  have  described,  it  will  be  a 
charity,  for  it  will  give  me  something  more  to  do.  And 
you  are  not  to  suppose  that  it  will  entail  any  interruption  or 
intrusion  on  you,  for  that  is  far  from  my  intention." 

Neville  replied  that  he  was  greatly  obliged,  and  that  he 
thankfully  accepted  the  kind  proposal. 

*' I  am  very  glad  to  take  your  windows  in  tow,"  said  the 
lieutenant.  *'  From  what  I  have  seen  of  you  when  I  have 
been  gardening  at  mine,  and  you  have  been  looking  on,  I 
have  thought  you  (excuse  me)  rather  too  studious  and  deli- 
cate !     May  I  ask,  is  your  health  at  all  affected  ?" 

"  I  have  undergone  some  mental  distress,"  said  Neville, 
confused,  ''  which  has  stood  me  in  the  stead  of  illness." 

'*  Pardon  me,"  said  Mr.  Tartar. 

With  the  greatest  delicacy  he  shifted  his  ground  to  the 
windows  again,  and  asked  if  he  could  look  at  one  of  them. 
On  Neville's  opening  it,  he  immediately  sprung  out,  as  if  he 
were  going  aloft  with  a  whole  watch  in  an  emergency,  and 
were  setting  a  bright  example. 

'*  For  heaven's  sake  !  "  cried  Neville,  "  don't  do  that  ! 
Where  are  you  going,  Mr.  Tartar?  You'll  be  dashed  to 
pieces  !" 

"All  well!"  said  the  lieutenant,  coolly  looking  about 
him  on  the  housestop.  "  All  taut  and  trim  here.  Those 
lines  and  stays  shall  be   rigged   before  you  turn  out   in  the 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN   DROOl).         795 

morning.  May  1  take  this  short  cut  home  and  say,  good- 
night ?  " 

"  Mr.  Tartar,"  urged  Neville.  "  Pray  !  It  makes  me  giddy 
to  see  you  !  " 

But  Mr.  Tartar,  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  and  the  deftness 
of  a  cat,  had  already  dipped  through  his  scuttle  of  scarlet 
runners  without  breaking  a  leaf,  and  "  gone  beloW." 

Mr.  Grewgious,  his  bedroom  window-blind  held  aside 
with  his  hand,  happened  at  that  moment  to  have  Neville's 
chambers  under  his  eye  for  the  last  time  that  night.  For- 
tunately his  eye  was  on  the  front  of  the  house  and  not  the 
back,  or  this  remarkable  appearance  and  disappearance 
might  have  broken  his  rest,  as  a  phenomenon.  But  Mr. 
Grewgious  seeing  nothing  there,  not  even  a  light  in  the  win- 
dows, his  gaze  wandered  from  the  windows  to  the  stars,  as  if 
it  would  have  read  in  them  something  that  was  hidden  from 
him.  Many  of  us  would  if  we  could  ;  but  none  of  us  so 
much  as  know  our  letters  in  the  stars  yet — or  seem  likely 
to  do  it  in  this  state  of  existence — and  few  languages 
can  be  read  until  their  alphabets  are  mastered. 


CHAPTER  XVni. 

A  SETTLER  IN  CLOISTERHAM. 

At  about  this  time  a  stranger  appeared  in  Cloisterham  ;  a 
white-haired  personage  with  black  eyebrows.  Being  but- 
toned up  in  a  tightish  blue  surtout,  with  a  buff  waistcoat 
and  gray  trowsers,  he  had  something  of  a  military  air  ;  but 
he  announced  himself  at  the  Crozier  (the  orthodox  hotel, 
where  he  put  up  with  a  portmanteau)  of  an  idle  dog  who 
lived  upon  his  means  ;  and  he  further  announced  that  he 
had  a  mind  to  take  a  lodging  in  the  picturesque  old  city  for 
a  month  or  two,  with  a  view  of  settling  down  there  altogether. 
Both  announcements  were  made  in  the  coffee-room  of  the 
Crozier,  to  all  whom  it  might,  or  might  not,  concern,  by  the 
stranger  as  he  stood  with  his  back  to  the  empty  fireplace, 
waiting  for  his  fried  sole,  veal  cutlet,  and  pint  of  sherry. 
And  the  waiter  (business  being  chronically  slack  at  the 
Crozier)  represented  all  whom  it  might  or  might  not  con- 
cern, and  absorbed  the  whole  of  the  information. 

This  gentleman's  white  head  was  unusually  large,  and 
his  shock  of  white  hair  was  unusually  thick  and  ample.     "  I 


796         THE  MYSTERY   OF  EDWTiN  DROOD, 

suppose,  waiter,"  he  said,  shaking  his  shock  of  hair,  as  a 
Newfoundland  dog  might  shake  his  before  sitting  down  to 
dinner,  "  that  a  fair  lodging  for  a  single  buffer  might  be 
found  in  these  parts,  eh  ?" 

The  waiter  had  no  doubt  of  it. 

''  Something  old,"  said  the  gentleman.  "  Take  my  hat 
down  for  a  moment  from  that  peg,  will  you  ?  No,  I  don't 
want  it  :  look  into  it.     What  do  you  see  written  there  ? " 

The  waiter  read,  "  Datchery." 

"  Now  vou  know  my  name,"  said  the  gentleman —  "  Dick 
Datchery.  Hang  it  up  again.  I  was  saying  something  old 
is  what  I  should  prefer,  something  odd  and  out  of  the  way  ; 
something  venerable,  architectural,  and  inconvenient." 

"  We  have  a  good  choice  of  inconvenient  lodgings  in  the 
town,  sir,  I  think,"  replied  the  waiter,  with  modest  confi- 
dence in  its  resources  that  way  ;  "  indeed,  I  have  no  doubt 
that  we  could  suit  you  that  far,  however  particular  you 
might  be.  But  a  architectural  lodging  !  "  That  seemed  to 
trouble  the  waiter's  head,  and  he  shook  it. 

"  Any  thing   cathedraly  now,"  Mr.  Datchery  suggested. 

"  Mr.  Tope,"  said  the  waiter,  brightening,  as  he  rubbed  his 
chin  with  his  hand,  "  would  be  the  likeliest  party  to  inform 
in  that  line." 

"  Who  is  Mr.  Tope  ?"  inquired  Dick  Datchery. 

The  waiter  explained  that  he  was  the  verger,  and  that 
Mrs.  Tope  had  indeed  once  upon  a  time  let  lodgings  her- 
self— or  offered  to  let  them  ;  but  that,  as  nobody  had  ever 
taken  them,  Mrs.  Tope's  window-bill,  long  a  Cloisterham 
institution,  had  disappeared  ;  probably  had  tumbled  down 
one  day,  and  never  been  put  up  again. 

"I'll  call  on  Mrs.  Tope,"  said  Mr..  Datchery,  "after  din- 
ner." 

So,  when  he  had  done  his  dinner,  he  was  duly  directed  to 
the  spot,  and  sallied  out  for  it.  But  the  Crozier  being  an 
hotel  of  a  most  retiring  disposition,  and  the  waiter's  direc- 
tions being  fatally  precise,  he  soon  became  bewildered,  and 
went  boggling  about  and  about  the  cathedral  tower,  when- 
ever he  could  catch  a  glimpse  of  it,  with  a  general  impression 
on  his  mind  that  Mrs.  Tope's  was  somewhere  very  near  it, 
and  that,  like  the  children  in  the  game  of  hot  boiled  beans 
and  very  good  butter,  he  was  warm  in  his  search  when  he 
saw  the  tower,  and  cold  when  he  didn't  see  it. 

He  was  getting  very  cold  indeed  when  he  came  upon  a 
fragment  of  burial  ground  in  which  an  unhappy  sheep  was 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         797 

grazing.  Unhappy,  because  a  hideous  small  boy  was  ston- 
ing it  through  the  railings,  and  had  already  lamed  it  in  one 
leg,  and  was  much  excited  by  the  benevolent  sportsmanlike 
purpose  of  breaking  its  other  three  legs,  and  bringing  it 
down. 

"  Tt  *im  ag'in  !  "  cried  the  boy,  as  the  poor  creature  leaped, 
"and  made  a  dint  in  his  wool  !  " 

"  Let  him  be  I  "  said  Mr.  Datchery.  "  Don't  you  see  you 
have  lamed  him  ?  " 

"  Yer  lie,"  returned  the  sportsman,  "  'E  went  and  lamed 
'isself.  I  see  'im  do  it,  and  I  giv'  'im  a  shy  as  a  widdy- 
warning  to  'im  not  to  go  a-bruisin'  'is  master's  mutton  any 
more." 

"  Come  here." 

"  I  won't  ;  I'll  come  when  yer  can  ketch  me." 

"Stay  there  then,  and  show  me  which  is  Mr.  Tope's." 

"  'Ow  can  I  stay  here  and  show  you  which  is  Topeseses, 
when  Topeseses  is  t'other  side  the  Kinfreederal,  and  over 
the  crossings,  and  round  ever  so  many  corners  !  Stoo-pid  ! 
Ya-a-ah  !  " 

"  Show  me  where  it  is,  and  I'll  give  you  something." 

"  Come  on,  then  !  " 

This  brisk  dialogue  concluded,  the  boy  led  the  way,  and 
by  and  by  stopped  at  some  distance  from  an  arched  passage, 
pointing. 

"  Lookie  yonder.     You  see  that  there  winder  and  door  ? " 

"  That's  Tope's  ?  " 

"Yer  lie  ;  it  ain't.     That's  Jarsper's." 

"Indeed?"  said  Mr.  Datchery,  with  a  second  look  of 
some  interest 

"  Yes,  and  I  ain't  a-goin'  no  nearer  Tm,  I  tell  yer." 

"Why  not?" 

"  'Cos  I  ain't  a-going  to  be  lifted  off  my  legs  and  *ave  my 
braces  bust  and  be  choked  ;  not  if  I  knows  it,  and  not  by 
'im.  Wait  till  I  set  a  jolly  good  flint  a-flyin'  at  the  back  o' 
'is  jolly  old  'ed  some  day  !  Now  look  t'other  side  the 
harch  ;  not  the  side  where  Jarsper's  door  is  ;  t'other  side." 

"  I  see." 

"  A  little  way  in,  o'  that  side,  there's  a  low  door,  down 
two  steps.  That's  Topeseses  with  'is  name  on  a  hoval 
plate." 

"  Good.  See  here,"  said  Mr.  Datchery,  producmg  a  shil- 
ling.    "  You  owe  me  half  of  this." 

"  Yer  lie  ;  I  don't  owe  yer  nothing  ;  I  never  seen  yer." 


79B         THE  MYSTP:RY  of  EDWIN  DROOD. 

*'  I  tell  you  you  owe  me  half  of  this,  because  1  have  no  six- 
pence in  my  pocket.  So  the  next  time  you  meet  m.e  you 
shall  do  something  else  for  me,  to  pay  me." 

"  All  right,  give  us  'old." 

"  What  is  your  name,  and  where  do  you  live  ? " 

"  Deputy.     Travelers'  Twopenny,  'cross  the  green." 

The  boy  instantly  darted  off  with  the  shilling,  lest  Mr. 
Datchery  sliould  repent,  but  stopped  at  a  safe  distance,  on 
the  happy  chance  of  his  being  uneasy  in  his  mind  about  it, 
to  goad  him  with  a  demon  dance  expressive  of  its  irrev- 
ocability. 

Mr.  Datchery,  taking  off  his  hat  to  give  that  shock  of 
vv'hite  hair  of  his  another  shake,  seemed  quite  resigned,  and 
betook  himself  whither  he  had  been  directed. 

Mr.  Tope's  official  dwelling,  communicating  by  an  upper 
stair  with  Mr.  Jasper's  (hence  Mr.  Tope's  attendance  on 
that  gentleman),  was  of  very  modest  proportions,  and  par- 
took of  the  character  of  a  cool  dungeon.  Its  ancient  walls 
were  massive,  and  its  rooms  rather  seemed  to  have  been  dug 
out  of  them  than  to  have  been  designed  beforehand  with 
any  reference  to  them.  The  main  door  opened  at  once  on 
a  chamber  of  no  describable  shape,  with  a  groined  roof, 
which,  in  its  turn,  opened  on  another  chamber  of  no  de- 
scriba^e  shape,  with  another  groined  roof.  Their  windows 
small  and  in  the  thickness  of  the  walls,  these  two  chambers, 
close  as  to  their  atmosphere  and  swarthy  as  to  their  illumi- 
nation by  natural  light,  were  the  apartments  which  Mrs. 
Tope  had  so  long  offered  to  an  unappreciative  city.  Mr. 
Datchery,  however,  was  more  appreciative.  He  found  that 
if  he  sat  with  the  main  door  open  he  would  enjoy  the  pass- 
ing society  of  all  comers  to  and  fro  by  the  gate-way,  and 
would  have  light  enough.  He  found  that  if  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Tope,  living  overhead,  used  for  their  own  egress  and  in- 
gress a  little  side  stair  that  came  plump  into  the  precincts 
by  a  door  opening  outward,  to  the  surprise  and  inconven- 
ience of  a  limited  public  of  pedestrians  in  a  narrow  way,  he 
would  be  alone,  as  in  a  separate  residence.  He  found  the 
rent  moderate,  and  every  thing  as  quaintly  inconvenient  as 
he  could  desire.  He  agreed,  therefore,  to  take  the  lodging 
then  and  there,  and  money  down,  possession  to  be  had  next 
evening  on  condition  that  reference  was  permitted  him  to 
Mr.  Jasper  as  occupying  the  Gate  House,  of  which,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  gate-way,  the  verger's  hole  in  the  wall  was 
an  appanage  or  subsidiary  part. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        799 

The  poor  dear  gentleman  was  very  solitary  and  very  sad, 
Mrs.  Tope  said,  but  she  had  no  doubt  he  would  "  speak  for 
her."  Perhaps  Mr.  Datchery  had  heard  something  of  what 
had  occurred  there  last  winter  ? 

Mr.  Datchery  had  as  confused  a  knowledge  of  the  event 
m  question,  on  trying  to  recall  it,  as  he  well  could  have. 
He  begged  Mrs.  Tope's  pardon  when  she  found  it  incum- 
bent on  her  to  correct  him  in  every  detail  of  his  summary  of 
the  facts,  but  pleaded  that  he  was  merely  a  single  buffer  get- 
ting through  life  upon  his  means  as  idly  as  he  could,  and 
that  so  many  people  were  so  constantly  making  away  with 
so  many  other  people,  as  to  render  it  difficult  for  a  buffer 
of  an  easy  temper  to  preserve  the  circumstances  ot  the 
several  cases  unmixed  in  his  mind. 

Mr.  Jasper  proving  willing  to  speak  for  Mrs.  Tope,  Mr. 
Datchery,  who  had  sent  up  his  card,  was  invited  to  ascend 
the  postern  staircase.  The  mayor  was  there,  Mrs.  Tope 
said  ;  but  he  was  not  to  be  regarded  in  the  light  of  com- 
pany, as  he  and  Mr.  Jasper  were  great  friends. 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  said  Mr.  Datchery,  making  a  leg  with  his 
hat  under  his  arm,  as  he  addressed  himself  equally  to  both 
gentlemen  ;  "  a  selfish  precaution  on  my  part  and  not  per- 
sonally inter'=:sting  to  any  body  but  myself.  But  as  a  buffer 
living  on  his  means,  and  having  an  idea  of  doing  it  in  this 
lovely  place  in  peace  and  quiet,  for  remaining  span  of  life, 
beg  to  ask  if  the  Tope  family  are  quite  respectable  ?  " 

Mr.  Jasper  could  answer  for  that  without  the  slightest 
hesitation. 

*'  That  is  enough,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Datchery. 

"  My  friend,  the  mayor,"  added  Mr,  Jasper,  presenting 
Mr.  Datchery  with  a  courtly  motion  of  his  hand  toward  that 
potentate,  *'  whose  recommendation  is  actually  much  more 
important  to  a  stranger  than  that  of  an  obscure  person  like 
myself,  will  testify  in  their  behalf,  I  am  sure." 

"  The  worshipful  the  mayor,"  said  Mr.  Datchery,  with  a 
low  bow,  "  places  me  under  an  infinite  obligation." 

*'  Very  good  people,  sir,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Tope,"  said  Mr. 
Sapsea,  with  condescension.  "  Very  good  opinions.  Very 
well  behaved.  Very  respectful.  Much  approved  by  the 
dean  and  chapter." 

*'  The  worshipful  the  mayor  gives  them  a  character,"  said 
Mr.  Datchery,  "  of  which  they  may  indeed  be  proud.  I 
would  ask  his  honor  (if  I  might  be  permitted)  whether  there 
are  not  many  objects  of  great  interest  in  the  city  which  is 
under  his  beneficent  swav  ?"    - 


8oo         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  We  are,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Sapsea,  "an  ancient  city,  and 
an  ecclesiastical  city.  We  are  a  constitutional  city,  as  it  be- 
comes such  a  city  to  be,  and  we  uphold  and  maintain  our 
glorious  privileges." 

"  His  honor,"  said  Mr.  Datchery,  bowing,  "  inspires  me 
with  a  desire  to  know  more  of  the  city,  and  confirms  me  in 
my  inclination  to  end  my  days  in  the  city." 

"  Retired  from  the  army,  sir  ?  "  suggested  Mr.  Sapsea. 

*'  His  honor  the  mayor  does  me  too  much  credit,"  re- 
turned Mr.  Datchery. 

"  Navy,  sir  ?  "  suggested  Mr.  Sapsea. 

"Again,"  repeated  Mr.  Datchery,  "his  honor  the  mayor 
does  me  too  much  credit." 

"  Diplomacy  is  a  fine  profession,"  said  Mr.  Sapsea,  as  a 
general  remark. 

*'  There,  I  confess,  his  honor  the  mayor  is  too  many  for 
me,"  said  Mr.  Datchery,  with  an  ingenuous  smile  and  bow  ; 
"  even  a  diplomatic  bird  must  fall  to  such  a  gun." 

Now,  this  was  very  soothing.  Here  was  a  gentleman  of  a 
great — not  to  say  a  grand — address,  accustomed  to  rank  and 
dignity,  really  setting  a  fine  example  how  to  behave  to  a 
mayor.  There  was  something  in  that  third-person  style  of 
being  spoken  to,  that  Mr.  Sapsea  found  particularly  recog- 
nizant  of  his  merits  and  position. 

"  But  I  crave  pardon,"  said  Mr.  Datchery.  "  His  honor 
the  mayor  will  bear  with  me,  if  for  a  moment  I  have  been 
deluded  into  occupying  his  time,  and  have  forgotten  the 
humble  claims  upon  my  own  of  my  hotel,  the  Crozier." 

"  Not  at  all,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Sapsea.  "  I  am  returning 
home,  and  if  you  would  like  to  take  the  exterior  of  our 
cathedral  in  your  way,  I  shall  be  glad  to  point  it  out." 

"  His  honor  the  mayor,"  said  Mr.  Datchery,  *'  is  more  than 
kind  and  gracious." 

As  Mr.  Datchery,  when  he  had  made  his  acknowledgments 
to  Mr.  Jasper,  could  not  be  induced  to  go  out  of  the  room  be 
fore  the  worshipful,  the  worshipful  led  the  way  down  stairs, 
Mr.  Datchery  following  with  his  hat  under  his  arm,  and  his 
shock  of  white  hair  streaming  in  the  evening  breeze. 

"  Might  I  ask  his  honor,"  said  Mr.  Datchery,  "  whether 
that  gentleman  we  have  just  left  is  the  gentleman  of  whom  I 
have  heard  in  the  neighborhood  as  being  much  afflicted  by 
the  loss  of  a  nephew,  and  concentrating  his  life  on  avenging 
the  loss?" 

"  That  is  the  gentleman.     John  Jasper,  sir." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         8oi 

**  Would  his  honor  allow  me  to  inquire  whether  there  are 
strong  suspicions  of  any  one  ?  " 

"  More  than  suspicions,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Sapsea,  "  all 
but  certainties." 

"  Only  think  now  !  "  cried  Mr.  Datchery. 

"  But  proof,  sir,  proof  must  be  built  up  stone  by  stone," 
said  the  mayor.  "  As  I  say,  the  end  crowns  the  work.  It  is 
not  enough  that  justice  should  be  morally  certain  ;  she  must 
be  immorally  certain — legally,  that  is." 

"  His  honor,"  said  Mr.  Datchery,  "reminds  me  of  the  na- 
ture of  the  law.     Immoral  !     How  true  !  " 

"As  I  say,  sir,"  pompously  went  on  the  mayor,  "the  arm 
of  the  law  is  a  strong  arm,  and  a  long  arm.  That  is  the  way 
I  put  it.      A  strong  arm  and  a  long  arm." 

"  How  forcible  ! — And  yet,  again,  how  true  !  "  murmured 
Mr.  Datchery. 

"  And  without  betraying  what  I  call  the  secrets  of  the 
prison-house,"  said  Mr.  Sapsea,  "  the  secrets  of  the  prison- 
house  is  the  term  I  used  on  the  bench." 

"  And  what  other  term  than  his  honor's  would  express  it," 
said  Mr.  Datchery. 

"  Without,  I  say,  betraying  them,  I  predict  to  you,  know- 
ing the  iron  v,  ill  of  the  gentleman  we  have  just  left  (I  take 
the  bold  step  of  calling  it  iron,  on  account  of  its  strength), 
that  in  this  case  the  long  arm  will  reach,  and  the  strong  arm 
will  strike.  This  is  our  cathedral,  sir.  The  best  judges  are 
pleased  to  admire  it,  and  the  best  among  our  townsmen  own 
to  being  a  little  vain  of  it." 

All  this  time  Mr.  Datchery  had  walked  with  his  hat  under 
his  arm,  and  his  white  hair  streaming.  He  had  an  odd  mo- 
mentary appearance  upon  him  of  having  forgotten  his  hat, 
when  Mr.  Sapsea  now  touched  it ;  and  he  clapped  his  hand  up 
to  his  head  as  if  with  some  vague  expectation  of  finding  an- 
other hat  upon  it. 

"  Pray  be  covered,  sir,"  entreated  Mr.  Sapsea  ;  magnifi- 
cently implying,  "  I  shall  not  mind  it,  I  assure  you." 

"  His  honor  is  very  good,  but  I  do  it  for  coolness,"  said 
Mr.  Datchery. 

Then  Mr.  Datchery  admired  the  cathedral,  and  Mr.  Sapsea 
pointed  it  out  as  if  he  himself  had  invented  and  build  it  ; 
there  w^ere  a  few  details  indeed  of  which  he  did  not  approve, 
but  those  he  glossed  over,  as  if  the  workmen  had  made  mis- 
takes in  his  absence.  The  cathedral  disposed  of,  he  led 
the  way  by  the  church-yard,  and  stopped  to  extol  the  beauty 


g02         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

of  the  evening — by  chance — in  the  immediate  vicinity  of 
Mrs.  Sapsea's  epitaph. 

"  And  by  the  by,"  said  Mr.  Sapsea,  appearing  to  descend 
from  an  elevation  to  remember  it  all  of  a  sudden,  like  Apollo 
shooting  down  from  Olympus  to  pick  up  his  forgotten  lyre, 
'"'that  is  one  of  our  small  lions.  The  partiality  of  our 
people  has  made  it  so,  and  strangers  have  been  seen 
taking  a  copy  of  it  now  and  then.  I  am  not  a  judge  of 
it  myself,  for  it  is  a  little  work  of  my  own.  But  it  was 
troublesome  to  turn,  sir  ;  I  may  say,  difficult  to  turn  with 
elegance." 

Mr.  Datchery  became  so  ecstatic  over  Mr.  Sapsea's  com- 
position that,  in  spite  of  his  intention  to  end  his  days  in  Clois- 
terliam,  and  therefore  his  probably  having  in  reserve  many 
opportunities  of  copying  it,  he  would  have  transcribed  it  into 
his  pocket-book  on  the  spot,  but  for  the  slouching  toward 
them  of  its  material  producer  and  perpetuator,  Durdles,  whom 
Mr.  Sapsea  hailed,  not  sorry  to  show  him  a  bright  example 
of  behavior  to  superiors. 

"  Ah,  Durdles  !  This  is  the  mason,  sir  ;  one  of  our 
Cloisterham  worthies  ;  every  body  here  knows  Durdles.  Tvlr. 
Datchery,  Durdles  ;  a  gentleman  who  is  going  to  settle  here." 

"  I  wouldn't  do  it  if  I  was  him,"  growled  Durdles.  "  We're 
a  heavy  lot." 

"  You  surely  don't  speak  for  yourself,  Mr.  Durdles,"  re- 
turned Mr.  Datchery,  "  any  more  than  for  his  honor." 

"  Who  is  his  honor  ?  "  demanded  Durdles. 

"  His  honor  the  mayor." 

"  I  never  was  brought  afore  him,"  said  Durdles,  with  any 
thing  but  the  look  of  a  loyal  subject  of  the  mayoralty,  "and 
it'll  be  time  enough  for  me  to  honor  him  when  I  am.  Until 
which,  and  when,  and  where  : 

'  Mr.  Sapsea  is  his  name, 
England  is  his  nation, 
Cloisterham's  his  dv/elling-place, 
Aukshneer's  his  occupation.*  " 

Here,  Deputy  (preceded  by  a  flying  oyster-shell)  appeared 
upon  the  scene,  and  requested  to  have  the  sum  of  threepence 
instantly  '*  chucked  "  to  him  by  Mr.  Durdles,  whom  he  had 
been  vainly  seeking  up  and  down,  as  lawful  wages  overdue. 
While  that  gentleman,  with  his  bundle  under  his  arm,  slowly 
found  and  counted  out  the  money,  Mr.  Sapsea  informed  the 
new  settler  of  Durdles's  habits,  pursuits,  abode,  and  reputa- 
tion.    "  I  suppose  a  curious  stranger  might  come  to  see  you 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         803 

and  your  works,  Mr.  Durdles,  at  any  odd  time  ? "  said  Mr 
Datchery  upon  that. 

"  Any  gentleman  is  welcome  to  come  and  see  me  any  even- 
ing if  he  brings  liquor  for  two  with  him,"  returned  Durdles, 
with  a  penny  between  his  teeth  and  certain  half-pence  in 
his  hands.  ''  Or  if  he  likes  to  make  it  twice  two,  he'll  be 
doubly  welcome." 

"  I  shall  come.     Master  Deputy,  what  do  you  owe  me  >  " 

"A  job." 

"  Mind  you  pay  me  honestly  with  the  job  of  showing  me 
Mr.  Durdles's  house  when  1  want  to  go  there." 

Deputy,  with  a  piercing  broadside  of  whistle  through  the 
whole  gap  of  his  mouth,  as  a  receipt  in  full  for  all  arrears, 
vanished. 

The  worshipful  "and  the  worshiper  then  passed  on 
together  until  they  parted,  with  many  ceremonies,  at  the 
worshipful's  door  ;  even  then,  the  worshiper  carried  his 
hat  under  his  arm,  and  gave  his  streaming  white  hair  to  the 
breeze. 

Said  Mr.  Datchery  to  himself  that  night,  as  he  looked  at 
his  white  hair  in  his  gas-lighted  looking-glass  over  the  coffee- 
room  chimney-piece  at  the  Crozier,  and  shook  it  out :  "  For 
a  single  buffer,  of  an  easy  temper,  living  idly  on  his  means, 
I  have  had  a  rather  busy  afternoon  ! " 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

SHADOW   ON    THE   SUN-DIAL. 

Again  Miss  Twinkleton  has  delivered  her  valedictory  ad- 
dress, with  the  accompaniments  of  white  wine  and  pound- 
cake, and  again  the  young  ladies  have  departed  to  their  sev- 
eral homes.  Helena  Landless  has  left  the  Nuns'  House  to 
attend  her  brother's  fortunes,  and  pretty  Rosa  is  alone. 

Cloisterham  is  so  bright  and  sunny  in  these  summer  days, 
that  the  cathedral  and  the  monastery- ruin  show  as  if  their 
strong  walls  were  transparent,  A  soft  glow  seems  to  shine 
from  within  them  rather  than  upon  them  from  without,  such 
is  their  mellowness  as  they  look  forth  on  the  hot  cornfields 
and  the  smoking  roads  that  distantly  wind  among  them. 
The  Cloisterham  gardens  blush  with  ripening  fruit.  Time 
was  when  travel-stained  pilgrims  rode  in  clattering  parties 
through  the  city's  welcome  shades  ;  time  is  when  wayfarers, 


8o4         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

leading  a  gipsy  life  between  haymaking  time  and  harvesl-. 
and  looking  as  if  they  were  just  made  of  dust  of  the  earth, 
so  very  dusty  are  they,  lounge  about  on  cool  doorsteps,  try- 
ing to  mend  their  unmendable  shoes,  or  giving  them  to  the 
city  kennels  as  a  hopeless  job,  and  seeking  others  in  the 
bundles  that  they  carry,  along  with  their  yet  unused  sickles 
swathed  in  bands  of  straw.  At  all  the  more  public  pumps 
there  is  much  cooling  of  bare  feet,  together  with  much  bub- 
bling and  gurgling  of  drinking  with  hand  to  spout  on  the 
part  of  these  Bedouins  ;  the  Cloisterham  police  meanwhile 
looking  askant  from  their  beats  with  suspicion,  and  manifest 
impatience  that  the  intruders  should  depart  from  within  the 
civic  bounds,  and  once  more  fry  themselves  on  the  simmer- 
ing high-roads. 

On  the  afternoon  of  such  a  day,  when  the  last  cathedral 
service  is  done,  and  when  that  side  of  the  High  Street  on 
which  the  Nuns'  House  stands  is  in  grateful  shade,  save 
where  its  puaint  old  garden  opens  to  the  west  between  the 
boughs  of  trees,  a  servant  informs  Rosa,  to  her  terror,  that 
Mr.  Jasper  desires  to  see  her. 

If  he  had  chosen  his  time  for  finding  her  at  a  disadvan- 
tage, he  could  have  done  no  better.  Perhaps  he  has  chosen 
it.  Helena  Landless  is  gone,  Mrs.  Tisher  is  absent  on  leave, 
Miss  Twinkleton  (in  her  amateur  state  of  existence)  has 
contributed  herself  and  a  veal-pie  to  a  picnic. 

**  Oh,  why,  why,  why  did  you  say  I  was  at  home  ? "  cries 
Rosa,  helplessly. 

The  maid  replies  that  Mr.  Jasper  never  asked  the  ques- 
tion. That  he  said  he  knew  she  was  at  home,  and  begged 
she  might  be  told  that  he  asked  to  see  her. 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?  what  shall  I  do  !  "  thinks  Rosa,  clasp- 
ing her  hands. 

Possessed  by  a  kind  of  desperation,  she  adds  in  the  next 
breath  that  she  will  come  to  Mr.  Jasper  in  the  garden.  She 
shudders  at  the  thought  of  being  shut  up  with  him  in  the 
house  ;  but  many  of  its  windows  command  the  garden,  and 
she  can  be  seen  as  well  as  neard  there,  and  can  shriek  in  the 
free  air  and  run  away.  Such  is  the  wild  idea  that  flutters 
through  her  mind. 

She  has  never  seen  him  since  the  fatal  night,  except  when 
she  was  questioned  before  the  mayor,  and  then  he  was  pres- 
ent in  gloomy  watchfulness,  as  representing  his  lost  nephew 
and  burning  to  avenge  him.  She  hangs  her  garden-hat  on 
her  arm,  and  goes  out.     The  moment  she  sees  him  from  the 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         805 

porch,  leaning  on  the  sun-dial,  the  old  horrible  feeling  of  be- 
ing compelled  by  him  asserts  its  hold  upon  her.  She  feels 
that  she  would  even  then  go  back,  but  that  he  draws  her  feet 
toward  him.  She  can  not  resist,  and  sits  down,  with  her 
head  bent,  on  the  garden-seat  beside  the  sun-dial.  She  can 
not  look  up  at  him  for  abhorrence,  but  she  has  perceived 
that  he  is  dressed  in  deep  mourning.  So  is  she.  It  was  not 
so  at  first  ;  but  the  lost  has  long  been  given  up,  and  mourned 
for,  as  dead. 

He  would  begin  by  touching  her  hand.  She  feels  the  in- 
tention, and  draws  her  hand  back.  His  eyes  are  then  fixed 
upon  her,  she  knows,  though  her  own  see  nothing  but  the 
grass. 

"  I  have  been  waiting,"  he  begins,  "  for  some  time,  to  be 
summoned  back  to  my  duty  near  you." 

After  several  times  forming  her  lips,  which  she  knows  he 
is  closely  watching,  into  the  shape  of  some  other  hesitating 
reply,  and  then  into  none,  she  answers,  "  Duty,  sir  ?  " 

"  The  duty  of  teaching  you,  serving  you  as  your  faithful 
music-master." 

"  I  have  left  off  that  study." 

"  Not  left  off,  I  think.  Discontinued.  I  was  told  by  your 
guardian  that  you  disconti'-.ued  it  under  the  shock  that  we 
have  all  felt  so  acutely.     When  will  you  resume  ?  " 

"  Never,  sir." 

'*  Never  ?  You  could  have  done  no  more  if  you  had  loved 
my  dear  boy." 

"I  did  love  him  !  "  cries  Rosa,  with  a  flash  of  anger. 

**  Yes  ;  but  not  quite— not  quite  in  the  right  way,  shall  I 
say  !  Not  in  the  intended  and  expected  way.  Much  as  my 
dear  boy  was,  unhappily,  too  self-conscious  and  self-satisfied 
(I'll  draw  no  parallel  between  him  and  you  in  that  respect) 
to  love  as  he  should  have  loved,  or  as  any  one  in  his  place 
would  have  loved  ;  must  have  loved  !  " 

She  sits  in  the  same  still  attitude,  but  shrinking  a  little 
more. 

"  Then  to  be  told  that  you  discontinued  your  study  with 
me,  was  to  be  politely  told 'that  you  abandoned  it  altogether?" 
he  suggested. 

''  Yes,"  says  Rosa,  with  sudden  spirit.  "  The  politeness 
was  my  guardian's,  not  mine.  I  told  him  that  I  was  re- 
solved to  leave  off,  and  that  I  was  determined  to  stand  by 
my  resolution." 

"  And  you  still  are?" 


8o6         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"I  still  am,  sir.  And  I  beg  not  to  be  questioned  anymore 
about  it.  At  all  events,  I  will  not  answer  any  more  ;  I  have 
that  in  my  power." 

She  is  so  conscious  of  his  looking  at  her  with  a  gloating 
admiration  of  the  touch  of  anger  on  her,  and  the  fire  and 
animation  it  brings  with  it,  that  even  as  her  spirit  rises,  it 
falls  again,  and  she  struggles  w^ith  a  sense  of  shame,  affront, 
and  fear,  much  as  she  did  that  night  at  the  piano. 

"  I  will  not  question  you  any  more,  since  you  object  to  it 
so  much  ;  I  will  confess." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  hear  you,  sir,"  cries  Rosa,  rising. 

This  time  he  does  touch  her  with  his  outstretched  hand. 
In  shrinkmg  from  it,  she  shrinks  into  her  seat  again. 

*'  We  must  sometimes  act  in  opposition  to  our  wishes,"  he 
tells  her  in  a  low  voice.  "  You  must  do  so  now,  or  do  more 
harm  to  others  than  you  can  ever  set  right." 

"  What  harm  ?" 

*'  Presently,  presently.  You  question  me,  you  see,  and 
surely  that's  not  fair  when  you  forbid  me  to  question  you. 
Nevertheless,  I  will  answer  the  question  presently.  Dearest 
Rosa  !     Charming  Rosa  !  " 

She  starts  up  again. 

This  time  he  does  not  touch  her.  But  his  face  looks  so 
wicked  and  menacing,  as  he  stands  leaning  against  the  sun- 
dial— setting,  as  it  were,  his  black  mark  upon  the  very  face 
of  day — that  her  flight  is  arrested  by  horror  as  she  looks  at 
him. 

*'  I  do  not  forget  how  many  windows  command  a  view 
of  us,"  he  says,  glancing  toward  them,  "I  will  not  touch 
you  again,  I  will  come  no  nearer  to  you  than  I  am.  Sit  down 
and  there  will  be  no  mighty  w^onder  in  your  music-master's 
leaning  idly  against  a  pedestal  and  speaking  with  you,  re- 
membering all  tliat  has  happened  and  our  shares  in  it.  Sit 
dowMi,  my  beloved." 

She  would  have  gone  once  more — was  all  but  gone — and 
once  more  his  face  darkly  threatening  what  would  follow  if 
she  went,  has  stopped  her.  Looking  at  him  with  the  expres- 
sion of  the  instant  frozen  on  her  face,  she  sits  down  on  the 
seat  again. 

"  Rosa,  even  when  my  dear  boy  was  affianced  to  you,  I 
loved  you  madly  ;  even  when  I  thought  his  happiness  in 
having  you  for  his  wife  was  certain,  I  loved  you  madly  ; 
even  w^hen  I  strove  to  make  him  more  ardently  devoted  to 
you,  I  loved  you  madly  ;  even  when  he  gave  me  the  picture 


THE  MVSTERV  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         807 

of  your  lovely  face  so  carelessly  traduced  by  him,  which  I 
feigned  to  hang  always  in  my  sight  for  his  sake,  but  wor- 
shiped in  torment  for  years,  I  loved  you  madly.  In  the  dis- 
tasteful work  of  the  day,  in  the  wakeful  misery  of  the  night, 
girded  by  sordid  realities,  or  wandering  through  i)aradises 
and  hells  of  visions  into  which  I  rushed,  carrying  your  image 
in  my  arms,  I  loved  you  madly." 

If  any  thing  could  make  his  words  more  hideous  to  her 
than  they  are  in  themselves,  it  would  be  the  contrast  be- 
tween the  viulence  of  his  look  and  delivery,  and  the  com- 
posure of  his  assumed  attitude. 

"  1  endured  it  all  in  silence.  So  long  as  you  were  his,  or 
so  long  as  I  supposed  you  to*be  his,  I  hid  m'y  secret  loyally. 
Did  I  not  ?  " 

This  lie,  so  gross,  while  the  mere  words  in  which  it  is  told 
are  so  true,  is  more  than  Rosa  can  endure.  She  answers, 
with  kindling  indignation,  "  You  were  as  false  throughout, 
sir,  as  you  are  now.  You  were  false  to  him,  daily  and 
hourly.  You  know  that  you  made  my  life  unhappy  by  your 
pursuit  of  me.  You  know  that  you  made  me  afraid  to  open 
his  generous  eyes,  and  that  you  forced  me,  for  his  own 
trusting,  good,  good  sake,  to  keep  the  truth  from  him, 
that  you  were  a  bad,  bad  man  !  " 

His  preservation  of  his  easy  attitude  rendering  his  working 
features  and  his  convulsive  hands  absolutely  diabolical,  he 
returns  with  a  fierce  extreme  of  admiration  : 

"  How  beautiful  you  are  !  You  are  more  beautiful  in 
anger  than  in  repose.  I  don't  ask  you  for  your  love  ;  give 
me  yourself  and  your  hatred  ;  give  me  yourself  and  that 
pretty  rage  ;  give  me  yourself  and  that  enchanting  scorn  ;  it 
will  be  enough  for  me."  • 

Impatient  tears  rise  to  the  eyes  of  the  trembling  little 
beauty,  and  her  face  flames  ;  but  as  she  again  rises  to  leave 
him  in  indignation,  and  seek  protection  witlnn  the  house,  he 
stretches  out  his  hand  toward  the  porch,  as  though  he  in- 
vited her  to  enter  it. 

"  I  told  you,  you  rare  charmer,  you  sweet  witch,  that  you 
must  stay  and  hear  me,  or  do  more  harm  than  can  ever  be 
undone.  You  asked  me  what  harm.  Stay,  and  I  will  tell 
you.     Go,  and  I  will  do  it  !  " 

Again  Rosa  quails  before  his  threatening  face,  though  in- 
nocent of  its  meaning,  and  she  remains.  Her  panting 
breathing  comes  and  goes  as  if  it  would  choke  her  ;  but 
with  a  repressive  hand  upon  her  bosom,  she  remains. 


8o8         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  I  have  made  my  confession  that  my  love  is  mad.  It  is 
so  mad  that,  had  the  ties  between  me  and  my  dear  lost  boy 
been  one  silken  thread  less  strong,  I  might  have  swept  even 
him  from  your  side  when  you  favored  him." 

A  film  comes  over  the  eyes  she  raises  for  an  instant,  as 
though  he  had  turned  her  faint. 

"  Even  him,"  he  repeats.  *'  Yes,  even  him  !  Rosa,  you 
see  me  and  you  hear  me.  Judge  for  yourself  whether  any 
other  admirer  shall  love  you  and  live,  whose  life  is  in  my 
hand." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  to  show  you  how  mad  my  love  is.  It  was  hawked 
through  the  late  inquiries  by  Mr.  Crisparkle,  that  young 
Landless  had  confessed  to  him  that  he  was  a  rival  of  my  lost 
boy.  That  is  an  inexpiable  offense  in  my  eyes.  The  same 
Mr.  Crisparkle  knows  under  my  hand  that  I  have  devoted 
myself  to  the  murderer's  discovery  and  destruction,  be  he 
whom  he  might,  and  that  I  determined  to  discuss  the  mys- 
tery with  no  one  until  I  should  hold  the  clew  in  which  to 
entangle  the  murderer  as  if  in  a  net.  I  have  since  worked 
patiently  to  wind  and  wind  it  round  him  ;  and  it  is  slowly 
winding  as  I  speak." 

"  Your  belief,  if  you  believe  in  the  criminality  of  Mr. 
Landless,  is  not  Mr.  Crisparkle's  belief  ;  and  he  is  a  good 
man,"  Rosa  retorts. 

"  My  belief  is  my  own  ;  and  I  reserve  it,  worshiped  of 
my  soul !  Circumstances  may  accumulate  so  strongly  even 
against  an  innocent  man,  that,  directed,  sharpened,  and  point- 
ed, they  may  slay  him.  One  wanting  link  discovered  by 
perseverance  against  a  guilty  man  proves  his  guilt,  however 
sliglit  its  evidence  before,  and  he  dies.  Young  Landless 
stands  in  deadly  peril  either  way." 

"  If  you  really  suppose,"  Rosa  pleads  with  him,  turning 
paler,  **  that  I  favor  Mr.  Landless,  or  that  Mr.  Landless  has 
ever  in  any  way  addressed  himself  to  me,  you  are  wrong." 

He  puts  that  from  him  with  a  slighting  action  of  his  hand 
and  a  curled  lip. 

*'  I  was  going  to  show  you  how  madly  I  love  you.  More 
madly  now  than  ever,  for  I  am  willing  to  renounce  the  sec- 
ond object  that  has  arisen  in  my  life  to  divide  it  with  you  ; 
and  henceforth  to  have  no  object  in  existence  but  you  only. 
Miss  Landless  has  become  your  bosom  friend.  You  care 
for  her  peace  of  mind  ?  " 

''  I  love  her  deary  " 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        F09 

"  You  care  for  her  good  name  ?  '* 

"  I  have  said,  sir,  I  love  her  dearly." 

"  I  am  unconsciously,"  he  observes,  with  a  smile,  as  he 
folds  his  hands  upon  the  sun-dial  and  leans  his  chin  upon 
them,  so  that  his  talk  would  seem  from  the  windows  (faces 
occasionally  come  and  go  there)  to  be  of  the  airiest  and 
playfulest — "  I  am  unconsciously  giving  offense  by  question- 
ing again.  I  will  simply  make  statements,  therefore,  and  not 
put  questions.  You  do  care  for  your  bosom  friend's  good 
name,  and  you  do  care  for  her  peace  of  mind.  Then  remove 
the  shadow  of  the  gallows  from  her,  dear  one  ! " 

"  You  dare  propose  to  me  to " 

"  Darling,  I  dare  propose  to  you.  Stop  there.  If  it  be 
bad  to  idolize  you,  I  am  the  worst  of  men  ;  if  it  be  good,  I 
am  the  best.  My  love  for  you  is  above  all  other  love,  and 
my  truth  to  you  is  above  all  other  truth.  Let  me  have  hope 
and  favor,  and  I  am  a  forsworn  man  for  your  sake." 

Rosa  puts  her  hands  to  her  temples,  and,  pushing  back  her 
hair,  looks  wildly  and  abhorrently  at  him,  as  though  she 
were  trying  to  piece  together  what  it  is  his  deep  purpose  to 
present  to  her  only  in  fragments. 

**  Reckon  up  nothing  at  this  moment,  angel,  but  the  sacri- 
fices that  I  lay  at  those  dear  feet,  which  I  could  fall  down 
among  the  vilest  ashes  and  kiss,  and  put  upon  my  head  as  a 
poor  savage  might.  There  is  my  fidelity  to  my  dear  boy 
after  death.     Tread  upon  it !  " 

With  an  action  of  his  hands,  as  though  he  cast  down 
something  precious. 

"  There  is  the  inexpiable  offense  against  my  adoration  of 
you.     Spurn  it  !  " 

With  a  similar  action. 

"  There  are  my  labors  in  the  cause  of  a  just  vengeance 
for  six  toiling  months.     Crush  them  !  " 

With  another  repetition  of  the  action. 

**  There  is  my  past  and  my  present  wasted  life.  There  is 
the  desolation  of  my  heart  and  my  soul.  There  is  my  peace  ; 
there  is  my  despair.  Stamp  them  into  the  dust,  so  that  you 
take  me,  were  it  even  mortally  hating  me  !  " 

The  frightful  vehemence  of  the  man,  now  reaching  its 
full  height,  so  additionally  terrifies  her  as  to  break  the  spell 
that  has  held  her  to  the  spot.  She  swiftly  moves  toward 
the  porch  ;  but  in  an  instant  he  is  at  her  side,  and  speaking 
in  her  ear. 

"  Rosa,  I  am  self- repressed  again.     I  am  walking    ajmly 


8io        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

beside  you  to  the  house.  I  shall  wait  for  some  encourage- 
ment and  hope.  I  shall  not  strike  too  soon.  Give  me  a 
sign  that  you  attend  to  me." 

She  slightly  and  constrainedly  moves  her  hand. 

"  Not  a  word  of  this  to  any  one,  or  it  will  bring  down  the 
blow,  as  certainly  as  night  follows  day.  Another  sign  that 
you  attend  to  me." 

She  moves  her  hand  once  more. 

*'  I  love  you,  love  you,  love  you.  If  you  were  to  cast  me 
off  now — but  you  will  not — you  would  never  be  rid  of  me. 
No  one  should  come  between  us.  1  would  pursue  you  to 
the  death." 

The  handmaid  coming  out  to  open  the  gate  for  him,  he 
quietly  pulls  off  his  hat  as  a  parting  salute,  and  goes  away 
with  no  greater  show  of  agitation  than  is  visible  in  the  effigy 
of  Mr.  Sapsea's  father  opposite.  Rosa  faints  in  going  up- 
stairs, and  is  carefully  carried  to  her  room  and  laid  down  on 
her  bed.  A  thunder-storm  is  coming  on,  the  maids  say,  ind 
the  hot  and  stifling  air  has  overset  the  pretty  dear  ;  no  won- 
der ;  they  have  felt  their  own  knees  all  of  a  tremble  all  day 
long. 

CHAPTER    XX. 

A    FLIGHT. 

Rosa  no  sooner  came  to  herself  than  the  whole  of  the  late 
interview  was  before  her.  It  even  seemed  as  if  it  had  pur- 
sued her  into  her  insensibility,  and  she  had  not  had  a  mo- 
ment's unconsciousness  of  it.  What  to  do,  she  was  at  a 
frightened  loss  to  know  ;  the  only  one  clear  thought  in  her 
mind  was,  that  she  must  fly  from  this  terrible  man. 

But  where  could  she  take  refuge,  and  how'  could  she  go  ? 
She  had  never  breathed  her  dread  of  him  to  any  one  but 
Helena.  If  she  went  to  Helena  and  told  her  what  had 
passed,  that  very  act  might  bring  down  the  irreparable  mis- 
chief that  he  had  threatened  he  had  the  power,  and  that  she 
knew  he  had  the  will,  to  do.  The  more  fearful  he  appeared 
to  her  excited  memory  and  imagination,  the  more  alarming 
her  responsibility  appeared  ;  seeing  diat  a  slight  mistake  on 
her  part,  either  in  action  or  delay,  might  let  his  malevo- 
lence loose  on  Helena's  brother. 

Rosa's  mind  throughout  the  last  six  monchs  had  been 
stormily  confused.     A  half-formed,  wholly  unexpressed  sus- 


THE  MYSrERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         Sii 

picion  tossed  in  it,  now  heaving  itself  up,  and  now  sinking 
into  the  deep  ;  now  gaining  palpability,  and  now  losing  it. 
His  self-absorption  in  his  nephew  when  he  was  alive,  and 
his  unceasing  pursuit  of  the  inquiry  how  he  came  by  his 
death,  if  he  were  dead,  were  themes  so  rife  in  the  place  that 
no  one  appeared  able  to  suspect  the  possibility  of  foul  play 
at  his  hands.  She  had  asked  herself  the  question,  "  Am  I 
so  wicked  in  my  thoughts  as  to  conceive  a  wickedness  that 
others  can  not  imagine  ?  "  Then  she  had  considered,  Did 
the  suspicion  come  of  her  previous  recoiling  from  him  be- 
fore the  fact  ?  And  if  so,  was  not  that  a  proof  of  its  base- 
lessness? Then  she  had  reflected,  "What  motive  could 
he  have,  according  to  my  accusation  ?  "  She  was  ashamed 
to  answer  in  her  mind,  "  The  motive  of  gaining  me  I  "  And 
covered  her  face  as  if  the  lightest  shadow  of  the  idea  of 
founding  murder  on  such  an  idle  vanity  were  a  crime  almost 
as  great. 

She  ran  over  in  her  mind  again  all  that  he  had  said  by 
the  sun-dial  in  the  garden.  He  had  persisted  in  treating 
the  disappearance  as  murder,  consistently  with  his  whole 
public  course  since  the  finding  of  the  watch  and  shirt-pin. 
If  he  were  afraid  of  the  crime  being  traced  out,  would  he 
not  rather  encourage  the  idea  of  a  voluntary  disappearance  ? 
He  had  even  declared  that  if  the  ties  between  him  and  his 
nephew  had  been  less  strong,  he  might  have  swept  "  even 
him  "  away  from  her  side.  Was  that  like  his  having  really 
done  so  ?  He  had  spoken  of  laying  his  six  months'  labors  in 
the  cause  of  a  just  vengeance  at  her  feet.  Would  he  have 
done  that,  with  that  violence  of  passion,  if  they  were  a  pre- 
tense ?  Would  he  have  ranged  them  with  his  desolate  heart 
and  soul,  his  wasted  life,  his  peace,  and  his  despair  ?  The 
very  first  sacrifice  that  he  represented  himself  as  making  for 
her  was  his  fidelity  to  his  dear  boy  after  death.  Surely  these 
facts  were  strong  against  a  fancy  that  scarcely  dared  to  hint 
itself.  And  yet  he  was  so  terrible  a  man  !  In  short,  the 
poor  girl  (for  what  could  she  know  of  the  criminal  intellect, 
which  its  own  professed  students  perpetually  misread,  be- 
cause they  persist  in  trying  to  reconcile  it  with  the  average 
intellect  of  average  men,  instead  of  identifying  it  as  a  hor- 
rible wonder  apart),  could  get  by  no  road  to  any  other  con- 
clusion than  that  he  was  a  terrible  man,  and  must  be  fled 
from. 

She  had  been  Helena's  stay  and  corafort  during  the  whole 
time.     She  had  constantly  assured  her  of  her  full  belief  in 


8i2         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

her  brother's  innocence,  and  of  her  sympathy  with  him  in 
his  misery.  But  she  had  never  seen  him  since  the  disap- 
pearance, nor  had  Helena  ever  spoken  one  word  of  his 
avowal  to  Mr.  Crisparkle  in  regard  of  Rosa,  though  as  a  part 
of  the  interest  of  the  case  it  was  well  known  far  and  wide. 
He  was  Helena's  unfortunate  brother  to  her,  and  nothing 
more.  The  assurance  she  had  given  her  odious  suitor  was 
strictly  true,  though  it  would  have  been  better  (she  con- 
sidered now)  if  she  could  have  restrained  herself  from  so 
giving  it.  Afraid  of  him  as  the  bright  and  delicate  little 
creature  was,  her  spirit  swelled  at  the  thought  of  his  know- 
ing it  from  her  own  lips. 

But  where  was  she  to  go  ?  Anywhere  beyond  his  reach, 
was  no  reply  to  the  question.  Somewhere  must  be  thought 
of.  She  determined  to  go  to  her  guardian,  and  to  go  imme- 
diately. The  feeling  she  had  imparted  to  Helena  on  the 
night  of  their  first  confidence  was  so  strong  upon  her — the 
feeling  of  not  being  safe  from  him,  and  of  the  solid  walls  of 
the  old  convent  being  powerless  to  keep  out  his  ghostly  fol- 
lowing of  her — that  no  reasoning  of  her  own  could  calm  her 
terrors.  The  fascination  of  repulsion  had  been  upon  her  so 
long,  and  now  culminated  so  darkly,  that  she  felt  as  if  he 
had  power  to  bind  her  by  a  spell.  Glancing  out  at  window, 
even  now,  as  she  rose  to  dress,  the  sight  of  the  sun-dial,  on 
which  he  had  leaned  when  he  declared  himself,  turned  her 
cold,  and  made  her  shrink  from  it,  as  though  he  had  in- 
vested it  with  some  awful  quality  from  his  own  nature. 

She  wrote  a  hurried  note  to  Miss  Twinkleton,  saying  that 
she  had  sudden  reason  for  wishing  to  see  her  guardian 
promptly,  and  had  gone  to  him  ;  also,  entreating  the  good 
lady  not  to  be  uneasy,  for  all  was  well  with  her.  She  hur- 
ried a  few  quite  useless  articles  into  a  very  little  bag,  left  the 
note  in  a  conspicuous  place,  and  went  out,  softly  closing  the 
gate  after  her. 

It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever  been  even  in  Cloister- 
ham  High  Street  alone.  But  knowing  all  its  ways  and 
windings  very  well,  she  hurried  straight  to  the  corner  from 
which  the  omnibus  departed.  It  was  at  that  very  moment 
going  off. 

**  Stop  and  take  me,  if  you  please,  Joe.  I  am  obliged  to 
go  to  London." 

In  less  than  another  minute  she  was  on  her  road  to  the 
railway,  under  Joe's  protection.  Joe  waited  on  her  when 
she  got  there,  put  her  safely  into  the  railway  carriage,  and 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         813 

handed  in  the  very  little  bag  after  her,  as  though  it  were 
some  enormous  trunk,  hundred  weights  heavy,  which  she 
must  on  no  account  endeavor  to  lift. 

"  Can   you  go   round  when  you   get  back,  and  tell  Miss 
Twinkleton  that  you  saw  me  safely  off,  Joe  ? " 

'*  It  shall  be  done,  miss." 

"  With  my  love,  please,  Joe." 

"  Yes,  miss — and  I  wouldn't  mind  having  it  myself !  " 
But  Joe  did  not  articulate  the  last  clause  ;  only  thought  it. 

Now  that  she  was  whirling  away  for  London  in  real 
earnest,  Rosa  was  at  leisure  to  resume  the  thoughts  which 
her  personal  hurry  had  checked.  The  indignant  thought 
that  his  declaration  of  love  soiled  her  ;  that  she  could  only 
be  cleansed  from  the  stain  of  its  impurity  by  appealing  to 
the  honest  and  true  ;  supported  her  for  a  time  against  her 
fears,  and  confirmed  her  in  her  hasty  resolution.  But  as  the 
evening  grew  darker  and  darker,  and  the  great  city  im- 
pended nearer  and  nearer,  the  doubts  usual  in  such  cases 
began  to  arise.  Whether  this  was  not  a  wild  proceeding 
after  all  ;  how  Mr.  Grewgious  might  regard  it  ;  whether  she 
should  find  him  at  the  journey's  end  ;  how  she  would  act  if 
he  were  absent ;  what  might  become  of  her,  alone,  in  a 
place  so  strange  and  crowded  ;  how  if  she  had  but  waited 
and  taken  counsel  first ;  whether,  if  she  could  now  go  back, 
she  would  not  do  it  thankfully  :  a  multitude  of  such  uneasy 
speculations  disturbed  her,  more  and  more  as  they  accumu- 
lated. At  length  the  train  came  into  London  over  the  house- 
tops ;  and  down  below  lay  the  gritty  streets  with  their  yet 
unneeded  lamps  aglow,  on  a  hot  light  summer  night. 

"  Hiram  Grewgious,  Esquire,  Staple  Inn,  London."  This 
v/as  all  Rosa  knew  of  her  destination,  but  it  was  enough  to 
send  her  rattling  away  again  in  a  cab,  through  deserts  of 
gritty  streets,  where  many  people  crowded  at  the  corners  of 
courts  and  by-ways  to  get  some  air,  and  where  many  other 
people  walked  with  a  miserably  monotonous  noise  of  shuf- 
fling feet  on  hot  paving-stones,  and  where  all  the  people  and 
all  their  surroundings  were   so  gritty  and  so  shabby. 

There  was  music  playing  here  and  there,  but  it  did  not 
enliven  the  case.  No  barrel-organ  mended  the  matter,  and 
no  big  drum  beat  dull  care  away.  Like  the  chapel  bells 
that  were  also  going  here  and  there,  they  only  seemed  to 
evoke  echoes  from  brick  surfaces,  and  dust  from  everything 
As  to  the  flat  wind  instruments,  they  seemed  to  have  cracked 
their  hearts  and  souls  in  pining  for  their  country. 


814         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

Her  jingling  conveyance  stopped  at  last  at  a  fast-closed 
gate-way  which  appeared  to  belong  to  somebody  who  had 
gone  to  bed  very  early,  and  was  much  afraid  of  house- 
breakers ;  Rosa,  discharging  her  conveyance,  timidly  knocked 
at  this  gate- way,  and  was  let  in,  very  little  bag  and  all,  by  a 
watchman. 

"  Does  Mr.  Grewgioiis  live  here  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Grewgious  lives  there,  miss,"  said  the  watchman, 
pointing  further  in. 

So  Rosa  went  further  in,  and  when  the  clocks  were  strik- 
ing ten,  stood  on  P.  J.  T.'s  doorsteps,  wondering  what  P.  J. 
T.  had  done  with  his  street  door. 

Guided  by  the  painted  name  of  Mr.  Grewgious,  she  went 
up-stairs  and  softly  tapped  several  times.  But  no  one 
answering,  and  Mr.  Grewgious's  door-handle  yielding  to  her 
touch,  she  went  in,  and  saw  her  guardian  sitting  on  a 
windov/-seat,  at  an  open  window,  with  a  shaded  lamp  placed 
far  from  him  on  a  table  in  a  corner. 

Rosa  drew  nearer  to  him  in  the  twilight  of  the  room.  He 
saw  her,  and  he  said  in  an   undertone,  "  Good  heaven  ! " 

Rosa  fell  upon  his  neck,  with  tears,  and  then  he  said, 
returning  her  embrace 

**  My  child,  my  child  !  I  thought  you  were  your  mother  ! 
But  what,  what,  what,"  he  added,  soothingly,  '"has  hap- 
pened? My  dear,  what  has  brought  you  here  .^  Who  has 
brought  you  here  ?" 

"No one.     I  came  alone." 

"  Lord  bless  me  !  "  ejaculated  Mr.  Grewgious.  '*  Came 
alone  !     Why  didn't  you  write  to  me  to  come  and  fetch  you  ?  " 

"  I  had  no  time.  I  took  a  sudden  resolution.  Poor, 
poor  Eddy  !  " 

''  Ah,  poor  fellow,  poor  fellow  !  " 

"  His  uncle  has  made  love  to  me.  I  can  not  bear  it,"  said 
Rosa,  at  once  with  a  burst  of  tears,  and  a  stamp  of  her  little 
foot ;  "  I  shudder  with  horror  of  him,  and  I  have  come  to 
you  to  protect  me  and  all  of  us  from  him,  if  you  will  ! " 

"  I  will  !  "  cried  Mr.  Grewgious,  with  a  sudden  rush  of 
amazing  energy.     "  Damn  him  ! 

*  Confound  his  politics, 
Frustrate  his  knavish  tricks, 
On  the«  his  hope«  to  fix  ?  ' 
Damn  him  again  !    " 

After  this  most  extraordinary  outburst,  Mr.  Grewgious, 
quite  beside  himself,  plungt^d  about  the  room,  to  all  appear- 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         815 

ance  undecided  whether  he  was  in  a  fit  of  loyal  enthusiasm, 
or  combative  denunciation. 

He  stopped  and  said,  wiping  his  face,  "  I  beg  your  pardon, 
my  dear,  but  you  will  be  glad  to  know  I  feel  better.  Tell 
me  no  more  just  now,  or  I  might  do  it  again.  You  must  be 
refreshed  and  cheered.  What  did  you  take  last  ?  Was  it 
breakfast,  lunch,  dinner,  tea,  or  supper  ?  And  what  will 
you  take  next  ?  Shall  it  be  breakfast,  lunch,  dinner,  tea,  or 
supper  ? " 

The  respectful  tenderness  with  which,  on  one  knee  before 
her,  he  helped  her  to  remove  her  hat,  and  disentangle  her 
pretty  hair  from  it,  was  quite  a  chivalrous  sight.  Yet  who, 
knowing  him  only  on  the  surface,  would  have  expected  chiv- 
alry— and  of  the  true  sort,  too  :  not  the  spurious — from  Mr. 
Grewgious  ? 

'*  Your  rest,  too,  must  be  provided  for,"  he  went  on, 
"  and  you  shall  have  the  prettiest  chamber  in  Furnival's. 
Your  toilet  must  be  provided  for,  and  you  shall  have  every 
thing  that  an  unlimited  head-chambermaid — by  which 
expression  I  mean  a  head-chambermaid  not  limited  as  to 
outlay — can  procure.  Is  that  a  bag  ?  "  He  looked  hard  at 
it ;  sooth  to  say,  it  required  hara  looking  at  to  be  seen  at  all 
in  a  dimly  lighted  room  :  "  and  is  it  your  propery,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.     I  brought  it  with  me." 

*'  it  is  not  an  extensive  bag,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  can- 
didly, "  though  admirably  calculated  to  contain  a  day's  pro- 
vision for  a  canary-bird.  Perhaps  you  brought  a  canarv- 
bird?" 

Rosa  smiled,  and  shook  her  head. 

"  If  you  had  he  should  have  been  made  welcome,"  said 
Mr.  Grewgious,  "  and  I  think  he  would  have  been  pleased  to 
be  hung  upon  a  nail  outside  and  pit  himself  against  our 
Staple  sparrows  ;  whose  execution  must  be  admitted  to  be 
not  quite  equal  to  their  intention.  Which  is  the  case  v/ith 
so  many  of  us  !  You  didn't  say  what  meal,  my  dear.  Have 
a  nice  jumble  of  all  meals." 

Rosa  thanked  him,  but  said  she  could  only  take  a  cup  of 
tea.  'Mr.  Grewgious,  after  several  times  running  out,  and  in 
again,  to  mention  such  supplementary  items  as  marmalade, 
eggs,  water-cresses,  salted  fish,  and  frizzled  ham,  ran  across 
to  Furnival's  without  his  hat,  to  give  his  various  directions. 
And  soon  afterward  they  were  realized  in  practice,  and  the 
board  was  spread. 

"Lord  bless  my  soul  !  "  cried  Mr.  Grewgious,  putting  the 


8i6         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

lamp  upon  it,  and  taking  his  seat  opposite  Rosa  ;  '*  what 
a  new  sensation  for  a  poor  old  angular  bachelor,  to  be 
sure  !  " 

Rosa's  expressive  little  eyebrows  asked  him  what  he 
meant  ? 

"  The  sensation  of  having  a  sweet  young  presence  in  the 
place  that  whitewashes  it,  paints  it,  papers  it,  decorates  it 
with  gilding,  and  makes  it  glorious,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious. 
"  Ah  me  !     Ah  me  !  " 

As  there  was  something  mournful  in  his  sigh,  Rosa,  in 
touching  him  with  his  tea-cup,  ventured  to  touch  him  with 
her  small  hand  too. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  "  Ahem  ! 
Let's  talk." 

"  Do  you  always  live  here,  sir  ?  "  asked  Rosa. 

"  Yes,  my  dear." 

"  And  always  alone  ?  " 

"Always  alone  ;  except  that  I  have  daily  company  in  a 
gentleman  by  the  name  of  Bazzard  ;  my  clerk." 

^^ He  doesn't  live  here*?  " 

"  No,  he  goes  his  ways  after  office  hours.  In  fact,  he  is 
off  duty  here,  altogether,  just  at  present  ;  and  a  firm  down 
stairs  with  which  I  have  business  relations  lend  me  a  substi- 
tute. But  it  would  be  extremely  difficult  to  replace  Mr. 
Bazzard." 

"  He  must  be  very  fond  of  you,"  said  Rosa. 

"  He  bears  up  against  it  with  commendable  fortitude  if  he 
is,"  returned  Mr.  Grewgious,  after  considering  the  matter. 
"  But  I  doubt  if  he  is.  Not  particularly  so.  You  see,  he  is 
discontented,  poor  fellow." 

"■  Why  isn't  he  contented  ? "  was  the  natural  inquiry. 

''  Misplaced,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  with  great  mystery. 

Rosa's  eyebrows  resumed  their  inequisitive  and  perplexed 
expression. 

"So  misplaced,"  Mr.  Grewgious  went  on,  "that  I  feel 
constantly  apologetic  toward  him.  And  he  feels  (though 
he  doesn't  mention  it)  that  I  have  reason  to  be." 

Mr.  Grewgious  had  by  this  time  grown  so  very  mysterious, 
that  Rosa  did  not  know  how  to  go  on.  While  she  was 
thinking  about  it,  Mr;  Grewgious  suddenly  jerked  out  of 
himself  for  the  second  time  : 

"  Let's  talk.  We  were  speaking  of  Mr.  Bazzard.  It's  a 
secret,  and,  moreover,  it  is  Mr.  Bazzard's  secret ;  but  the 
sweet  presence  at  my  table  makes  me  so  unusually  expansive, 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         817 

that  I  feel  I  must  impart  it  in  inviolable  confidence.  What 
do  you  think  Mr.  Bazzard  has  done?" 

**  Oh  dear  !  "  cried  Rosa,  drawing  her  chair  a  little  nearer, 
and  her  mind  reverting  to  Jasper,  "nothing  dreadful,  I 
hope  ?" 

"  He  has  written  a  play,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  in  a  solemn 
whisper.     "A  tragedy." 

Rosa  seemed  much  relieved. 

"And  nobody,"  pursued  Mr.  Grewgious,  in  the  same  tone, 
''will  hear,  on  any  account  whatever,  of  bringing  it  out." 

Rosa  looked  reflective,  and  nodded  her  head  slowly  ;  as 
who  should  say,  '^  Such  things  are,  and  why  are  they  !  " 

"  Now,  you  know,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  *'  /  couldn't 
write  a  play." 

"  Not  a  bad  one,  sir  ? "  asked  Rosa,  innocently,  with  her 
eyebrows  again  in  action. 

"  No.  If  I  was  under  sentence  of  decapitation,  and  was 
about  to  be  instantly  decapitated,  and  an  express  arrived 
with  a  pardon  for  the  condemned  convict  Grewgious  if  he 
wrote  a  play,  I  should  be  under  the  necessity  of  resuming 
the  block  and  begging  the  executioner  to  proceed  to  extrem- 
ities— meaning,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  passing  his  hand 
under  his  chin,  "  the  singular  number,  and  this  extremity." 

Rosa  appeared  to  consider  what  she  would  do  if  the  awk- 
ward supposititious  case  were  hers. 

"  Consequently,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "  Mr.  Bazzard 
would  have  a  sense  of  my  inferiority  to  himself  under  any 
circumstances  ;  but  when  I  am  hio  master,  you  know,  the 
case  is  greatly  aggravated." 

Mr.  Grewgious  shook  his  head  seriously,  as  if  he  felt  the 
offense  to  be  a  little  too  much,  though  of  his  own  commit- 
ting. 

"  How  came  you  to  be  his  master,  sir  ?  "  asked  Rosa. 

"  A  question  that  naturally  follows,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious. 
"Let's  talk.  Mr.  Bazzard's  father,  being  a  Norfolk  farmer, 
would  have  furiously  laid  about  him  with  a  flail,  a  pitchfork, 
and  every  agricultural  implement  available  for  assaulting 
purposes,  on  the  slightest  hint  of  his  son's  having  written  a 
play.  So  the  son,  bringing  to  me  the  father's  rent  (which  I 
receive),  imparted  his  secret,  and  pointed  out  that  he  was 
determined  to  pursue  his  genius,  and  that  it  would  put 
him  in  peril  of  starvation,  and  that  he  was  not  formed  for 
it." 

"  For  pursuing  his  genius,  sir  ?  " 


8i8         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  No,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  ''  for  starvation.  It 
was  impossible  to  deny  the  position  that  Mr.  Bazzard  was 
not  formed  to  be  starved,  and  Mr.  Bazzard  then  pointed 
out  that  it  was  desirable  that  I  should  stand  between  him  and 
a  fate  so  perfectly  unsuited  to  his  formation.  In  that  way 
Mr.  Bazzard  became  my  clerk,  and  he  feels  it  very  much." 

*'I  am  glad  he  is  grateful,"  said  Rosa. 

"  I  didn't  quite  mean  that,  my  dear.  I  mean  that  he 
feels  the  degradation.  There  are  some  other  geniuses  that 
Mr.  Bazzard  has  become  acquainted  with,  who  have  also 
written  tragedies,  which  likewise  nobody  will  on  any  account 
whatever  hear  of  bringing  out,  and  these  choice  spirits  ded- 
icate their  plays  to  one  another  in  a  highly  panegyrical  man- 
ner, Mr.  Bazzard  has  been  the  subject  of  one  of  these 
dedications.  Now,  you  know,  /never  had  a  play  dedicated 
to  vie  !  " 

Rosa  looked  at  him  as  if  she  would  have  liked  him  to  be 
the  recipient  of  a  thousand  dedications. 

"  Which  again,  naturally,  rubs  against  the  grain  of  Mr. 
Bazzard,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  "  He  is  very  short  with  me 
sometimes,  and  then  I  feel  that  he  is  meditating,  *  This 
blockhead  is  my  master  !  A  fellow  who  couldn't  write  a 
tragedy  on  pain  of  death,  and  who  will  never  have  one 
dedicated  to  him  with  the  most  complimentary  congratula- 
tions on  the  high  position  he  has  taken  in  the  eyes  of  pos- 
terity !  '  Very  trying,  very  trying.  However,  in  giving 
him  directions,  I  reflect  beforehand,  '  Perhaps  he  may  not 
like  this,'  or  '  He  might  take  it  ill  if  I  asked  that,'  and  so 
we  get  on  very  well.  Indeed,  better  than  I  could  have 
expected." 

"  Is  the  tragedy  named,  sir  ?  "  asked  Rosa. 

''Strictly  between  ourselves,"  answered  Mr.  Grewgious, 
"  it  has  a  dreadfully  appropriate  name.  It  is  called  the 
Thorn  of  Anxiety.  But  Mr.  Bazzard  hopes — and  I  hope — 
that  it  will  come  out  at  last." 

It  was  not  hard  to  divine  that  Mr.  Grewgious  had  related 
the  Bazzard  history  thus  fully,  at  least  quite  as  much  for  the 
recreation  of  his  ward's  mind  from  the  subject  that  had 
driven  her  there,  as  for  the  gratification  of  his  own  tendency 
to  be  social  and  communicative.  "  And  now,  my  dear,"  he 
said  at  this  point, ,"  if  you  are  not  too  tired  to  tell  me  more 
of  what  passed  to-day,  but  only  if  you  feel  quite  able — I 
should  be  glad  to  hear  it.  I  may  digest  it  the  better,  if  I 
sleep  on  it  to-night." 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         819 

^  Rosa,  composed  now,  gave  him  a  faithful  account  of  the 
interview.  Mr.  Grewgious  often  smoothed  his  head  while 
It  was  in  progress,  and  begged  to  be  told  a  second  time 
those  parts  which  bore  on  Helena  and  Neville.  When  Rosa 
had  finished,  he  sat,  grave,  silent,  and  meditative,  for  a 
while. 

"Clearly  narrated,"  was  his  only  remark  at  last,  ''and  I 
hope,  clearly  put  away  here,"  smoothing  his  head  again. 
**See,  my  dear,"  taking  her  to  the  open  window,."  where 
they  live  !     The  dark  windows  over  yonder." 

I'  I  may  go  to  Helena  to-morrow  }  "  asked  Rosa. 

"  1  should  like  to  sleep  on  that  question  to-night,"  he  an- 
swered, doubtfully.  "  But  let  me  take  you  to  your  own  rest, 
for  you  must  need  it." 

\Yith  that,  Mr.  Grewgious  helped  her  to  get  her  hat  on 
again,  and  hung  upon  his  arm  the  very  little  bag  that  was  of 
no  earthly  use,  and  led  her  by  the  hand  (with  a  certain 
stately  awkwardness,  as  if  he  were  going  to  walk  a  minute) 
across  Holborn,  and  into  Furnival's  Inn.  At  the  hotel 
door,  he  confided  her  to  the  unlimited  head- chambermaid, 
and  said  that  while  she  went  up  to  see  her  room,  he  would 
remain  below,  in  case  she  should  wish  it  exchanged  for  an- 
other, or  should  find  that  there  was  any  thing  she  wanted. 

Rosa's  room  was  airy,  clean,  comfortable,  almost  gay.  The 
unlimited  had  laid  in  every  thing  omitted  from  the  very 
little  bag  (that  is  to  say,  every  thing  she  could  possibly 
need),  and  Rosa  tripped  down  the  great  many  stairs  again, 
to  thank  her  guardian  for  his  thoughtful  and  affectionate 
care  of  her. 

"  .-^^^  \  ?^l'  "'^>'  dear,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  infinitely 
gratified  ;  "  it  is  I  who  thank  you  for  your  charming  confi- 
dence and  for  your  charming  company.  Your  breakfast 
will  be  provided  for  you  in  a  neat,  compact  and  graceful  lit- 
tle sitting-room  (appropriate  to  your  figure),  and  1  will  come 
to  you  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning.  I  hope  you  don't  feel 
very  strange  indeed,  in  this  strange  place." 

"  Oh  no,  I  feel  so  safe  !  " 

"Yes,  you  may  be  sure  that  the  stairs  are  fire- proof," 
said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "and  that  any  outbreak  of  the  devour- 
ing element  would  be  perceived  and  suppressed  by  the  watch- 
men." 

"  I  did  not  mean  that,"  Rosa  replied.  "  I  mean,  I  feel  so 
safe  from  him." 

"  7'here  is  a  stout  gate  of  iron  bars  to  keep  him  out,"  said 


820        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

Mr.  Grewgious  smiling,  "and  Furnival's  is  fire-proof  and 
specially  watched  and  lighted,  and  /  live  over  the  way  !  " 
In  the  stoutness  of  his  knight  errantry,  he  seemed  to  think 
the  last-named  protection  all-sufficient.  In  the  same  spirit, 
he  said  to  the  gate-porter  as  he  went  out,  "  If  some  one 
staying  in  the  hotel  should  wish  to  send  across  the  road  to 
me  in  the  night,  a  crown  will  be  ready  for  the  messenger." 
In  the  same  spirit,  he  walked  up  and  down  outside  the  iron 
gate  for  the  best  part  of  an  hour,  with  some  solicitude  ;  oc- 
casionally looking  in  between  the  bars,  as  if  he  had  laid  a 
dove  in  a  high  roost  in  a  cage  of  lions,  and  had  it  on  his 
mind  that  she  might  tumble  out. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

ARECOGNITION. 

Nothing  occurred  in  the  night  to  flutter  the  tired  dove,  and 
the  dove  arose  refreshed.  With  Mr.  Grewgious,  when  the 
clock  struck  ten  in  the  morning,  came  Mr.  Crisparkle,  who 
had  come  at  one  plunge  out  of  the  river  at  Cloisterham. 

"  Miss  Twinkleton  was  so  uneasy,  Miss  Rosa,"  he  ex- 
plained to  her,  "  and  came  round  to  ma  and  me  with  your 
note,  in  such  a  state  of  wonder,  that  to  quiet  her,  I  volun- 
teered on  this  service  by  the  very  first  train  to  be  caught  in 
the  morning.  I  wished  at  the  time  that  you  had  come  to 
me  ;  but  now  I  think  it  best  that  you  did  as  you  did,  and 
came  to  your  guardian." 

''  I  did  think  of  you,"  Rosa  told  him  ;  "but  Minor  Canon 
Corner  was  so  near  him " 

"  I  understand.     It  was  quite  natural." 

"I  have  told  Mr.  Crisparkle,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "all 
that  you  told  me  last  night,  my  dear.  Of  course  I  should 
have  written  to  him  immediately  ;  but  his  coming  was  most 
opportune.  And  it  was  particularly  kind  of  him  to  come, 
for  he  had  but  just  gone." 

"  Have  you  settled,"  asked  Rosa,  appealing  to  them  both, 
"  what  is  to  be  done  for  Helena  and  her  brother  ?" 

"  Why  really,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "  I  am  in  great  per- 
plexity. If  even  Mr.  Grewgious,  whose  head  is  much  longer 
than  mine,  and  who  is  a  whole  night's  cogitation  in  advance 
of  me,  is  undecided,  what  must  I  be  !  " 

The  unlimited   here  put  her  head  in  at  the  door — after 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.       821 

having  rapped,  and  having  been  authorized  to  present  her- 
self,  announcing  that  a  gentleman  wished  for  a  word  with 
another  gentleman  named  Crisparkle,  if  any  such  gentleman 
were  there.  If  no  such  gentleman  were  there,  he  begged 
pardon  for  being  mistaken. 

"  Such  a  gentleman  is  here,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  "but  is 
engaged  just  now." 

'*  Is  it  a  dark  gentleman  ? "  interposed  Rosa,  retreating  on 
her  guardian. 

"  No,  miss,  more  of  a  brown  gentleman." 

''  You  are  sure  not  with  black  hair  ? "  asked  Rosa,  taking 
courage. 

"  Quite  sure  of  that,  miss.     Brown  hair  and  blue  eyes." 

"  Perhaps,"  hinted  Mr.  Grewgious,  with  habitual  caution, 
"it  might  be  well  to  see  him,  reverend  sir,  if  you  don't  ob- 
ject. When  one  is  in  a  difficulty  or  at  a  loss,  one  never 
knows  in  what  direction  a  way  out  may  chance  to  open.  It 
is  a  business  principle  of  mine,  in  such  a  case,  not  to  close 
up  any  direction,  but  to  keep  an  eye  on  every  direction  that 
may  present  itself.  I  could  relate  an  anecdote  in  point,  but 
that  it  would  be  premature." 

"  If  Miss  Rosa  will  allow  me  then  !  Let  the  gentleman 
come  in,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle. 

The  gentleman  came  in  ;  apologized,  with  a  frank  but 
modest  grace,  for  not  finding  Mr.  Crisparkle  alone  ;  turned 
to  Mr,  Crisparkle,  and  smilingly  asked  the  unexpected  ques- 
tion, "  Who  am  I  ?  " 

"  You  are  the  gentleman  I  saw  smoking  under  the  trees 
in  Staple  Inn  a  few  minutes  ago." 

"  True.     There  I  saw  you.     Who  else  am  I  ?  " 

Mr.  Crisparkle  concentrated  his  attention  on  a  handsome 
face,  much  sunburned  ;  and  the  ghost  of  some  departed  boy, 
seemed  to  rise  gradually  and  dimly  in  the  room. 

The  gentleman  saw  a  struggling  recollection  lighten  up 
the  minor  canon's  features,  and  smiling  again,  said,  "What 
will  you  have  for  breakfast  this  morning  ?  You  are  out  of 
jam." 

"  Wait  a  moment !  "  cried  Mr.  Crisparkle,  raising  his  right 
hand.     "  Give  me  another  instant !     Tartar  !  " 

The  two  shook  hands  with  the  greatest  heartiness,  and 
then  went  the  wonderful  length— for  Englishmen — of  laying 
their  hands,  each  on  the  other's  shoulders,  and  looking  joy- 
fully each  into  the  other's  face. 

"  My  old  fag  !  "  said  Mr.  Crisparkle. 


822         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  My  old  master  !  "  said  Mr.  Tartar. 

"  You  saved  me  from  drowning  !  "  said  Mr.  Crisparkle. 

"  After  which  you  took  to  swimming,  you  know  !  "  said 
Mr.  Tartar. 

"  God  bless  my  soul  !  "  said  Mr-  Crisparkle. 

"  Amen  !  "  said  Mr.  Tartar. 

And  then  they  fell  to  shaking  hands  most  heartily  again. 

"  Imagine,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Crisparkle,  with  glistening 
eyes — "  Miss  Rosa  Bud  and  Mr.  Grewgious — imagine  Mr. 
Tartar,  when  he  was  the  smallest  of  juniors,  diving  for  me, 
catching  me,  a  big  heavy  senior,  by  the  hair  of  the  head,  and 
striking  out  for  the  shore  with  me  like  a  water-giant !  " 

"  Imagine  my  not  letting  him  sink,  as  I  was  his  fag  !  " 
said  Mr.  Tartar.  "  But,  the  truth  being  that  he  was  my  best 
protector  and  friend,  and  did  me  more  good  than  all  the 
masters  put  together,  an  irrational  impulse  seized  me  to  pick 
him  up  or  go  down  with  him." 

"  Hem  !  Permit  me,  sir,  to  have  the  honor,"  said  Mr. 
Grewgious,  advancing  with  extended  hand,  *'  for  an  honor  I 
truly  esteem  it.  I  am  proud  to  make  your  acquaintance.  I 
hope  you  didn't  take  cold.  I  hope  you  were  not  inconve- 
nienced by  swallowing  too  much  water.  How  have  you  been 
since  ?" 

It  was  by  no  means  apparent  that  Mr.  Grewgious  knew 
what  he  said,  though  it  was  very  apparent  that  he  meant  to 
say  something  highly  friendly  and  appreciative. 

If  heaven,  Rosa  thought,  had  but  sent  such  courage  and 
skill  to  her  poor  mother's  aid  !  And  he  to  have  been  so 
slight  and  young  then  ! 

"  I  don't  wish  to  be  complimented  upon  it,  I  thank  you, 
but  I  think  I  have  an  idea,"  Mr.  Grewgious  announced 
after  taking  a  jog-trot  or  two  across  the  room,  so  unexpected 
and  unaccountable  that  they  had  all  stared  at  him,  doubtful 
whether  he  was  choking  or  had  the  cramp.  "  I  ////;//^  I  have 
an  idea.  I  believe  I  have  had  the  pleasure  of 'seeing  Mr. 
Tartar's  name  as  tenant  of  the  top  set  in  the  house  next  the 
top  set  in  the  corner  ?  " 

*'  Yes,  sir,"  returned  Mr.  Tartar.     *'  You  are  right  so  far." 

''  I  am  right  so  far,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious.  *'  Tick  that 
off,"  which  he  did,  with  his  right  thumb  on  his  left.  "  Might 
you  happen  to  know  the  name  of  your  neighbor  in  the  top 
set  on  the  other  side  of  the  party-wall  ?  "  coming  very  close 
to  Mr.  Tartar,  to  lose  nothing  of  his  face,  in  his  shortness  of 
sight. 


THE  xMYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        823 

"  Landless." 

**  Tick  that  off,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  taking  another  trot 
and  then  coming  back.  "  No  personal  knowledge,  I  sup- 
pose, sir  ?  " 

''  Slight,  but  some." 

"Tick  that  off,"  said  Mr,  Grewgious,  taking  another  trot 
and  again  coming  back  "  Nature  of  knowledge,  Mr.  Tar- 
tar?" 

"  I  thought  he  seemed  to  be  a  young  fellow  in  a  poor  way, 
and  I  asked  his  leave — only  within  a  day  or  so — to  share 
my  flowers  up  there  with  him  ;  that  is  to  say,  to  extend  my 
flower-garden  to  his  windows." 

"  Would  you  have  the  kindness  to  take  seats  ?  "  said  Mr. 
Grewgious.     *'  I  /lare  an  idea." 

They  complied  ;  Mr.  Tartar  none  the  less  readily  for  be- 
ing all  abroad  ;  and  Mr.  Grewgious,  seated  in  the  center, 
with  his  hands  upon  his  knees,  thus  stated  his  idea  with  his 
usual  manner  of  having  got  the  statement  by  heart. 

*'  I  can  not  as  yet  make  up  my  mind  whether  it  is  prudent 
to  hold  open  communication  under  present  circumstances, 
and  on  the  part  of  the  fair  member  of  the  present  com- 
pany, with  Mr.  Neville  or  Miss  Helena.  I  have  reason 
to  know  that  a  local  friend  of  ours  (on  whom  I  beg  to  be- 
stow a  passing  but  a  hearty  malediction,  with  the  kind  per- 
mission of  my  reverend  friend)  sneaks  to  and  fro,  and  dodges 
up  and  down.  When  not  doing  so  himself,  he  may  have 
some  informant  skulking  about,  in  the  person  of  a  watch- 
man, porter,  or  such-like  hanger-on  of  Staple.  On  the  other 
hand,  Miss  Rosa  very  naturally  wishes  to  see  her  friend,  Miss 
Helena,  and  it  would  seem  important  that  at  least  Miss 
Helena  (if  not  her  brother  too,  through  her)  should  privately 
know  from  Miss  Rosa's  lips  what  has  occurred  and  what  has 
been  threatened.  Am  I  agreed  with  generally  in  the  views 
I  take  ?  " 

"  I  entirely  coincide  with  them,"  said  Mr.  Crisparkle,  who 
had  been  very  attentive. 

"  As  I  have  no  doubt  I  should,"  added  Mr.  Tartar,  smal- 
ing,  "  if  I  understood  them." 

"  Fair  and  softly,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious  ;  '*  we  shall 
fully  confide  in  you  directly,  if  you  will  favor  us  with  your 
permission.  Now,  if  your  local  friend  should  have  any  in- 
formant on  the  spot,  it  is  tolerably  clear  that  such  informant 
can  only  be  set  to  watch  the  chambers  in  the  occupation  of 
Mr.  Neville.     He,  reporting  to  our  local  friend,  who  comes 


8?4         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

and  goes  there,  our  local  friend  would  supply  for  himself, 
from  his  own  previous  knowledge,  the  identity  of  the  parties. 
Nobody  can  be  set  to  watch  all  Staple,  or  to  concern  him- 
self with  comers  and  goers  to  other  sets  of  chambers,  unless, 
indeed,  mine." 

"  I  begin  to  understand  to  what  you  tend,"  said  Mr.  Cris- 
parkle,  "  and  highly  approve  of  your  caution." 

"  I  needn't  repeat  that  I  know  nothing  yet  of  the  why  and 
wherefore,"  said  Mr.  Tartar  ;  *'  but  I  also  understand  to 
what  you  tend,  so  let  me  say  at  once  that  my  chambers  are 
freely  at  your  disposal." 

"  There  !  "  cried  Mr.  Grewgious,  smoothing  his  head  tri- 
umphantly. "  Now  we  have  all  got  the  idea.  You  have  it, 
my  dear  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  have,"  said  Rosa,  blushing  a  little  as  Mr.  Tar- 
tar looked  quickly  toward  her. 

"  You  see,  you  go  over  to  Staple  with  Mr.  Crisparkle  and 
Mr.  Tartar,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious  ;  *'  I  going  in  and  out,  and 
out  and  in,  alone  in  my  usual  way  ;  you  go  up  with  those 
gentlemen  to  Mr.  Tartar's  rooms  ;  you  look  into  Mr.  Tar- 
tar's flower-garden  ;  you  wait  for  Miss  Helena's  appearance 
there,  or  you  signify  to  Miss  Helena  that  you  are  close  by  ; 
and  you  communicate  with  her  freely,  and  no  spy  can  be  the 
wiser." 

"  I  am  very  much  afraid  I  shall  be " 

"  Be  what,  my  dear  ?  "  asks  Mr.  Grewgious,  as  she  hesi- 
tated.   "  Not  frightened  ? " 

*'  No,  not  that,"  said  Rosa,  shyly  ;  **  in  Mr.  Tartar's  way. 
We  seem  to  be  appropriating  Mr,  Tartar's  residence  so  very 
coolly." 

"  I  protest  to  you,"  returned  that  gentleman,  "  that  I  shall 
think  the  better  of  it  forevermore  if  your  voice  sounds  in  it 
only  once." 

Rosa,  not  quite  knowing  what  to  say  about  that,  cast  down 
her  eyes,  and,  turning  to  Mr.  Grewgious,  dutifully  asked  if 
she  should  put  her  hat  on.  Mr.  Grewgious  being  of  opinion 
that  she  could  not  do  better,  she  withdrew  for  the  purpose. 
Mr.  Crisparkle  took  the  opportunity  of  giving  Mr.  Tartar  a 
summary  of  the  distress  of  Neville  and  his  sister.  The  op- 
portunity was  quite  long  enough,  as  the  hat  happened  to  re- 
quire a  little  extra  fitting  on. 

Mr.  Tartar  gave  his  arm  to  Rosa,  and  Mr.  Crisparkle 
walked,  detached,  in  front. 

"  Poor,  poor  Eddy  !  "  thought  Rosa,  as  they  went  along. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         825 

M^.  Tartar  Avaved  his  right  hand  as  he  bent  his  head  down 
over  Rosa,  talking  in  an  animated  way. 

"  It  was  not  so  powerful  or  so  sun-browned  when  it  saved 
Mr.  Crisparkle,"  thought  Rosa,  glancing  at  it  ;  "  but  it  must 
have  been  very  steady  and  determined  even  then." 

Mr.  Tartar  told  her  he  had  been  a  sailor,  roving  every- 
where for  years  and  yo^-iT. 

"  When  are  you  going  to  sea  again  ?  "  asked  Rosa. 

"  Never  !  " 

Rosa  wondered  what  the  girls  would  say  if  they  could  see 
her  crossing  the  wide  street  on  the  sailor's  arm.  And  she 
fancied  that  the  passers-by  must  think  her  very  little  and 
very  helpless  contrasted  with  the  strong  figure  that  could 
have  caught  her  up  and  carried  her  out  of  any  danger,  miles 
and  miles,  without  resting. 

She  was  thinking,  further,  that  his  far-seeing  blue  eyes 
looked  as  if  they  had  been  used  to  watch  danger  afar  off, 
and  to  watch  it  without  flinching,  drawing  nearer  and  nearer  : 
when,  happening  to  raise  her  own  eyes,  she  found  that  he 
seemed  to  be  thinking  something  about  the77i. 

This  a  little  confused  Rosebud,  and  may  account  for  her 
never  afterward  quite  knowing  how  she  ascended  (with  his 
help)  to  his  garden  in  the  air,  and  seemed  to  get  into  a  mar- 
velous country  that  came  into  sudden  bloom  like  the  coun- 
try on  the  summit  of  the  magic  bean  stalk.  May  it  flourish 
forever  ! 

CHAPTER    XXII. 

A   GRITTY    STATE    OF    THINGS   COMES   ON. 

Mr.  Tartar's  chambers  were  the  neatest,  the  cleanest, 
and  the  best  ordered  chambers  ever  seen  under  the  sun, 
moon  and  stars.  The  floors  were  scrubbed  to  that  extent, 
that  you  might  have  supposed  the  London  blacks  emanci- 
pated forever,  and  gone  out  of  the  land  for  good.  Every 
inch  of  brass  work  in  Mr.  Tartar's  possession  was  polished 
and  burnished  until  it  shone  like  a  brazen  mirror.  No  speck, 
nor  spot,  nor  spatter,  soiled  the  purity  of  any  of  Mr.  Tartar's 
household  goods,  large,  small,  or  middle-sized.  His  sit- 
ting-room was  like  the  admiral's  cabin  ;  his  bath-room  was 
like  a  dairy ;  his  sleeping-chamber,  fitted  all  about  with 
lockers  and  drawers,  was  like  a  seedsman's  shop  ;  and  his 
nicely  balanced  cot  just  stirred  in  the  midst  as  if  it  breathed. 


826         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

Every  thing  belonging  to  Mr.  Tartar  had  quarters  of  its  own 
assigned  to  it  ;  his  maps  and  charts  had  their  quarters  ;  his 
books  had  theirs  ;  his  brushes  had  theirs  ;  his  boots  had 
theirs  ;  his  clothes  had  theirs  ;  his  case  bottles  had  theirs  ; 
his  telescopes  and  other  instruments  had  theirs.  Every  thing 
was  readily  accessible.  Shelf,  bracket,  locker,  hook,  and 
drawer  were  equally  within  reach,  and  were  equally  con- 
trived with  a  view  to  avoiding  waste  of  room,  and  providing 
some  snug  inches  of  stowage  for  something  that  would  have 
exactly  fitted  now^here  else.  His  gleaming  little  service  of 
plate  was  so  arranged  upon  his  sideboard  as  that  a  slack  salt- 
spoon  would  have  instantly  betrayed  itself ;  his  toilet  imple- 
ments were  so  arranged  upon  his  dressing  table  as  that  a 
toothpick  of  slovenly  deportment  could  have  been  reported 
at  a  glance.  So  with  the  curiosities  he  had  brought  home 
from  the  various  voyages.  Stuffed,  dried,  repolished,  or 
otherwise  preserved,  according  to  their  kind  :  birds,  fisli^s, 
reptiles,  arms,  articles  of  dress,  shells,  sea-w^eeds,  grasses  or 
memorials  of  coral  reef  ;  each  was  displayed  in  its  especial 
place,  and  each  could  have  been  displayed  in  no  better  place. 
Paint  and  varnish  seemed  to  be  kept  somew^here  out  of  sight, 
in  constant  readiness  to  obliterate  stray  finger-marks  w^here- 
ever  any  might  become  perceptible  in  Mr.  Tartar's  cham- 
bers. No  man-of-war  was  ever  kept  more  spick  and  span 
from  careless  touch.  On  this  bright  summer  day  a  neat 
awning  was  rigged  over  Mr.  Tartar's  flower-garden  as  only 
a  '.ailjr  could  rig  it  ;  and  there  was  a  sea-going  air  upon  the 
wh  )\e  effect,  so  delightfully  complete  that  the  flower-garden 
might  have  appertained  to  stern-windows  afloat,  and  the 
whole  concern  might  have  bowled  away  gallantly  with  all  on 
board,  if  Mr.  Tartar  had  only  clapped  to  his  lips  the  speak- 
ing-trumpet that  was  slung  in  a  corner,  and  given  hoarse 
orders  to  have  the  anchor  up,  look  alive  there,  men,  and  get 
all  sail  upon  her  ! 

Mr.  Tartar,  doing  the  honors  of  this  gallant  craft,  was  of 
a  piece  with  the  rest.  When  a  man  rides  an  amiable  hobby 
that  shies  at  nothing  and  kicks  nobody,  it  is  only  agreeable 
to  find  him  riding  it  with  a  humorous  sense  of  the  droll  side 
of  the  creature.  When  the  man  is  a  cordial  and  an  earnest 
man  by  nature,  and  wdthal  is  perfectly  fresh  and  genuine,  it 
may  be  doubted  whether  he  is  ever  seen  to  greater  advantage 
than  at  such  a  time.  So  Rosa  would  have  naturally  thought 
(even  if  she  hadn't  been  conducted  over  ship  with  all  the 
homage  due  to  the  first  lady  of  the   admiralty,  or  the  first 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOI).         827 

fairy  of  the  sea),  that  it  was  charming  to  see  and  hear  Mr, 
Tartar  half  laughing  at,  and  half  rejoicing,  in  his  various  con- 
trivances. So  Rosa  would  have  naturally  thought,  anyhow, 
that  the  sunburneds  ailor  showed  to  great  advantage  when,  the 
inspection  finished,  he  delicately  withdrew  out  of  his  admi- 
ral's cabin,  beseeching  her  to  consider  herself  its  queen,  and 
waving  her  free  of  his  flower-garden  with  the  hand  that  had 
had  Mr.  Crisparkle's  life  in  it. 

"  Helena  !     Helena  Landless  !     Are  you  there  ?  " 

"  Who  speaks  to  me  ?  Not  Rosa  ?  "  Then  a  second  hand- 
some face  appearing. 

"  Yes,  my  darling  !  " 

"  Why,  how  did  you  come  here,  dearest  ?  " 

**/ — I  don't  quite  know,"  said  Rosa  with  a  blush  ;  "un- 
less I  am  dreaming  !  " 

Why  with  a  blush  ?  For  their  two  faces  were  alone  with 
the  other  flowers.  Are  blushes  among  the  fruits  of  the  country 
of  the  magic  bean  stalk  ? 

''  lam  not  dreaming,"  said  Helena,  smiling.  "  I  should 
take  more  for  granted  if  I  were.  How  do  we  come  together 
— or  so  near  together — so  very  unexpectedly  ?  " 

Unexpectedly  indeed,  among  the  dingy  gables  and  chim- 
ney-pots of  P,  J,  T,'s  connection,  and  the  flowers  that  had 
sprung  from  the  salt  sea.  But  Rosa,  waking,  told  in  a  hurry 
how  they  came  to  be  together,  and  all  the  why  and  wherefore 
of  that  matter. 

"  And  Mr.  Crisparkle  is  here,"  said  Rosa,  in  rapid  conclu- 
sion ;  "  and  could  you  believe  it  ?  Long  ago,  he  saved  his 
life  !  " 

''  I  could  believe  any  such  thing  of  Mr.  Crisparkle,"  re- 
turned Helena,  with  a  mantling  face. 

(More  blushes  in  the  bean  stalk  country  !) 

"Yes,  but  it  wasn't  Mr.  Crisparkle,"  said  Rosa,  quickly 
putting  in  the  correction. 

"  I  don't  understand,  love." 

"  It  was  very  nice  of  Mr.  Crisparkle  to  be  saved,"  said 
Rosa,  "  and  he  couldn't  have  shown  his  high  opinion  of  Mr. 
Tartar  more  expressively.  But  it  was  Mr.  Tartar  who  saved 
him." 

Helena's  dark  eyes  looked  very  earnestly  at  the  bright 
face  among  the  leaves,  and  she  asked,  in  a  slower  and  more 
thoughtful  tone  : 

"  Is  Mr.  Tartar  with  you  now,  dear  ?  " 

"  No  ;  because  he  has  given  up  his  rooms  to  me — to  us,  I 
mean.     It  is  such  a  beautiful  place  !  " 


828        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  Is  it  ? " 

"  It  is  like  the  inside  of  the  most  exquisite  ship  that  ever 
sailed.     It  is  like — it  is  like " 

'*  Like  a  dream  ?  "  suggested  Helena. 

Rosa  answered  with  a  little  nod,  and  smelled  the  flowers. 

Helena  resumed,  after  a  short  pause  of  silence,  during 
which  she  seemed  (or  it  was  Rosa's  fancy)  to  compassionate 
somebody  :  "  My  poor  Neville  is  reading  in  his  own  room, 
the  sun  being  so  very  bright  on  this  side  just  now,  I  think 
he  had  better  not  know  that  you  are  so  near." 

*'  Oh,  I  think  so,  too  !  "  cried  Rosa,  very  readily. 

"  I  suppose,"  pursued  Helena,  doubtfully,  "that  he  must 
know  by  and  by  all  you  have  told  me  ;  but  I  am  not  sure. 
Ask  Mr.  Crisparkle's  advice,  my  darling.  Ask  him  whether 
I  may  tell  Neville  as  much  or  as  little  of  what  you  have 
told  me  as  I  think  best." 

Rosa  subsided  into  her  state-cabin,  and  propounded  the 
question.  The  minor  canon  was  for  the  free  exercise  of 
Helena's  judgment. 

"  I  thank  him  very  much,"  said  Helena,  when  Rosa 
emerged  again  with  her  report.  "  Ask  him  whether  it  would 
be  best  to  wait  until  any  more  maligning  and  pursuing  of 
Neville  on  the  part  of  this  v/retch  shall  disclose  itself,  or  to 
try  to  anticipate  it ;  I  mean,  so  far  as  to  find  out  whether 
any  such  goes  on  darkly  about  us  ?  " 

The  minor  canon  found  this  point  so  difficult  to  give  a 
confident  opinion  on,  that,  after  two  or  three  attempts  and 
failures,  he  suggested  a  reference  to  Mr.  Grewgious.  Helena 
acquiescing,  he  betook  himself  (with  a  most  unsuccessful 
assumption  of  lounging  indifference)  across  the  quadrangle 
to  P.  J.  T.'s,  and  stated  it.  Mr.  Grewgious  held  decidedly 
to  the  general  principle  that  if  you  could  steal  a  march  upon 
a  brigand  or  a  wild  beast,  you  had  better  do  it  ;  and  he  also 
held  decidedly  to  the  special  case  that  John  Jasper  was  a 
wild  beast  in  combination. 

Thus  advised,  Mr.  Crisparkle  came  back  again  and 
reported  to  Rosa,  who  in  her  turn  reported  to  Helena. 
She,  now  steadily  pursuing  her  train  of  thought  at  her 
window,  considered  thereupon. 

'^  We  may  count  on  Mr.  Tartar's  readiness  to  help  us, 
Rosa  ?  "  she  inquired. 

Oh  yes  !  Rosa  shyly  thought  so.  Oh  yes,  Rosa  shyly 
believed  she  could  answer  for  it.  But  should  she  ask  Mr. 
Crisparkle  ?    "  I  think  your  authority  on  the  point  as  good 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        829 

as  his.  my  dear,"  said    Helena,   sedately,  "  and  you  needn't 
dl-sappear  again  for  that."     Odd  of  Helena  ! 

**  You  see,  Neville,"  Helena  pursued  after  more  reflection, 
*' knows  no  one  else  here  :  he  has  not  so  much  as  exchanged 
a  word  with  any  one  else  here.  If  Mr.  Tartar  would  call  to 
see  him  openly  and  often  ;  if  he  would  spare  a  minute  for 
the  purpose,  frequently;  if  he  would  even  do  so,  almost  daily  ; 
something  might  come  of  it." 

"  Something  might  come  of  it,  dear  ?  "  repeated  Rosa, 
surveying  her  friend's  beauty  with  a  highly  perplexed  face. 
"  Something  might  ?" 

''  If  Neville's  movements  are  really  watched,  and  if  the 
purpose  really  is  to  isolate  him  from  all  friends  and  acquaint- 
ance, and  wear  his  daily  life  out,  grain  by  grain  (which 
would  seem  to  be  the  threat  to  you),  does  it  not  appear 
likely,"  said  Helena,  '*  that  his  enemy  would  in  some  way 
communicate  with  Mr.  Tartar  to  warn  him  off  from  Neville  ? 
In  which  case  we  might  not  only  know  the  fact,  but  might 
know  from  Mr.  Tartar  what  the  terP"»s  of  the  communication 
were." 

''  I  see  !  "  cried  Rosa.  And  immediately  darted  into  her 
state-cabin  again. 

Presently  her  pretty  face  reappeared,  with  a  greatly 
heightened  color,  and  she  said  that  she  had  told  Mr.  Cris- 
parkle,  and  that  Mr.  Crisparklehad  fetched  in  Mr.  Tartar,  and 
that  Mr.  Tartar — **  who  is  waiting  now  in  case  you  want  him," 
added  Rosa,  with  a  half-look  back,  and  in  not  a  little  con- 
fusion, between  the  inside  of  the  state-cabin  and  out — had 
declared  his  readiness  to  act  as  she  suggested,  and  to  enter  on 
his  task  that  very  day. 

'*  1  thank  him  from  my  heart,"  said  Helena.  ^'  Pray  tell 
him  so." 

Again  not  a  little  confused  between  the  flower-garden 
and  the  cabin,  Rosa  dipped  in  with  her  message,  and  dip- 
ped out  again  with  more  assurances  from  Mr.  Tartar,  and 
stood  wavering  in  a  divided  state  between  Helena  and  him, 
which  proved  that  confusion  is  not  always  necessarily 
awkward,  but  may  sometimes  present  a  very  pleasant 
appearance. 

**  And  now,  darling,"  said  Helena,  "  we  will  be  mindful 
of  the  caution  that  has  restricted  us  to  this  interview  for  the 
present,  and  will  part.  I  hear  Neville  moving  too.  Are  you 
going  back  ?  " 

'To  Miss  Twinkleton's  ?"  asked  Rosa. 


Bso        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  Yes." 

*'0h,  I  could  never  go  there  any  more;  I  couldn'tj 
indeed,  after  that  dreadful  interview  !  "  said  Rosa. 
"  Then  where  are  you  going,  pretty  one  ?  " 
"  Now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  don't  know,"  said  Rosa. 
"  I  have  settled  nothing  at  all  yet,  but  my  guardian  will  take 
care  of  me.  Don't  be  uneasy,  dear.  I  shall  be  sure  to  be 
somewhere." 

(It  did  seem  likely.) 

"  And  I  shall  hear  of  my  Rosebud  from  Mr.  Tartar  !  "  in- 
quired Helena. 

'  Yes,  I  suppose  so  ;  from — "  Rosa  looked  back  again   in 
a  flutter,  instead  of  supplying  the  name.     "  But  tell  me  one 
thing  before  we  part,  dearest  Helena.     Tell  me  that  you  are 
sure,  sure,  sure,  I  couldn't  help  it." 
''Help  it,  love?" 

"  Help  making  him  malicious  and  revengeful.  I  couldn't 
hold  any  terms  with  him,  could  1  ?  " 

"You  know  how  I  love  you,  darling,"  answered  Helena, 
with  indignation,  "but  I  would  sooner  see  you  dead  at  his 
wicked  feet." 

"  That's  a  great  comfort  to  me  !  And  you  will  tell  your 
poor  brother  so,  won't  you  ?  And  you  will  give  him  my  remem- 
brance and  my  sympathy  ?  And  you  will  ask  him  not  to  hate 
me  ? 

With  a  mournful  shake  of  the  head,  as  if  that  would  be 
quite  a  superfluous  entreaty,  Helena  lovingly  kissed  her  two 
hands  to  her  friend,  and  her  friend's  two  hands  were  kissed 
to  her,  and  then  she  saw  a  third  hand  (a  brown  one)  appear 
among  the  flowers  and  leaves,  and  help  her  friend  out  of 
sight. 

The  refection  that  Mr.  Tartar  produced  in  the  admiral's 
cabin  by  merely  teaching  the  spring  knob  of  a  locker  and 
the  handle  of  a  drawer  was  a  dazzhng,  enchanted  repast. 
Wonderful  macaroons,  glittering  liquors,  magically  pre- 
served tropical  spices,  and  jellies  of  celestial  tropical  fruits, 
displayed  themselves  profusely  at  an  instant's  notice.  But 
Mr.  Tartar  could  not  make  time  stand  still  ;  and  time,  with 
his  hard-hearted  fleetness,  strode  on  so  fast  that  Rosa  was 
obliged  to  come  down  from  the  bean  stalk  country  to  earth, 
and  her  guardian's  chambers. 

"  And  now,  my  dear,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "  what  is  to  be 
done  next  ?  To  put  the  same  thought  in  another  form  : 
what  is  to  be  done  with  you  ? " 


THE  iMYSTERV  OK  EUWIN   DROOJ).         8>i 

Rosa  could  only  look  apologetically  sensible  of  being 
very  much  in  her  own  way,  and  in  every  body  else's.  Some 
passing  idea  of  living,  fire-proof,  up  a  good  many  stairs  in 
Furnival's  Inn  for  the  rest  of  her  life  was  the  only  thing  in 
the  nature  of  a  plan  that  occurred  to  her. 

"  It  has  come  into  my  thoughts,"  said  Mr.  Grevvgious,"  that 
as  the  respected  lady,*Miss  Twinkleton,  occasionally  repairs 
to  London  in  the  recess,  with  the  view  of  extending  her  con- 
nection, and  being  available  for  interviews  with  metropoli- 
tan parents  if  any — whether,  until  we  have  time  in  which 
to  turn  ourselves  round,  we  might  invite  Miss  Twinkleton 
to  come  and  stay  with  you  for  a  month  ? " 

"  Stay  where,  sir  ?  " 

'^  Whether,"  explained  Mr.  Grewgious,  "we  might  take  a 
furnished  lodging  in  town  for  a  month,  and  invite  Miss 
Twinkleton  to  assume  the  charge  of  you  in  it  for  that 
period  ? " 

*'  And  afterward  ?  "  hinted  Rosa. 

"  And  afterward,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  "  we  should  be 
no  worse  off  than  we  are  now." 

"  I  think  that  might  smooth  the  way,"  assented  Rosa. 

"Then  let  us,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  rising,  "  go  and  look 
for  a  furnished  lodging.  Nothing  could  be  more  accepta- 
ble to  me  than  the  sweet  presence  of  last  evening  for  ali  the 
remaining  evenings  of  my  existence  ;  but  these  are  not  fit 
surroundings  for  a  young  lady.  Let  us  set  out  in  quest  of 
adventures,  and  look  for  a  furnished  lodging.  In  the  mean- 
time, Mr.  Crisparkle  here,  about  to  return  home  immedi- 
ately, will,  no  doubt,  kindly  see  Miss  Tv/inkleton,  and  invite 
that  lady  to  co  operate  in  our  plan." 

Mr.  Crisparkle,  willingly  accepting  the  commission,  took 
his  departure  ;  Mr.  Grewgious  and  his  ward  set  forth  on 
their  expedition. 

As  Mr,  Grewgious'sidea  of  looking  at  a  furnished  lodging 
was  to  get  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street  to  a  house  with 
a  suitable  bill  in  the  window,  and  stare  at  it  ;  and  then  work 
his  way  tortuously  to  the  back  of  the  house,  and  stare  at 
that  ;  and  then  not  go  in,  but  make  similar  trials  of  another 
house,  with  the  same  result,  their  progress  was  but  slow. 
At  length  he  bethought  himself  of  a  widowed  cousin,  divers 
times  removed,  of  Mr.  Bazzard's,  who  had  once  solicited  his 
influence  in  the  lodger  world,  and  who  lived  in  Southamp- 
ton Street,  Bloomsbury  Square.  This  lady's  name,  stated  in 
uncompromising    capitals  of   coi.nderable  size  on   a   bra?s 


8^2         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWlN  DROOD. 

door-plate,  and  yet  not  lucidly  as  to  sex  or  condition,  was 

BiLLlCKIN. 

Personal  faintness  and  an  overpowering  personal  candor 
were  the  distinguishing  features  of  Mrs.  Billickin's  organiza- 
tion. She  came  languishing  out  of  her  own  exclusive  back 
parlor,  witH  the  air  of  having  been  expressly  brought  to  for 
the  purpose  from  an  accumulation  of  several  swoons. 

"  1  hope  1  see  you  well,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Billickin,  recog- 
nizing her  visitor  with  a  bend. 

'*  Thank  you,  quite  well.  And  you,  ma'am  ?  "  returned 
Mr.  Grewgious. 

*'  I  am  well,"  said  Mrs.  Billickin,  becoming  aspirational 
with  excess  of  faintness,  "  as  I  hever  ham." 

"  My  ward  and  an  elderly  lady,"  said  Mr.  Grewgious, 
*'  wish  to  find  a  genteel  lodging  for  a  month  or  so.  Have 
you  any  apartments  available,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Grewgious,"  returned  Mrs.  Billickin,  "  I  will  not  de- 
ceive you  ;  far  from  it.     I  ^ave  apartments  available." 

This,  with  the  air  of  adding,  "  Convey  me  to  the  stake,  if 
you  will,  but  while  I  live,  I  will  be  candid." 

"And  now,  what  apartments,  ma'am  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Grew- 
gious, cozily.  To  tame  a  certain  severity  apparent  on  the 
part  of  Mrs.  Billickin. 

"  There  is  this  sitting-room — which  call  what  you  will,  it 
is  the  front  parlor,  miss,"  said  Mrs.  Billickin,  impressing 
Rosa  into  the  conversation  ;  "  the  back  parlor  being  what  I 
cling  to  and  never  part  with  ;  and  there  is  two  bedrooms  at 
the  top  of  the  'ouse  with  gas  laid  on.  I  do  not  tell  you  that 
your  bedroom  floors  is  firm,  for  firm  they  are  not.  The 
gas-fitter  himself  allowed  that,  to  make  a  firm  job,  he  must 
go  right  under  your  jistes,  and  it  were  not  worth  the  outlay 
as  a  yearly  tenant  so  to  do.  The  piping  is  carried  above 
your  jistes,  and  it  is  best  that  it  should  be  made  known  to 
you." 

Mr.  Grewgious  and  Rosa  exchanged  looks  of  some  dismay, 
though  they  had  not  the  least  idea  what  latent  horrors  this 
carriage  of  the  piping  might  involve.  Mrs.  Billickin  put  her 
hand  to  her  heart,  as  having  eased  it  of  a  load. 

"Well  !  The  roof  is  all  right,  no  doubt,"  said  Mr.  Grew- 
gious, plucking  up  a  little. 

"  Mr.  Grewgious,"  returned  Mrs.  Billickin,  "  if  I  was  to 
tell  you,  sir,  that  to  have  nothink  above  you  is  to  have  a  floor 
above  you,  I  should  put  a  deception  upon  you  which  I  will 
not  do.     No,  sir.     Your  slates  will  rattle  loose  at  that  ele» 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDUliN   DROOD.  ii^^ 

wation  in  windy  weather,  do  your  utmost,  best  or  worst !  I 
defy  you,  sir,  be  you  what  you  may,  to  keep  your  slates  tight, 
try  how  you  can."  Here  Mrs.  Billickin,  having  been  warm 
wath  Mr.  Grewgious,  cooled  a  little  not  to  abuse  the  moral 
power  she  held  over  him.  *'  Consequent,"  proceeded  Mrs. 
Billickin,  more  mildly,  but  still  firmly  in  her  incorruptible 
candor — ''  consequent  it  would  be  worse  than  of  no  use  for 
me  to  trapse  and  travel  up  to  the  top  of  the  'ouse  with  you, 
and  for  you  to  say,  'Mrs.  Billickin,  what  stain  do  I  notice  in 
the  ceiling,  for  a  stain  I  do  consider  it  ? '  And  for  me  to 
answer,  '  I  do  not  understand  you,  sir.'  No,  sir,  I  will  not 
be  so  underhand.  I  do  understand  you  before  you  p'int  it 
out.  It  is  the  wet,  sir.  It  do  come  in,  and  it  do  not  come 
in.  You  may  lay  dry  there  half  your  life-time,  but  the  time 
will  come,  and  it  is  best  that  you  should  know  it,  when  a 
dripping  sop  would  be  no  name  for  you." 

Mr.  Grew^gious  looked  much  disgraced  by  being  prefigured 
in  this  pickle. 

**  Have  you  any  other  apartments,  ma'am  ? "  he  asked. 

"  Mr.  Grewgious,"  returned  Mrs.  Billickin,  with  much 
solemnity,  "  I  have.  You  ask  me  have  I,  and  my  open  and 
my  honest  answer  air,  I  have.  The  first  and  second  floors 
is  wacant,  and  sweet  rooms." 

"  Come,  come  !  There's  nothing  against  theniy*  said  Mr. 
Grew^gious,  comforting  himself. 

**  Mr.  Grewgious,"  replied  Mrs.  Billickin,  ''  pardon  me, 
there  is  the  stairs.  Unless  your  mind  is  prepared  for  the 
stairs,  it  will  lead  to  inevitable  disappointment.  You  can 
not,  miss,"  said  Mrs.  Billickin,  addressing  Rosa,  reproach- 
fully, "  place  a  first  floor,  and  far  less  a  second,  on  the  level 
footing  of  a  parlor.  No,  you  can  not  do  it,  miss  ;  it  is 
beyond  your  power,  and  wherefore  try  ?  " 

Mrs.  Billickin  put  it  very  feelingly,  as  if  Rosa  had  shown  a 
headstrong  determination  to  hold  the  untenable  position. 

**  Can  we  see  these  rooms,  ma'am  ?"  inquired  her  guard- 
ian. 

''  Mr.  Grewgious,"  returned  Mrs.  Billickin,  *'  you  can.  I 
will  not  disguise  it  from  you,  sir,  you  can." 

Mrs.  Billickin  then  sent  into  her  back  parlor  for  her  shawl 
(it  being  a  state  fiction  dating  from  immemorial  antiquity, 
that  she  could  never  go  anywhere  without  being  wrapped 
up),  and,  having  been  enrolled  by  her  attendant,  led  the 
way.  She  made  various  genteel  pauses  on  the  stairs  for 
breath,  and  clutched  at  her  heart  in  the  drawing-room  as  if 


834        THt:  MVSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

it  had  very  nearly  got  loose,  and  she  had  caught  it  in  the  act 
of  taking  wing. 

'*  And  the  second  floor?"  said  Mr.  Grewgious,  on  finding 
the  first  satisfactory. 

"  Mr.  Grewgious,"  replied  Mrs.  Billickin,  turning  upon 
him  with  ceremony,  as  if  the  time  had  now  come  when  a 
distinct  understanding  on  a  difficult  point  must  be  arrived 
at,  and  a  solemn  confidence  established,  *'  the  second  floor 
is  over  this." 

"  Can  we  see  that,  too,  ma'am  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  returned  Mrs.  Billickin,  "  it  is  open  as  the 
day." 

That  also  proving  satisfactory,  Mr.  Grewgious  retired  into 
a  window  with  Rosa  for  a  few  words  of  consultation,  and 
then,  asking  for  pen  and  ink,  sketched  out  a  line  or  two  of 
agreement.  In  the  mean  time  Mrs.  Billickin  took  a  seat, 
and  delivered  a  kind  of  index  to,  or  abstract  of,  the  general 
question. 

"  Five-and-forty  shillings  per  week  by  the  month  certain 
at  the  time  of  year,"  said  Mrs.  Billickin,  "  is  only  reasona- 
ble to  both  parties.  It  is  not  Bond  Street  nor  yet  St.  James's 
Palace  ;  but  it  is  not  pretended  that  it  is.  Neither  is  it  at- 
tempted to  be  denied — for  why  should  it  ? — that  the  arch- 
ing leads  to  a  mews.  Mewses  must  exist.  Respecting  at- 
tendance ;  two  is  kep'  at  liberal  wages.  Words  /ms  arisen 
as  to  tradesmen,  but  dirty  shoes  on  fresh  hearth-stoning  was 
attributable,  and  no  wish  for  a  commission  on  your  orders. 
Coals  is  either  Ify  the  fire,  or  per  the  scuttle."  She  empha- 
sized the  prepositions  as  marking  a  subtle  but  immense  dif- 
ference. "  Dogs  is  not  viewed  with  favior.  Besides  litter, 
they  gets  stole,  and  sharing  suspicions  is  apt  to  creep  in,  and 
unpleasantness  takes  place." 

By  this  time  Mr.  Grewgious  had  his  agreement-lines  and 
his  earnest-money  ready.  "  I  have  signed  it  for  the  ladies, 
ma'am,"  he  said,  "  and  you'll  have  the  goodness  to  sign  it 
for  yourself.  Christian  and  surname,  there,  if  you  please." 

"  Mr.  Grewgious,"  said  Mrs.  Billickin,  in  a  new  burst  of 
candor,  "  no,  sir.     You  must  excuse  the  Christian  name." 

Mr.  Grewgious  stared  at  her. 

**  The  door-plate  is  used  as  a  protection,"  said  Mrs.  Bil- 
lickin, "and  acts  as  such,  and  go  from  it  I  will  not." 

Mr.  Grewgious  stared  at  Rosa. 

*'  No,  Mr.  Grewgious,  you  must  excuse  me.  So  long  as 
this  'ouse  is  known  indefinite  as  Billickin's,  and  so  long  as 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         835 

it  is  a  doubt  with  the  riff-raff  where  Billickin  may  be  hidin', 
near  the  street  door  or  down  the  airy,  and  what  his  weight 
and  size,  so  long  I  feel  safe.  But  commit  myself  to  a  soli- 
tary female  statement,  no,  miss  !  Nor  would  you  for  a 
moment  wish,"  said  Mrs.  Billickin,  with  a  strong  sense  of 
injury,  '*  to  take  that  advantage  of  your  sex,  if  you  was  not 
brought  to  it  by  inconsiderate  example." 

Rosa,  reddening  as  if  she  had  made  some  most  disgrace- 
ful attempt  to  overreach  the  good  lady,  besought  Mr.  Grew- 
gious  to  rest  content  with  any  signature.  And,  accordingly, 
in  a  baronical  way,  the  sign  manual  Billickin  got  appended 
to  the  document. 

Details  were  then  settled  for  taking  possession  on  the  next 
day  but  one,  when  Miss  Twinkleton  might  be  reasonably  ex- 
pected ;  and  Rosa  went  back  to  Furnival's  Inn  on  her 
guardian's  arm. 

Behold  Mr.  Tartar  walking  up  and  down  Furnival's  Inn, 
(becking  himself  when  he  saw  them  coming,  and  advancing 
toward  them  ! 

"  It  occurred  to  me,"  hinted  Mr.  TaUar,  ''  that  we  might 
go  up  the  river,  the  weather  being  so  delicious  and  the  tide 
serving.     I  have  a  boat  of  my  own  at  the  Temple  Stairs." 

**  I  have  not  been  up  the  river  for  this  many  a  day,"  said 
Mr.  Grewgious,  tempted. 

''  I  was  never  up  the  river,"  added  Rosa. 

Within  half  an  hour  they  were  setting  this  matter  right  by 
going  up  the  river.  The  tide  was  running  with  them,  the 
afternoon  was  charming,  Mr.  Tartar's  boat  was  perfect. 
Mr.  Tartar  and  Lobley  (Mr.  Tartar's  man)  pulled  a  pair  of 
oars.  Mr.  Tartar  had  a  yacht,  it  seemed,  lying  somewhere 
down  by  Greenhithe  ;  and  Mr.  Tartar's  man  had  charge  of 
this  yacht,  and  was  detached  upon  his  present  service.  He 
was  a  jolly  favored  man,  with  tawny  hair  and  whiskers,  and 
a  big  red  face.  He  was  the  dead  image  of  the  sun  in  old 
wood  cuts,  his  hair  and  whiskers  answering  for  rays  all 
round  him.  Resplendent  in  the  bow  of  the  boat,  he  was  a 
shining  sight,  with  a  man-of-war's  man's  shirt  on — or  off  ac- 
cording to  opinion — and  his  arms  and  breast  tattooed  all 
sorts  of  patterns.  Lobley  seemed  to  take  it  easily,  and  so 
did  Mr.  Tartar  ;  yet  their  oars  bent  as  they  pulled,  and  the 
boat  bounded  under  them.  Mr.  Tartar  talked  as  if  he  were 
doing  nothing,  to  Rosa,  who  was  really  doing  nothing,  and 
to  Mr.  Grewgious,  who  was  doing  this  much,  that  he  steered 
all  wrong  ;  but  what  did  that  matter^   when  a  turn  of  Mr. 


836         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

Tartar's  skillful  wrist,  or  a  mere  grin  of  Mr.  Lobley's  over 
the  bow,  put  all  to  rights  !  The  tide  bore  them  on  in  the 
gayest  and  most  sparkling  manner,  until  they  stopped  to  dine 
in  some  everlastingly  green  garden,  needing  no  matter-of- 
fact  identification  here,  and  then  the  tide  obligingly  turned 
— being  devoted  to  that  party  alone  for  that  day  ;  and  as 
they  floated  idly  among  some  osier  beds,  Rosa  tried  v.-hat 
she  could  do  in  the  rowing  way,  and  came  off  splendidly, 
being  much  assisted  ;  and^  Mr.  Grewgious  tried  what  he 
could  do,  and  came  off  on  his  back,  doubled  up  with  an  oar 
under  his  chin,  being  not  assisted  at  all.  Then  there  was 
an  interval  of  rest  under  boughs  (such  rest !)  what  time  Mr. 
Lobley  mopped,  and,  arranging  cushions,  stretchers,  and  the 
like,  danced  the  tight-rope  the  whole  length  of  the  boat  like 
a  man  to  whom  shoes  were  a  superstition  and  stockings 
slavery  ;  and  then  came  the  sweet  return  among  delicious 
odors  of  limes  in  bloom,  and  musical  ripplings  ;  and  all  too 
soon  the  great  black  city  cast  its  shadow  on  the  waters,  and 
its  dark  bridges  spanned  them  as  death  spans  life,  and  the 
everlastingly  green  garden  seemed  to  be  left  for  everlasting, 
unregainable  and  far  away. 

"  Can  not  people  get  through  life  without  gritty  stages,  I 
wonder  !  "  Rosa  thought  next  day,  when  the  town  was 
very  gritty  again,  and  every  thing  had  a  strange  and  an 
uncomfortable  appearance  of  seeming  to  wait  for  some- 
thing that  wouldn't  come.  No.  She  began  to  think  that 
now  the  Cloisterham  school-days  had  glided  past  and  gone, 
the  gritty  stages  would  begin  to  set  in  at  intervals  and  make 
themselves  wearily  known  ! 

Yet  what  did  Rosa  expect  ?  Did  she  expect  Miss 
Twinkleton  ?  Miss  Twinkleton  duly  came.  Forth  from 
her  back  parlor  issued  the  Billirkin  to  receive  Miss  Twinkle- 
ton, and  war  was  in  the  Billickin's  eye  from  that  fell 
moment. 

Miss  Twinkleton  brought  a  quantity  of  luggage  with  her, 
having  all  Rosa's  as  well  as  her  own.  The  Billickin  took 
it  ill  that  Miss  Twinkleton's  mind,  being  sorely  disturbed 
by  this  luggage,  failed  to  take  in  her  personal  identity  with 
that  clearness  of  perception  which  was  due  to  its  demands. 
Stateliness  mounted  her  gloomy  throne  upon  the  Billickin's 
brow  in  consequence.  And  when  Miss  Twinkleton,  in 
agitation,  taking  stock  of  her  trunks  and  packages,  of 
which  she  had  seventeen,  particularly  counted  in  the  Bil- 
lickin herself  as  number  eleven,  the  B.  found  it  necessary  to 
repudiate. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         837 

"Things  can  not  too  soon  be  put  upon  the  footing,"  said 
she,  with  a  candor  so  demonstrative  as  to  be  almost  obtru- 
sive, "  that  the  person  of  the  ouse  is  not  a  box  nor  yet  a 
bundle,  nor  a  carpet-bag.  No,  I  am  'ily  obleeged  to  you, 
Miss  Twinkleton,  nor  yet  a  beggar." 

The  last  disclaimer  had  reference  to  Miss  Twinkleton's 
distractedly  pressing  two-and-sixpence  on  her  instead  of 
the  cabman. 

Thus  cast  off,  Miss  Twinkleton  wildly  inquired,  ''  which 
gentleman  "  was  to  be  paid  ?  ~  There  being  two  gentlemen 
in  that  position  (Miss  Twinkleton  having  arrived  with  two 
cabs),  each  gentleman,  on  being  paid,  held  forth  his  two- 
and-sixpence  on  the  flat  of  his  open  hand,  and  with  a 
speechless  stare  and  a  dropped  jaw  displayed  his  wrong  to 
heaven  and  earth.  Terrified  by  this  alarming  spectacle,  Miss 
Twinkleton  placed  another  shilling  in  each  hand,  at  the 
same  time  appealing  to  the  law  in  flurried  accents  and  re- 
counting her  luggage,  this  time  with  the  two  gentlemen  in, 
who  caused  the  total  to  come  out  complicated.  Meanwhile 
the  two  gentlemen,  each  looking  very  nard  at  the  last  shil- 
ling grumblingly,  as  if  it  might  become  eighteenpence  if  he 
kept  his  eyes  on  it,  descended  the  doorsteps,  ascended  their 
carriages,  and  drove  away,  leaving  Miss  Twinkleton  on  a 
bonnet-box  in  tears. 

The  Billickin  beheld  this  manifestation  of  weakness  with- 
out sympathy,  and  gave  directions  for  ''  a  young  man  to  be 
got  in  "  to  wrestle  with  the  luggage.  When  that  gladiator 
had  disappeared  from  the  arena,  peace  ensued,  and  the  new 
lodgers  dined. 

But  the  Billickin  had  somehow  come  to  the  knowledge 
that  Miss  Twinkleton  kept  a  school.  The  leap  from  that 
knowledge  to  the  inference  that  Miss  Twinkleton  set  her- 
self to  teach  her  something  was  easy,  ''  But  you  don't  do 
it,"  soHloquized  the  Billickin  ;  ''/am  not  your  pupil,  what- 
ever she,"  meaning  Rosa,  "may  be,  poor  thing  !  " 

Miss  Twinkleton,  on  the  other  hand,  having  changed  her 
dress  and  recovered  her  spirits,  was  animated  by  a  blind 
desire  to  improve  the  occasion  in  all  ways,  and  to  be  as 
serene  a  model  as  possible.  In  a  happy  compromise  be- 
tween her  two  states  of  existence  she  had  already  become, 
with  her  work-basket  before  her,  the  equably  vivacious  com- 
panion with  a  slight  judicious  flavoring  of  information,  when 
the  Billickin  announced  herself., 

"  I  will  not  hide  from  you,  ladies,"  said  the  B.,  enveloped 


838         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

in  the  shawl  of  state,  "  for  it  is  not  my  character  to  hide, 
neither  my  motives,  nor  my  actions,  that  I  take  the  liberty 
to  look  in  upon  you  to  express  a  'ope  that  your  dinner  was 
to  your  liking.  Though  not  professed  but  plain,  still  her 
wages  should  be  a  sufficient  object  to  her  to  stimulate  to 
soar  above  mere  roast  and  biled." 

*'We  dined  very  well  indeed,"  said  Rosa,  ''thank  you." 

"Accustomed,"  said  Miss  Twinkleton,  with  a  gracious 
air,  which  to  the  jealous  ears  of  the  Billickin  seemed  to  add 
"  My  good  woman/' — "  accustomed  to  a  liberal  and  nutri- 
tious, yet  plain  and  salutary  diet,  we  have  found  no  reason  to 
bemoan  our  absence  from  the  ancient  city  and  the  methodi- 
cal household  in  which  the  quiet  routine  of  our  lot  has 
been  hitherto  cast." 

"  I  did  think  it  well  to  mention  to  my  cook,"  observed 
the  Billickin,  with  a  gush  of  candor,  "  which  I  'ope  you  will 
agree  with,  Miss  Twinkleton,  was  a  right  precaution,  that 
the  young  lady  being  used  to  what  we  should  consider  here 
but  poor  diet,  had  better  be  brought  forward  by  degrees. 
For  a  rush  from  scanty  feeding  to  generous  feeding,  and 
from  what  you  may  call  messing  to  what  you  may  call  method, 
do  require  a  power  of  constitution,  which  is  not  often 
found  in  youth,  particularly  when  undermined  by  boarding- 
school  !  " 

It  will  be  seen  that  the  Billickin  now  openly  pitted  herself 
against  Miss  Twinkleton,  as  one  whom  she  had  fully  ascer- 
tained to  be  her  natural  enemy. 

"  Your  remarks,"  returned  Miss  Twinkleton,  from  a  re- 
mote moral  eminence,  "  are  well-meant,  I  have  no  doubt  ; 
but  you  will  permit  me  to  observe  that  they  develop  a  mis- 
taken view  of  the  subject,  which  can  only  be  imputed  to 
your  extreme  want  of  accurate  information." 

"  My  information,"  retorted  the  Billickin,  throwing  in  an 
extra  syllable  for  the  sake  of  emphasis  at  once  polite  and 
painful— "my  information,  Miss  Twinkleton,  were  my 
own  experience,  which  I  believe  is  usually  considered  to  be 
good  guidance.  But  whether  so  or  not,  I  was  put  in  youth 
to  a  very  genteel  boarding-school,  the  mistress  being  no 
less  a  lady  than  yourself,  of  about  your  own  age,  or,  it  may  be 
some  years  younger,  and  a  poorness  of  blood  flowed  from 
the  table  which  has  run  through  my  life." 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Miss  Twinkleton,  still  from  her  dis- 
tant eminence  ;  "  and  very  much  to  be  deplored.  Rosa, 
my  dear,  how  are  you  getting  on  v'^h  your  work  ?  " 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         839 

"  Miss  Twinkleton,"  resumed  the  Billickin,  in  a  courtly 
manner,  "  before  retiring  on  the  'int,  as  a  lady  should,  I  wish 
to  ask  of  yourself  as  a  lady,  whether  I  am  to  consider  that 
my  words  is  doubted  ?  " 

*'  I  am  not  aware  on  what  ground  you  cherish  such  a  sup- 
position," began  Miss  Twinkleton,  when  the  Billickin  neatly 
stopped  her. 

"  Do  not,  if  you  please,  put  suppositions  betwixt  my  lij)s, 
where  none  sech  have  been  imparted  by  myself  !  Your  flow 
of  words  is  great.  Miss  Twinkleton,  and  no  doubt  is  expected 
from  you  by  your  pupils,  and  no  doubt  is  considered  worth 
the  money.  No  doubt,  I  am  sure.  But  not  paying  for  flows 
of  words,  and  not  asking  to  be  favored  with  them  here,  I 
wish  to  repeat  my  question." 

"  If  you  refer  to  the  poverty  of  your  circulation,"  began 
Miss  Twinkleton,  when  again  the  Billickin  nearly  stopped 
her. 

"  I  have  used  no  such  expressions." 
"  If  you  refer  then  to  the  poorness  of  your  blood." 
"  Brought  upon  me,"    stipulated  t'ne  Billickin,   expressly, 
"  at  a  boarding-school." 

''  Then,"  resumed  Miss  Twinkleton,  "  all  I  can  say  is,  that 
I  am  bound  to  believe  on  your  asseveration  that  it  is  very 
poor  indeed.  I  can  not  forbear  adding,  that  if  that  unfortu- 
nate circumstance  influences  your  conversation,  it  is  much 
to  be  lamented,  and  it  is  eminently  desirable  that  your  blood 
were  richer.  Rosa,  my  dear,  how  are  you  getting  on  with 
your  work  ?  " 

*'  Ahem  !  before  retiring,  miss,"  proclaimed  the  Billickin 
to  Rosa,  loftily  canceling  Miss  Twinkleton,  "  I  should  wish 
it  to  be  understood  betv/een  yourself  and  me  that  my  trans- 
actions in  future  is  with  you  alone.  I  know  no  elderly  lady 
here,  miss,  none  older  than  yourself." 

**  A  highly  desirable  arrangement,  Rosa,  my  dear,"  ob- 
served Miss  Twinkleton. 

*'  It  is  not,  miss,"  said  the  Billickin,  with  a  sarcastic  smile, 
"  that  I  possess  the  mill  I  have  heard  of,  in  which  old  single 
ladies  could  be  ground  up  young  (what  a  gift  it  would  be  to 
some  of  us  !)  but  that  I  limit  myself  to  you  totally." 

"  When  I  have  any  desire  to  communicate  a  request  to  the 
person  of  the  house,  Rosa,  my  dear,"  observed  Miss 
Twinkleton,  with  majestic  cheerfulness,  "  I  will  make  it 
known  to  you,  and  you  will  kindly  undertake,  I  am  sure, 
that  it  is  conveyed  to  the  proper  quarter." 


840        THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

"  Good-evening,  miss,"  said  the  Billickin,  at  once  affec- 
tionately and  distantly.  "  Being  alone  in  my  eyes,  I  wish 
you  good-evening  with  best  wishes,  and  do  not  find  myself 
drove,  I  am  truly  appy  to  say,  into  expressing  my  contempt 
for  any  individual,  unfortunately  for  yourself  belonging  to 
you." 

The  Billickin  gracefully  withdrew  with  this  parting  speech, 
and  from  that  time  Rosa  occupied  the  restless  position  of 
shuttlecock  between  these  two  battledores.  Nothing  could 
be  done  without  a  smart  match  being  played  out.  Thus,  on 
the  daily  arising  question  of  dinner,  Miss  Twinkleton  would 
say,  the  three  being  present  together  : 

*'  Perhaps,  my  love,  you  will  consult  with  the  person  of 
the  house  whether  she  can  procure  us  a  lamb's  fry  ;  or,  fail- 
ing that,  a  roast  fowl." 

On  which  tlie  Billickin  would  retort  (Rosa  not  having 
spoken  a  word),  "  If  you  was  better  accustomed  to  butcher's 
meat,  miss,  you  would  not  entertain  the  idea  of  a  lamb's  fry. 
Firstly,  because  lambs  has  long  been  sheep,  and,  secondly, 
because  there  is  such  things  as  killing-days,  and  there  is  not. 
As  to  roast  fowls,  miss,  why  you  must  be  quite  surfeited 
with  roast  fowls,  letting  alone  your  buying,  when  you  market 
for  yourself,  the  agedest  of  poultry  with  the  scaliest  of  legs, 
quite  as  if  you  was  accustomed  to  picking  'em  out  for  cheap- 
ness. Try  a  little  inwention,  miss.  Use  yourself  to  'ouse- 
keeping  a  bit.     Come  now,  think  of  somethink  else." 

To  this  encouragement,  offered  with  the  indulgent  tolera- 
tion of  a  wise  and  liberal  expert.  Miss  Twinkleton  would 
rejoin,  reddening 

"  Or,  my  dear,  you  might  propose  to  the  person  of  the 
house  a  duck." 

'*  Well,  miss  !  "  the  Billickin  would  exclaim  (still  no  word 
being  spoken  by  Rosa),  "  you  do  surprise  me  when  you 
speak  of  ducks  !  Not  to  mention  that  they  are  getting  out 
of  season  and  very  dear,  it  really  strikes  to  my  heart  to  see 
you  have  a  duck,  for  the  breast,  which  is  the  only  delicate 
cuts  in  a  duck,  always  goes  in  a  direction  which  I  can  not  im- 
agine where,  and  your  own  plate  comes  down  so  miserably 
skin-and-bony  !  Try  again,  miss.  Think  more  of  yourself 
and  less  of  others.  A  dish  of  sweet-breads  now,  or  a  bit  of 
mutton.  Somethink  at  which  you  can  get  your  equal  chance." 

Occasionally  the  game  would  wax  very  brisk  indeed,  and 
would  be  kept  up  with  a  smartness  rendering  such  an  en- 
counter as  this  quite  tame.     But  the  Billickin  almost  invaria- 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        841 

bly  made  by  far  the  higher  score,  and  would  come  in  with 
side  hits  of  the  most  unexpected  and  extraordinary  descrip- 
tion, when  she  seemed  without  a  chance. 

All  this  did  not  improve  the  gritty  state  of  things  in  Lon- 
don, or  the  air  that  London  had  acquired  in  Rosa's  eyes  of 
waiting  for  something  that  never  came.  Tired  of  working 
and  conversing  with  Miss  Twinkleton,  she  suggested  work- 
ing and  reading  ;  to  which  Miss  Twinkleton  readily  assented, 
as  an  admirable  reader,  of  tried  powers.  But  Rosa  soon 
made  the  discovery  that  Miss  Twinkleton  didn't  read  fairly. 
She  cut  the  love  scenes,  interpolated  passages  in  praise  of 
female  celibacy,  and  was  guilty  of  other  glaring  pious 
frauds.  As  an  instance  in  point,  take  the  glowing  passage  : 
"  *  Ever  dearest  and  best  adored,*  said  Edward,  clasping  the 
dear  head  to  his  breast,  and  drawing  the  silken  hair  through 
his  caressing  fingers,  from  which  he  suffered  it  to  fall  like 
golden  rain  ;  *  ever  dearest  and  best  adored,  let  us  fly  from 
the  unsympathetic  world  and  the  sterile  coldness  of  the 
stony-hearted,  to  the  rich  warm  paradise  of  trust  and  love.'  " 
Miss  Twinkleton's  fraudulent  version  tamely  ran  thus  : 
"  *  Ever  engaged  to  me,  with  the  consent  of  our  parents  on 
both  sides,  and  the  approbation  of  the  silver-haired  rector  of 
the  district,'  said  Edward,  respectfully  raising  to  his  lips  the 
taper  fingers  so  skillful  in  embroidery,  tambour,  crochet, 
and  other  truly  feminine  arts  ;  '  let  me  call  on  thy  papa  ere 
to-morrow's  dawn  has  sunk  into  the  west,  and  propose  a 
suburban  establishment,  lowly  it  may  be,  but  within  our 
means,  where  he  will  be  always  welcome  as  an  evening  guest, 
and  where  every  arrangement  shall  invest  economy  and  con- 
stant interchange  of  scholastic  acquirements  with  the  attri- 
butes of  the  ministering  angel  to  domestic  bliss.'  " 

As  the  days  crept  on  and  nothing  happened,  the  neighbors 
began  to  say  that  the  pretty  girl  at  Billickin's,  who  looked  so 
wistfully  and  so  much  out  of  the  gritty  windows  of  the 
drawing-room,  seemed  to  be  losing  her  spirits.  The  pretty 
girl  might  have  lost  them  but  for  the  accident  of  lighting  on 
some  books  of  voyages  and  sea-adventure.  As  a  compensa- 
tion against  their  romance,  Miss  Twinkleton,  reading  aloud, 
made  the  most  of  all  the  latitudes  and  longitudes,  bearings, 
winds,  and  currents,  offsets,  and  other  statistics  (which  she 
felt  to  be  none  the  less  improving  because  they  expressed 
nothing  whatever  to  her)  ;  while  Rosa,  listening  intently, 
made  the  most  of  what  was  nearest  to  her  heart.  So  they 
both  did  better  than  before. 


842         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 


CHAPTER  XXni. 

THE     DAWN      AGAIN. 

Although  Mr.  Crisparkle  and  John  Jasper  met  daily  under 
the  cathedral  roof,  nothing  at  any  time  passed  between  them 
bearing  reference  to  Edwin  Drood  after  the  time,  more  than 
half  a  year  gone  by,  when  Jasper  mutely  showed  the  minor 
canon  the  conclusion  and  the  resolution  entered  in  his  diary. 
It  is  not  likely  that  they  ever  met,  though  so  often,  without 
the  thoughts  of  each  reverting  to  the  subject.  It  is  not 
likely  that  they  ever  met,  though  so  often,  without  a  sensa- 
tion on  the  part  of  each  that  the  other  was  a  perplexing 
secret  to  him.  Jasper  as  the  denouncer  and  pursuer  of  Ne- 
ville Landless,  and  Mr.  Crisparkle  as  his  consistent  advo- 
cate  and  protector,  must  at  least  have  stood  sufficiently  in 
opposition  to  have  speculated  with  keen  interest  on  the 
steadiness  and  next  direction  of  the  other's  designs.  But 
neither  ever  broached  the  theme. 

False  pretense  not  being  in  the  minor  canon's  nature,  he 
doubtless  displayed  openly  that  he  would  at  any  time  have 
revived  the  subject  and  even  desired  to  discuss  it.  The  de- 
termined reticence  of  Jasper,  however,  was  not  to  be  so  ap- 
proached. Impassive,  moody,  solitary,  resolute,  so  concen- 
trated on  one  idea,  and  on  its  attendant  fixed  purpose,  that 
he  would  share  it  with  no  fellow-creature,  he  lived  apart  from 
human  life.  Constantly  exercising  an  art  which  brought  him 
into  mechanical  harmony  with  others,  and  which  could  not 
have  been  pursued  unless  he  and  they  had  been  in  the  nicest 
mechanical  relations  and  unison,  it  is  curious  to  consider  that 
the  spirit  of  the  man  was  in  moral  accordance  or  interchange 
with  nothing  around  him.  This,  indeed,  he  had  confided  to 
his  lost  nephew  before  the  occasion  for  his  present  inflexi- 
bility arose. 

That  he  must  know  of  Rosa's  abrupt  departure,  and  that 
he  must  divine  its  cause,  was  not  to  be  doubted.  Did  he 
suppose  that  he  had  terrified  her  into  silence,  or  did  he  sup- 
pose that  she  had  imparted  to  any  one — to  Mr.  Crisparkle 
himself,  for  instance — the  particulars  of  his  last  interview 
with  her?  Mr.  Crisparkle  could  not  determine  this  in  his 
mind.  He  could  not  but  admit,  however,  as  a  just  man,  that 
it  was  not,  of  itself,  a  crime  to  fall  in  love  with  Rosa,  any 
more  than  it  was  a  crime  to  offer  to  set  love  above  revenge. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN   DROOI).         843 

The  dreadful  suspicion  of  Jasper  which  Rosa  was  so 
shocked  to  have  received  into  her  imagination,  appeared  to 
have  no  harbor  in  Mr.  Crisparkle's.  If  it  ever  haunted 
Helena's  thoughts,  or  Neville's,  neither  gave  it  one  spoken 
word  of  utterance.  Mr.  Grewgious  took  no  pains  to  conceaJ 
his  implacable  dislike  of  Jasper,  yet  he  never  referred  it,  how- 
ever distantly,  to  such  a  source.  But  he  was  a  reticent  as 
well  as  an  eccentric  man  ;  and  he  made  no  mention  of  a  cer- 
tain evening  when  he  warmed  his  hands  at  the  Gate  House 
fire,  and  looked  steadily  down  upon  a  certain  heap  of  torn 
and  miry  clothes  upon  the  floor. 

Drowsy  Cloisterham,  whenever  it  awoke  to  a  passing  recon- 
sideration of  a  story  above  six  months  old  and  dismissed  by 
the  bench  of  magistrates,^  was  pretty  equally  divided  in 
opinion  whether  John  Jasper's  beloved  nephew  had  been 
killed  by  his  treacherously  passionate  rival,  or  in  an  open 
struggle  ;  or  had,  for  his  own  purposes,  spirited  himself  away. 
It  then  lifted  up  its  head  to  notice  that  the  bereaved  Jasper 
was  still  ever  devoted  to  discovery  and  revenge ;  and  then 
dozed  off  again.  This  was  the  condition  ui  matters  all 
round,  at  the  period  to  which  the  present  history  has  now 
attained. 

The  cathedral  doors  have  closed  for  the  night,  and  the 
choir-master,  on  a  short  leave  of  absence  for  two  or  three 
services,  sets  his  face  toward  London.  He  travels  thither 
by  the  means  by  which  Rosa  traveled,  and  arrives,  as  Rosa 
arrived,  on  a  hot,  dusty  evening. 

His  traveling  baggage  is  easily  carried  in  his  hand,  and  he 
repairs  with  it,  on  foot,  to  a  hybrid  hotel  in  a  little  square 
behind  Aldersgate  Street,  near  the  General  Post-office.  It  is 
hotel,  boarding-house,  or  lodging-house,  at  its  visitor's  option. 
It  announces  itself  in  the  new  railway  advertisers,  as  a  novel 
enterprise  timidly  beginning  to  spring  up.  It  bashfully,  al- 
most apologetically,  gives  the  traveler  to  understand  that  it 
does  not  expect  him,  on  the  good  old  constitutional  hotel  plan, 
to  order  a  pint  of  sweet  blacking  for  his  drinking,  and  throw 
it  away  ;  but  insinuates  that  he  may  have  his  boots  blacked 
instead  of  his  stomach,  and  may  be  also  have  bed,  breakfast, 
attendance,  and  a  porter  up  all  night,  for  a  certain  fixed 
charge.  From  these  and  similar  promises  many  true  Britons 
in  the  lowest  spirits  deduce  that  the  times  are  leveling  times, 
except  in  the  article  of  high-roads,  of  which  there  will  shortly 
not  be  one  in  England. 

He  eats  without  appetite,  and  soon  goes  forth  again.   East- 


844         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

ward  and  still  eastward  through  the  stale  streets  he  takes  his 
way  until  he  reaches  his  destination  ;  a  miserable  court  spe- 
cially miserable  among  many  such. 

He  ascends  a  broken  staircase,  opens  a  door,  looks  into  a 
dark,  stifling  room,  and  says,  "  Are  you  alone  here  ? " 

"  Alone,  deary  ;  worse  luck  for  me  and  better  for  you," 
replies  a  croaking  voice.  "  Come  in,  come  in,  whoever  you 
be  ;  I  can't  see  you  till  I  light  a  match,  yet  I  seem  to  know 
the  sound  of  your  speaking.  I  am  acquainted  with  you, 
ain't  I?" 

*'  Light  your  match,  and  try." 

"  So  I  will,  deary,  so  I  will  ;  but  my  hand  that  shakes,  as 
I  can't  lay  it  on  the  match  all  in  a  moment.  And  I  cough  so 
that,  put  my  matches  where  I  nfay,  I  never  find  them  there. 
They  jump  and  start,  as  I  cough  and  cough,  like  live  things. 
Are  you  off  a  voyage,  deary  ?  " 

*'  No." 

"  Not  sea-faring  ?  " 

"  No." 

**  Well,  there's  land  customers  and  there's  water  customers. 
I'm  a  mother  to  both.  Different  from  Jack  Chinaman, 
t'other  side  the  court.  He  ain't  a  father  to  neither.  It  ain't 
in  him.  And  he  ain't  got  the  true  secret  of  mixing,  though 
he  charges  as  much  as  me  that  has,  and  more  if  he  can  get 
it.  Here's  a  match,  and  now  where's  the  candle  ?  If  my 
cough  takes  me,  I  shall  cough  out  twenty  matches  afore  I 
gets  a  light." 

But  she  finds  the  candle,  and  lights  it  before  the  cough 
comes  on.  It  seizes  her  in  the  moment  of  success,  and  she 
sits  down  rocking  herself  to  and  fro,  and  gasping  at  inter- 
vals. "  Oh,  my  lungs  is  awful  bad,  my  lungs  is  wore  away 
to  cabbage-nets  !  "  until  the  fit  is  over.  During  its  continu- 
ance she  has  had  no  power  of  sight,  or  any  other  power  not 
absorbed  in  the  struggle  ;  but  as  it  leaves  her,  she  begins  to 
strain  her  eyes,  and  as  soon  as  she  is  able  to  articulate,  she 
cries  staring  : 

"Why,  it's  you  !  "_ 

"  Are  you  so  surprised  to  see  me  ?  " 

"  I  thought  I  never  should  have  seen  you  again,  deary.  I 
thought  you  was  dead  and  gone  to  heaven." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  I  didn't  suppose  you  could  have  kept  away,  alive,  so 
long,  from  the  poor  old  soul  with  the  real  receipt  for  mix- 
in  rr  it.  And  you  are  in  mourning  too  !  Why  didn't  you 
come  and  have    a  pipe   or    two  of    comfort  ?      Did  they 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         845 

leave  you  money,  perhaps,  and    so  you    didn't  want  com- 
fort ?  " 

"  No  !." 

"  Who  was  they  as  died,  deary  ?  " 

"  A  relative." 

"  Died  of  what,  lovey  ?  " 

"Probably,  death." 
^  "  We  are  short  to-night  !  "  cries  the  woman,  with  a  propi- 
tiatory laugh.  ''Short  and  snappish  we  are!  But  we're 
out  of^^sorts  for  want  of  a  smoke.  We've  got  the  all-overs, 
haven't  us,  deary  ?  But  this  is  the  place  to  cure  'em  in  ;  this 
is  the  ^lace  where  the  all-overs  is  smoked  off  !  " 

"  You  may  make  ready  then,"  replies  the  visitor,  "  as  soon 
as  you  like." 

He  divests  himself  of  his  shoes,  loosens  his  cravat,  and 
lies  across  the  foot  of  the  squalid  bed,  with  his  head  resting 
on  his  left  hand. 

"  Now  you  begin  to  look  like  yourself,"  says  the  woman, 
approvingly.  "  Now  I  begin  to  know  my  old  customer  in- 
deed !  Been  trying  to  mix  for  yourself  this  long  time,  pop- 
pet ?  " 

"I  have  been  taking  it  now  and  then  in  my  own  way." 

"  Never  take  it  in  your  own  way.  It  ain't  good  for  trade, 
and  it  ain't  good  for  you.  Where's  my  ink-bottle,  and 
Where's  my  thimble,  and  where's  my  little  spoon  ?  He's 
going  to  take  it  in  a  'artful  form  now,  my  deary  dear  !  " 

Entering  on  her  process,  and  beginning  to  bubble  and 
blow  at  the  faint  spark  inclosed  in  the  hollow  of  her  hands, 
she  speaks  from  time  to  time  in  a  tone  of  snuffling  satisfac- 
tion, without  leaving  off.  When  he  speaks,  he  does  so  with- 
out looking  at  her,  and  as  if  his  thoughts  were  already  roam- 
ing away  by  anticipation. 

**  I've  got  a  pretty  many  smokes  ready  for  you,  first  and 
last,  haven't  I,  chuckey  ?  " 

"  A  good  many." 

"  When  you  first  come,  you  was  quite  new  to  it  ;  warn't 
ye  ?  " 

'*  Yes,  I  was  easily  disposed  of,  then." 

"  But  you  got  on  in  the  world,  and  was  able  by  and  by  to 
take  your  pipe  with  the  best  of  'em,  warn't  ye  ? " 

**  Ay.     And  the  worst." 

"  It's  just  ready  for  you.  What  a  sweet  singer  you  was 
when  you  first  come  !  Used  to  drop  your  head,  and  sing 
yourself  off,  like  a  bird  !     It's  leady  for  you  now,  deary." 


846         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

He  takes  it  from  her  with  great  care,  and  puts  the  mouth« 
piece  to  his  lips.  She  seats  herself  beside  him,  ready  to  re- 
fill the  pipe.  After  inhaling  a  few  whiffs  in  silence,  he 
doubtingly  accosts  her  with  : 

"  Is  it  as  potent  as  it  used  to  be  ?  " 

*'  What  do  you  speak  of,  deary  ?  " 

**  What  should  I  speak  of,  but  what  I  have  in  my  month  ?  " 

"  It's  just  the  same.     Always  the  identical  same." 

"  It  doesn't  taste  so.     And  it's  slower." 
You've  got  more  used  to  it,  you  see." 

"  That  may  be  the  cause,  certainly.  Look  here!"  He 
stops,  becomes  dreamy  and  seems  to  forget  that  he,,lias  in- 
vited her  attention.  She  bends  over  him,  and  speaks  in  his 
ear. 

"  I'm  attending  to  you.  Says  you  just  now,  look  here. 
Says  I  now,  I  am  attending  to  ye.  We  was  talking  just  be- 
fore of  your  being  used  to  it." 

"  I  know  all  that.  I  was  only  thinking.  Look  here.  Sup- 
pose you  had  something  in  your  mind  ;  something  you  were 
going  to  do." 

**  Yes,  deary  ;  something  I  was  going  to  do  ?  " 

*'  But  had  not  quite  determined  to  do." 

"  Yes,  deary." 

"  Might  or  might  not  do,  you  understand." 

**  Yes."  With  the  point  of  a  needle  she  stirs  the  contents 
of  the  bowl. 

**  Should  you  do  it  in  your  fancy  when  you  were  lying 
here  doing  this  ?  " 

She  nods  her  head.     "  Over  and  over  again." 

"  Just  like  me  !  I  did  it  over  and  over  again.  I  have 
done  it  hundreds  and  thousands  of  times  in  this  room." 

"  It's  to  be  hoped  it  was  pleasant  to  do,  deary." 

*'  It  was  pleasant  to  do  !  " 

He  says  this  with  a  savage  air,  and  a  spring  start  at  her. 
Quite  unmoved,  she  retouches  and  replenishes  the  contents 
of  the  bowl  with  her  little  spatula.  Seeing  her  intent  upon 
the  occupation,  he  sinks  into  his  former  attitude. 

"  It  was  a  journey,  a  difficult  and  dangerous  journey. 
That  was  the  subject  in  my  mind.  A  hazardous  and  peril- 
ous journey,  over  abysses  where  a  slip  would  be  destruction. 
Look  down,  look  down  !  You  see  what  lies  at  the  bottom 
there  ?  " 

He  has  darted  forward  to  say  it,  and  to  point  at  the  ground 
as   though  at   some  imaginary  object    far    beneath.     The 


J       J  J  J 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.        847 

woman  looks  at  him  as  his  spasmodic  face  approaches  close 
to  hers,  and  not  at  his  pointing.  She  seems  to  know  what 
the  influence  of  her  perfect  quietude  will  be  ;  if  so  she  has 
not  miscalculated  it,  for  he  subsides  again. 

"  Well  ;  I  have  told  you,  I  did  it,  here,  hundreds  and 
thousands  of  times.  What  do  I  say  ?  I  did  it  millions  and 
billions  of  times.  I  did  it  so  often  and  through  such  vast 
expanses  of  time,  that  when  it  was  really  done,  it  seemed  not 
worth  the  doing,  it  was  done  so  soon." 

"  That's  the  journey  you  have  been  away  upon  ?  "  she 
quietly  remarks. 

He  glares  at  her  as  he  smokes  ;  and  then,  his  eyes  becom- 
ing filmy,  answers  :  "  That's  the  journey." 

Silence  ensues.  His  eyes  are  sometimes  closed  and  some- 
times open.  The  woman  sits  beside  him  very  attentive  to 
the  pipe,  which  is  all  the  while  at  his  lips. 

"  I'll  warrant,"  she  observes,  when  he  has  been  looking 
fixedly  at  her  for  some  consecutive  moments,  with  a  singular 
appearance  in  his  eyes  of  seeming  to  see  her  a  long  way  off, 
instead  of  so  near  him — "  I'll  warrant  you  made  the  journey 
in  a  many  ways,  when  you  made  it  so  often  ? " 

"  No;  always  in  one  way." 

"  Always  in  the  same  way  ?  " 

"Ay." 

"  In  the  way  in  which  it  was  really  made  at  last  ?  " 

"Ay." 

"And  always  took  the  same  pleasure  in  harping  on  it?" 

"Ay." 

For  the  time  he  appears  unequal  to  any  other  reply  than 
this  lazy  monosyllabic  assent.  Probably  to  assure  herself 
that  it  is  not  the  assent  of  a  mere  automaton,  she  reverses 
the  form  of  her  next  sentence. 

"  Did  you  never  get  tired  of  it,  deary,  and  try  to  call  up 
something  else  for  a  change  ?  " 

He  struggles  into  a  sitting  posture,  and  retorts  upon  her  : 
''What  do  you  mean?  What  did  I  want?  What  did  I 
come  for  ?  " 

She  gently  lays  him  back  again,  and,  before  returning  him 
the  instrument  he  has  dropped,  revives  the  fire  in  it  with  her 
own  breath  ;  then  says  to  him  coaxingly  : 

"  Sure,  sure,  sure  !     Yes,  yes,  yes  !    Now  I  go  along  with 
you.     You  was  too  quick  for  me.     I  see  now.     You  come  o' 
purpose  to  take  the  journey.     Why,  I  might  have  knowi^  ii 
through  its  standing  by  you  so," 


84S  J'HE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN   DROOD. 

He  answers  first  with  a  laugh,  and  then  with  a  passionate 
setting  of  his  teeth  :  *'  Yes,  I  came  on  purpose.  When  I 
could  not  bear  my  life  I  came  to  get  the  relief,  and  I  got  it. 
It  WAS  one  !  It  was  one  !  "  This  repetition  with  extraordi- 
nary vehemence,  and  the  snarl  of  a  wolf. 

She  observes  him  very  cautiously,  as  though  mentally  feel- 
ing her  way  to  her  next  remark.  It  is  :  *'  There  was  a  fel- 
low-traveler, deary." 

*'  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  "  He  breaks  into  a  ringing  laugh,  or  rather 
yell. 

"  To  think,"  he  cries,  "how  often  fellow-traveler,  and  yet 
not  know  it !  To  think  how  many  times  he  went  the  jour- 
ney, and  never  saw  the  road  !  " 

The  woman  kneels  upon  the  floor,  with  her  arms  crossed 
on  the  coverlet  of  the  bed,  close  by  him,  and  her  chin  upon 
them.  In  this  crouching  attitude  she  watches  him.  The 
pipe  is  falling  from  his  mouth.  She  puts  it  back,  and  laying 
her  hand  upon  his  chest,  moves  him  slightly  from  side  to 
side.     Upon  that  he  speaks,  as  if  she  had  spoken. 

"  Yes  !  I  always  made  the  journey  first,  before  the  changes 
of  colors  and  the  great  landscapes  and  glittering  processions 
began.  They  couldn't  begin  till  it  was  off  my  mind  !  I  had 
no  room  till  then  for  any  thing  else." 

Once  more  he  lapses  into  silence.  Once  more  she  lays  her 
hand  upon  his  chest,  and  moves  him  slightly  to  and  fro,  as 
a  cat  might  stimulate  a  half-slain  mouse.  Once  more  he 
speaks,  as  if  she  had  spoken. 

*'  What  ?  I  told  you  so.  When  it  comes  to  be  real  at 
last,  it  is  so  short  that  it  seems  unreal  for  the  first  time. 
Hark  !  " 

"  Yes,  deary.     I'm  listening." 

"Time  and  place  are  both  at  hand." 

He  is  on  his  feet  speaking  in  a  whisper,  and  as  if  in  the 
dark. 

*'  Time,  place,  and  fellow-traveler,"  she  suggests,  adopting 
his  tone,  and  holding  him  softly  by  the  arm. 

*'  How  could  the  time  be  at  hand  unless  the  fellow-traveler 
was  ?     Hush  !     The  journey's  made.     It's  over." 

"  So  soon  ?  "  ^ 

"  That's  what  I  said  to  you.  So  soon.  Wait  a  little. 
This  is  a  vision.  I  shall  sleep  it  off.  It  has  been  too  short 
and  easy.  I  must  have  a  better  vision  than  this  ;  this  is  the 
poorest  of  all.  No  struggle,  no  consciousness  of  peril,  no 
entreaty — and  yet   I  never  saw  f/iaJ  before."     With  a  start. 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         849 

"  Saw  what,  deary  ?  " 

"  Look  at  it  !  Look  what  a  poor,  mean,  miserable  thing 
it  is  !      That  must  be  real.     It's  over  !  " 

He  has  accompanied  this  incoherence  with  some  wild,  un- 
meaning gestures  ;  but  they  trail  off  into  the  progressive 
inaction  of  stupor,  and  he  lies  a  log  upon  the  bed. 

The  woman,  however,  is  still  inquisitive.  With  a  repeti- 
tion of  her  cat-like  action,  she  slightly  stirs  his  body  again, 
and  listens  ;  stirs  again,  and  listens  ;  whispers  to  it  and 
listens.  Finding  it  past  all  rousing  for  the  time,  she  slowly 
gets  upon  her  feet,  with  an  air  of  disappointment,  and  flicks 
the  face  with  the  back  of  her  hand  in  the  turning  from  it. 

But  she  goes  no  further  away  from  it  than  the  chair  upon 
the  hearth.  She  sits  in  it,  with  an  elbow  on  one  of  its  arms, 
and  her  chin  upon  her  hand,  intent  upon  him.  "  I  heard  ye 
say  once,"  she  croaks,  under  her  breath — "  when  I  was  lying 
where  you're  lying,  and  you  were  making  your  speculations 
upon  me, '  unintelligible  ! '  I  heard  you  say  so,  of  two  more 
than  me.  But  don't  ye  be  too  sure  always  ;  d^n't  ye  be  too 
sure,  beauty  !  "  * 

Unwinking,  cat-like,  and  intent,  she  presently  adds : 
"  Not  so  potent  as  it  once  was  ?  Ah  !  Perhaps  not  at  first. 
You  may  be  more  right  there.  Practice  makes  perfect.  I 
may  have  learned  the  secret  how  to  make  ye  talk,  deary." 

He  talks  no  more,  whether  or  no.  Twitching  in  an  ugly 
way  from  time  to  time,  both  as  to  his  face  and  limbs,  he  lies 
heavy  and  silent.  The  wretched  candle  burns  down  ;  the 
woman  takes  its  expiring  end  between  her  fingers,  lights 
another  at  it,  crams  the  guttering,  frying  morsel  deep  into 
the  candlestick,  and  rams  it  home  with  the  new  candle,  as  if 
she  were  loading  some  ill-savored  and  unseemly  weapon  of 
witchcraft ;  the  new  candle,  in  its  turn,  burns  down  ;  and 
still  he  lies  insensible.  At  length,  what  remains  of  the  last 
candle  is  blown  out,  and  daylight  looks  into  the  room. 

It  has  not  looked  very  long,  when  he  sits  up  chilled  and 
shaking,  slowly  recovers  consciousness  of  where  he  is,  and 
makes  himself  ready  to  depart.  The  woman  receives  what 
he  pays  her  with  a  grateful  "  Bless  ye,  bless  ye,  deary  !  " 
md  seems,  tired  out,  to  begin  making  herself  ready  for  sleep 
-is  he  leaves  the  room. 

But  seeming  maybe  false  or  true.  It  is  false  in  this  case, 
for  the  moment  the  stairs  have  ceased  to  creak  under  his 
tread,  she  glides  after  him,  muttering  emphatically,  "  I'll  not 
miss  ye  twice  '  " 


8so         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

There  is  no  egress  from  the  court  but  by  its  entrance. 
With  a  v/eird  peep  from  the  doorway  she  watches  for  his 
looking  back.  He  does  not  look  back  before  disappearing, 
with  a  wavering  step.  She  follows  him,  peeps  from  the 
court,  sees  him  still  faltering  on  without  looking  back,  and 
holds  him  in  view. 

He  repairs  to  the  back  of  Aldergate  Street,  where  a  door 
immediately  opens  to  his  knocking.  She  crouches  in  another 
doorway,  watching  that  one,  and  easily  comprehending  that 
he  puts  up  temporarily  at  that  house.  Her  patience  is  un- 
exhausted by[hours.  For  sustenance  she  can,  and  does,  buy 
bread  within  a  hundred  yards,  and  milk  as  it  is  carried  past 
her. 

He  comes  forth  again  at  noon,  having  changed  his  dress, 
but  carrying  nothing  in  his  hand,  and  having  nothing  carried 
for  him.  He  is  not  going  back  into  the  country,  therefore, 
just  yet.  She  follows  him  a  little  way,  hesitates,  instantane- 
ously turns  confidently,  and  goes  straight  into  the  house  he 
has  quitted. 

"  Is  this  gentleman  from  Cloisterham  in-doors  ?" 

"Just  gone  "out." 

"  Unlucky.  When  does  the  gentleman  return  to  Cloister- 
ham  ?  " 

**  At  six  this  evening." 

*'  Bless  ye  and  thank  ye.  May  the  Lord  prosper  a  busi- 
ness where  a  civil  question,  even  from  a  poor  soul,  is  so 
civilly  answered  !" 

"  I'll  not  miss  ye  twice  !  '*  repeats  the  poor  soul  in  the 
street,  and  not  so  civilly.  "  I  lost  ye  last  where  that  omnibus 
you  got  into  nigh  your  journey's  end  plied  betwixt  the  station 
and  the  place.  I  wasn't  so  much  as  certain  that  you  even 
went  right  on  to  the  place.  Now  I  know  he  did.  My  gen- 
tleman from  Cloisterham,  I'll  be  there  before  ye  and  bide 
your  coming.  I've  sworn  my  oath  that  I'll  not  miss  ye 
twice  !  " 

Accordingly,  that  same  evening  the  poor  soul  stands  in 
Cloisterham,  High  Street,  looking  at  the  many  quaint  gables 
of  the  Nuns'  House,  and  getting  through  the  time  as  she 
best  can  until  nine  o'clock  ;  at  which  hour  she  has  reason 
to  suppose  that  the  arriving  omnibus  passengers  may  have 
some  interest  for  her.  The  friendly  darkness,  at  that  hour, 
renders  it  easy  for  her  to  ascertain  whether  this  be  so  or 
not  ;  and  it  is  so,  for  the  passenger  not  to  be  missed  twice 
arrives  among  the  rest. 


THE   MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN   DRUOl).         851 

"  Now,  let  me  see  what  becomes  of  you.     Go  on  !  " 

An  observation  addressed  to  the  air.  And  yet  it  might 
be  addressed  to  the  passenger,  so  compliantly  does  he  go  on 
along  the  High  Street  until  he  comes  to  an  arched  gate-way, 
at  which  he  unexpectedly  vanishes.  The  poor  soul  quickens 
her  pace  ;  is  swift,  and  close  upon  him  entering  under  the 
gate-way  ;  but  only  sees  a  postern  staircase  on  one  side  of  it, 
and  on  the  other  side  an  ancient  vaulted  room  in  which  a 
large-headed,  gray-haired  gentleman  is  vvriting,  under  the 
odd  circumstances  of  sitting  open  to  the  thoroughfare  and 
eying  all  who  pass,  as  if  he  were  toll-taker  of  the  gate-way  ; 
though  the  way  is  free. 

"  Halloo  !  "  he  cries  in  a  low  voice,  seeing  her  brought  to 
a  stand-still  ;  **  who  are  you  looking  for  ?  " 

"  There  was  a  gentleman  passed  inhere  this  minute,  sir." 

"  Of  course  there  was.     What  do  you  want  with  him  ?  " 

"  Where  do  he  live,  deary  ?" 

"  Live  ?     Up  that  staircase." 

"  Bless  ye  !     Whisper.     What's  his  name,  deary  ?  " 

"  Surname  Jasper,  Christian  name  John.  Mr.  John  Jasper." 

"  Has  he  a  calling,  good  gentleman  ?  " 

"  Calling  ?     Yes.     Sings  in  the  choir." 

**  In  the  spire  ?  " 

"Choir." 

*'  What's  that  ?  " 

Mr.  Datchery  rises  from  his  papers,  and  comes  to  his  door- 
step. "  Do  you  know  what  a  cathedral  is  ?  "  he  asks,  jocosely. 

The  woman  nods. 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

She  looks  puzzled,  casting  about  in  her  mind  to  find  a 
definition,  when  it  occurs  to  her  that  it  is  easier  to  point  out 
the  substantial  object  itself,  massive  against  the  dark  blue 
sky  and  the  early  stars. 

"  That's  the  answer.  Go  in  there  at  seven  to-morrow 
morning,  and  you  may  see  Mr.  John  Jasper,  and  hear  him 
too." 

"  Thank  ye  !     Thank  ye  !  " 

The  burst  of  triumph  in  which  she  thanks  him  does  not 
escape  the  notice  of  the  single  buffer  of  an  easy  temper 
living  idly  on  his  means.  He  glances  at  her  ;  clasps  his 
hands  behind  him,  as  the  wont  of  such  buffers  is  ;  and 
lounges  along  the  echoing  precincts  at  her  side. 

"Or,"  he  suggests,  with  a  backward  hitch  of  his  head, 
"  you  can  go  up  at  once  to  Mr.  Jasper's  rooms  there." 


852         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

The  woman  eyes  him  with  a  cunning  smile,  and  shakes 
her  head. 

"  Oh  !     You  don't  want  to  speak  to  him  ?  " 

She  repeats  her  dumb  reply,  and  forms  with  her  lips  a 
soundless  "  No." 

"  You  can  admire  him  at  a  distance  three  times  a  day, 
whenever  you  like.  It's  a  long  way  to  come  for  that, 
though." 

The  woman  looked  up  quickly.  If  Mr.  Datchery  thinks 
she  is  to  be  so  induced  to  declare  where  she  comes  from, 
he  is  of  a  much  easier  temper  than  she  is.  But  she  acquits 
him  of  such  an  artful  thought,  as  he  lounges  along,  like  the 
chartered  bore  of  the  city,  with  his  uncovered  gray  hair 
blowing  about,  and  his  purposeless  hands  rattling  the  loose 
money  in  the  pockets  of  his  trowsers. 

The  chink  of  the  money  has  an  attraction  for  her  greedy 
ears.  "  Wouldn't  you  help  me  to  pay  for  my  Travelers'  Lodg- 
ing, dear  gentleman,  and  to  pay  my  way  along  ?  I  am  a 
poor  soul,  I  am  indeed,  and  troubled  with  a  grievous  cough." 

"  You  know  the  Travelers'  Lodging,  I  perceive,  and  are 
making  directly  for  it,"  is  Mr.  Datchery's  bland  comment, 
still  rattling  his  loose  money.  "  Been  here  often,  my  good 
woman  ?  " 

"Once  in  all  my  life." 

"Ay,  ay?" 

They  have  arrived  at  the  entrance  to  the  Monks'  Vine- 
yard. An  approriate  remembrance,  presenting  an  exemplary 
model  for  imitation,  is  revived  in  the  woman's  mind  by  the 
sight  of  the  place.  She  stops  at  the  gate,  and  says  energet- 
ically— 

"By  this  token,  though  you  mayn't  believe  it,'  That  a 
young  gentleman  gave  me  three-and-sixpence  as  I  was 
coughing  my  breath  away  on  this  very  grass.  I  asked  him 
for  three  and-sixpence,  and  he  gave  it  me." 

"  Wasn't  it  a  little  cool  to  name  your  sum  ?  "  hints  Mr 
Datchery,  still  rattling.  "  Isn't  it  customary  to  leave  the 
amount  open  ?  Mightn't  it  have  had  the  appearance,  to  the 
young  gentleman,  only  the  appearance,  that  he  was  rather 
dictated  to  ?" 

"  Look'ee  here,  deary,"  she  replies,  in  a  confidential  and 
persuasive  tone,  "  I  wanted  the  money  to  lay  it  out  on  a  med- 
icine as  does  me  good,  and  as  I  deal  in.  I  told  the  young 
gentleman  so,  and  he  gave  it  me,  and  I  laid  it  out  honest  to 
the  last  brass  farden.     I  want  to  lay  out  the  same  sum  in  the 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD.         853 

same  way  now  ;  and  if  you'll  give  it  me,  I'll  lay  it  out  honest 
to  the  last  brass  farden  again,  upon  my  soul  !  " 

*'  What's  the  medicine  ?  " 

''  I'll  be  honest  with  you  beforehand,  as  well  as  after.  It's 
opium." 

Mr.  Datchery,  with  a  sudden  change  of  countenance,  gives 
her  a  sudden  look. 

*'  It's  opium,  deary.  Neither  more  nor  less.  And  it's  like 
a  human  creetur  so  far,  that  you  always  hear  what  can  be 
said  against  it,  but  seldom  what  can  be  said  in  its  praise." 

Mr.  Datchery  begins  very  slowly  to  count  out  the  sum  de- 
manded of  him.  Greedily  watching  his  hands,  she  continues 
to  hold  forth  on  the  great  example  set  him. 

**  It  was  last  Christmas  Eve,  just  arter  dark,  the  once  that  I 
was  here  afore,  when  the  young  gentleman  gave  me  the  three- 
and-six." 

Mr.  Datchery  stops  in  his  counting,  finds  he  has  counted 
wrong,  shakes  his  money  together,  and  begins  again. 

"  And  the  young  gentleman's  name,"  she  adds,  "  was  Ed- 
win." 

Mr.  Datchery  drops  some  money,  stoops  to  pick  it  up,  and 
reddens  with  the  exertion  as  he  asks 

"  How  do  you  know  the  young  gentleman's  name  ?  " 

"  I  asked  him  for  it,  and  he  told  it  me.  I  only  asked  him 
the  two  questions,  what  was  his  chris'en  name,  and  whether 
he'd  a  sweetheart?  And  he  answered,  Edwin,  and  he 
hadn't." 

Mr.  Datchery  pauses  with  the  selected  coins  in  his  hand, 
rather  as  if  he  were  falling  into  a  brown  study  of  their  value, 
and  couldn't  bear  to  part  with  them.  The  woman  looks  at 
him  distrustfully,  and  with  her  anger  brewing  for  the  event 
of  his  thinking  i3etter  of  the  gift  ;  but  he  bestows  it  on  her 
as  if  he  were  abstracting  his  mind  from  the  sacrifice,  and 
with  many  servile  thanks  she  goes  her  way. 

John  Jasper's  lamp  is  kindled  and  his  light-house  is  shining 
when  Mr.  Datchery  returns  alone  toward  it.  As  mariners  on 
a  dangerous  voyage,  approaching  an  iron-bound  coast,  may 
look  along  the  beams  of  the  Avarning  light  to  the  haven  lying 
beyond  it  that  may  never  be  reached,  so  Mr.  Datchery's 
wistful  gaze  is  directed  to  this  beacon,  and  beyond. 

His  object  in  now  revisiting  his  lodging  is  merely  to  put 
on  the  hat  which  seems  so  superfluous  an  article  in  his  ward- 
robe. It  is  half-past  ten  by  the  cathedral  clock,  when  he 
walks  out   into  the   precincts   again  ;   he  lingers   and  looks 


854         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

about  him,  as  though,  the  enchanted  hour  when  Mr.  Durdles 
may  be  stoned  home  having  struck,  he  had  some  expecta- 
tion of  seeing  the  imp  who  is  appointed  to  the  mission  of 
stoning  him. 

In  effect,  that  power  of  evil  is  abroad.  Having  nothing 
living  to  stone  at  the  moment,  he  is  discovered  by  Mr. 
Datchery  in  the  unholy  office  of  stoning  the  dead,  through 
the  railings  of  the  church-yard.  The  imp  finds  this  a  relish- 
ing and  piquing  pursuit  ;  firstly,  because  their  resting  place 
is  announced  to  be  sacred  ;  and,  secondly,  because  the  tall 
headstones  are  sufficiently  like  themselves,  on  their  beat  in 
the  dark,  to  justify  the  delicious  fancy  that  they  are  hurt 
when  hit. 

Mr.  Datchery  hails  him  with  :  "  Halloo,  Winks  !  " 

He  acknowledges  the  hail  with  !  "  Halloo,  Dick  !  "  Their 
acquaintance  seemingly  having  been  established  on  a  familiar 
footing. 

"  But  I  say,"  he  remonstrates,  "  don't  yer  go  a-making 
my  name  public.  I  never  means  to  plead  to  no  name,  mind 
yer.  When  they  says  to  me  in  the  lock-up,  a-going  to  put 
me  down  in  the  book,  '  What's  your  name  ? '  T  says  to  them, 
'Find  out.'  Likewise  when  they  says,  'What's  your  re- 
ligion ? '  I  says,  '  Find  out.'  " 

Which,  it  may  be  observed  in  passing,  it  would  be  im- 
mensely difficult  for  the  state,  however  statistical,  to  do. 

"  Asides  which,"  adds  the  boy,  **  there  ain't  no  family  of 
Winkses." 

"I  think  there  must  be." 

"Yer  lie,  there  ain't.  The  Travelers  give  me  the  name  on 
account  of  my  getting  no  settled  sleep  and  being  knocked  up 
all  night  ;  whereby  1  gets  one  eye  roused  open  afore  Eve 
shut  the  other.  That's  what  winks  means.  Deputy's  the 
nighest  name  to  indict  me  by  ;  but  yer  wouldn't  catch  me 
pleading  to  that,  neither." 

"  Deputy  be  it  always  then.  We  two  are  good  friends  ;  eh, 
Deputy  ?  " 

;;  Jolly  good." 

"I  forgave  you  the  debt  you  owed  me  when  we  first  be- 
came acquainted,  and  many  of  my  sixpences  have  come  your 
way  since  ;  eh,  Deputy  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  And  what's  more,  yer  ain't  no  friend  o'  Jasper's. 
What  did  he  go  a-histing  me  off  my  legs  for  ?  " 

*'  What,  indeed  !  But  never  mind  him  now.  A  shilling  of 
mine,  is   going   your  way  to-night.   Deputy.     You  have  just 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN   DKOOD.         855 

taken  in  a  lodger  I  have  been  speaking  to  ;  an  infirm  woman 
with  a  cough. 

"  Puffer,"  assents  Deputy,  with  a  shrewd  leer  of  recogni- 
lion,  and  smoking  an  imaginary  pipe,  with  his  head  very 
much  on  one  side,  and  his  eyes  very  much  out  of  their 
places  :  ''  Hopeum  Puffer." 

"  What  is  her  name  ?  " 

"  'Er  royal  highness  the  Princess  Puffer." 

"  She  has  some  other  name  than  that  ;  where  does  she 
live  ? " 

"  Up  in  London.     Among  the  Jacks." 

"  The  sailors  ? " 

"  I  said  so  ;  Jacks.  And  Chayner  men.  And  hother 
knifers." 

"  I  should  like  to  know,  through  you,  exactly  where  she 
lives." 

'*  All  right.     Give  us  'old." 

A  shilling  passes  ;  and,  in  that  spirit  of  confidence  which 
should  pervade  all  business  transactions  betwe'^n  principals 
of  honor,  this  piece  of  business  is  considered  done. 

"  But  here's  a  lark  !  "  cried  Deputy.  "  Where  did  yer 
think  'er  royal  highness  is  a-going  to,  to-morrow  morning  ? 
Blest  if  she  ain't  a-goin'  to  the  Kin-free-der-el  ! "  He 
greatly  prolongs  the  word  in  his  ecstasy,  and  smites  his  leg, 
and  doubles  himself  up  in  a  fit  of  shrill  laughter. 

''  How  do  you  know  that,  Deputy  ? " 

"  'Cos  she  told  me  so  just  now.  She  said  she  must  be 
hup  and  hout  o'  purpose.  She  ses,  *  Deputy,  I  must  'ave  a 
early  wash,  and  make  myself  as  swell  as  I  can,  for  I'm  a 
goin'  to  take  a  turn  at  the  Kin-free-der-el!'"  He  sep- 
arates the  syllables  with  his  former  zest,  and,  not  finding  his 
sense  of  the  ludicrous  sufficiently  relieved  by  stamping  about 
on  the  pavement,  breaks  into  a  slow  and  stately  dance,  per- 
haps supposed  to  be  performed  by  the  dean. 

Mr.  Datchery  receives  the  communication  with  a  well- 
satisfied,  though  a  pondering  face,  and  breaks  up  the  confer- 
ence. Returning  to  his  quaint  lodging,  and  sitting  long  over 
the  supper  of  bread  and  cheese,  and  salad  and  ale  which  Mrs. 
Tope  has  left  prepared  for  him,  he  still  sits  when  his  supper 
is  finished.  At  length  he  rises,  throws  open  the  door  of  a 
corner  cupboard,  and  refers  to  a  few  uncouth  chalked  strokes 
on  its  inner  side. 

"  I  like,"  says  Mr.  Datchery,  ''the  old  tavern  way  of  kec])- 
ing  scores.     Illegible,  except  to  the  scorer.     The  scorer  not 


856         THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWIN  DROOD. 

committed,  the  second  debited  with  what  is  against  him. 
Hum  ;  ha  !     A  very  small  score  this  ;  a  very  poor  score  ?  " 

He  sighs  over  the  contemplation  of  its  poverty,  takes  a  bit 
of  chalk  from  one  of  the  cupboard  shelves,  and  pauses  with 
it  in  his  hand,  uncertain  what  addition  to  make  to  the  ac- 
count. 

"  I  think  a  moderate  stroke,"  he  concludes,  "is  all  I  am 
justified  in  scoring  up  ;  "  so,  suits  the  action  to  the  word, 
closes  the  cupboard  and  goes  to  bed. 

A  brilliant  morning  shines  on  the  old  city.  Its  antiqui- 
ties and  ruins  are  surpassingly  beautiful,  with  the  lusty  ivy 
gleaming  in  the  sun,  and  the  rich  trees  waving  in  the  balmy 
air.  Changes  of  glorious  light  from  moving  boughs,  songs 
of  birds,  scents  from  gardens,  woods,  and  fields — or,  rather, 
from  one  great  garden  of  the  whole  cultivated  island  in  its 
yielding  time — penetrate  into  the  cathedral,  subdue  its  earthy 
odor,  and  preach  the  resurrection  and  the  life.  The  cold 
stone  tombs  of  centuries  ago  grow  warm  ;  and  flecks  of 
brightness  dart  into  the  sternest  marble  corners  of  the  build- 
ing, fluttering  their  light  wings. 

Comes  Mr.  Tope  with  his  large  keys  and  yawningly 
unlocks  and  sets  open.  Come  Mrs.  Tope  and  attendant 
sweeping  sprites.  Come,  in  due  time,  organist  and  bellows- 
boy,  peeping  down  from  the  reed  curtains  in  the  loft,  fear- 
lessly flapping  dust  from  books  up  at  that  remote  elevation, 
and  whisking  it  from  stops  and  pedals.  Come  sundry  rooks, 
from  various  quarters  of  the  sky,  back  to  the  great  tower  ; 
who  may  be  presumed  to  enjoy  vibration,  and  to  know  that 
bell  and  organ  are  going  to  give  it  them.  Come  a  very  small 
and  straggling  congregation,  indeed  ;  chiefly  from  Minor 
Canon  Corner  and  the  precincts.  Come  Mr,  Crisparkle, 
fresh  and  bright  ;  and  his  ministering  brethren  not  quite  so 
fresh  and  bright.  Come  the  choir  in  a  hurry  (always  in  a 
hurry,  and  struggling  into  their  nightgowns  at  the  last  mo- 
ment, like  children  shirking  bed),  and  comes  John  Jasper 
leading  their  line.  Last  of  all  comes  Mr.  Datchery  into  a 
stall,  one  of  a  choice  empty  collection  very  much  at  his  serv- 
ice, and  glancing  about  him  for  her  royal  highness  the 
Princess  Puffer. 

The  service  is  pretty  well  advanced  before  Mr.  Datchery 
can  discern  her  royal  highness.  But  by  that  time  he  has 
made  her  out,  in  the  shade.  She  is  behind  a  pillar,  care- 
fully withdrawn  from  the  choir-master's  view,  but  regards 
him  with  the  closest  attention.     All  unconscious  of  her  pres- 


THE  MYSTERY  OF  EDWliN   DROOD.         85/ 

ence,  he  chants  and  sings.  She  grins  when  he  is  most 
musically  fervid,  and — yes,  Mr.  Datchery  sees  her  do  it  !— 
shakes  her  fist  at  him  behind  the  pillar's  friendly  shelter. 

Mr.  Datchery  looks  again  to  convince  himself.  Yes, 
again  !  As  ugly  and  withered  as  one  of  the  fantastic  carv- 
ings on  the  under  brackets  of  the  stall  seats,  as  malignant  as 
the  evil  one,  as  hard  as  the  big  brass  eagle  holding  the 
sacred  books  upon  his  wings  (and,  according  to  the  sculptor's 
representation  of  his  ferocious  attributes,  not  at  all  con- 
verted by  them),  she  hugs  herself  in  her  lean  arms,  and  then 
shakes  both  fists  at  the  leader  of  the  choir. 

And  at  that  moment,  outside  the  grated  door  of  the  choir, 
having  eluded  the  vigilance  of  Mr.  Tope  by  shifty  resources 
in  which  he  is  an  adept,  Deputy  peeps,  sharp-eyed,  through 
the  bars,  and  stares  astounded  from  the  threatener  to  the 
threatened. 

The  service  comes  to  an  end,  and  the  servitors  disperse 
to  breakfast.  Mr.  Datchery  accosts  his  last  new  acquaint- 
ance outside,  when  the  choir  (as  much  in  a  hurry  to  get 
their  bed-gowns  off,  as  they  were  ,but  now  to  get  them  on) 
have  scuffled  away. 

"  Well,  mistress.     Good-morning.     You  have  seen  him  ?  " 

*'  /'ve  seen  him,  deary  ;  /'ve  seen  him  !  " 

"And  you  know  him  ?" 

"  Know  him  !  Better  far  than  all  the  reverend  parsons 
put  together  know  him." 

Mrs.  Tope's  care  has  spread  a  very  neat,  clean  breakfast 
ready  for  her  lodger.  Before  sitting  down  to  it,  he  opens 
his  corner  cupboard  door  ;  takes  his  bit  of  chalk  from  its 
shelf  ;  adds  one  thick  line  to  the  score,  extending  from  the 
top  of  the  cupboard  door  to  the  bottom  ;  and  then  falls  to 
with  an  appetite. 

4i  !}!  4c  «  t^ 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 
LOAN  DEPT. 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 

Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


?JiNov'58WH 


NOV  12  1958  L 


2Nlay'63WT 


RECD  ^^ 


MAV  Zl  1*3 


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LD  21A-50m-9,'58 

(6889sl0)476B 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


M1944GG 


J 


V^l 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


•» 


W^M^ 


